The Mark of a Man | Maggie Lee

The Mark of a Man

HEN

Kit Porter slipped out of the goldsmith’s shop in

Huntingdon and caught a fleeting glimpse of two men he’d
spotted earlier in the day, he began to suspect that he was
being followed. By the time he reached the market square
and realized that the men were still behind him, he was
absolutely certain of it.

His pursuers had kept their distance as they shadowed

him, neither of them drawing attention to themselves. But
Kit had been schooled by the best, and Marcus de Crecy’s
lessons had been hard won, so though the men were good,
they were not good enough to deceive Kit.

He increased his stride, putting more distance between

himself and his trackers. Marcus had taught him that the
best way to shake an unwanted follower was to blend into a
crowd, so Kit joined the thronging pilgrims making their way
to evening service at St. Jude’s, bending his head as he
hurried alongside them.

For several moments it seemed as though his ploy had

worked, and he was about to double back and rejoin his
accomplice when one of the pursuers suddenly loomed in
front of him, barring his way. Kit stopped abruptly, his
mouth drying when the man pulled aside his cloak to reveal
a badge of office embroidered on the front of his surcoat.

“Do you know what this means?” the man asked.

Kit nodded. The insignia was unmistakable: the Black

Swan emblem identified the man as a ranking member of the

The Mark of a Man | Maggie Lee

City Guard. He looked up, momentarily startled by the
intensity of the blue eyes above him. “What business do you
have with me?” Kit asked, hoping he sounded more assured
than he felt.

The man raised an eyebrow; then his hand darted out,

and he yanked the string tied around Kit’s neck, ripping
away a small leather pouch that contained the coins Kit had
just stolen from the goldsmith. “I’d say this makes you very
much my business.”

Kit flinched and took a step backward.

“I wouldn’t think about running,” the man warned.

“Robert wouldn’t take too kindly to it.”

“No, I bloody well would not,” a gruff voice murmured

from behind.

Kit tensed as the sharp point of a dagger pierced his

tunic and pricked the skin at the base of his spine. A
practiced hand frisked him thoroughly, sliding his stiletto
out of its sheath.

The man in front of him smiled. “That’s settled, then,”

he said amiably. “Why don’t you come along with us?”

“Where are you taking me?” Kit demanded.

“Don’t worry about that,” the man said. “I promise we’ll

take very good care of you.”

The knife at his back pressed harder, and Kit had no

option but to turn and allow himself to be escorted back the
way he’d come. He stiffened in surprise when they marched
him past the goldsmith’s shop without stopping, even though
the owner was outside complaining loudly to the Watch

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about the theft of his coins. Kit’s head whipped around, but
the man called Robert growled out a curse and ordered him
to keep moving. His confusion deepened when they skirted
the stockade on Morland Street, hurrying past without so
much as a backward glance.

As they steered him toward the village green, Kit looked

around surreptitiously. He hadn’t been working alone; one of
the Sun League’s most accomplished thieves had palmed the
coins and handed them off to him before distracting the
goldsmith while Kit slipped away, and Kit knew that Stephen
would be hiding somewhere close by. Sure enough, he soon
became aware of two dark eyes watching intently from the
shadow of a recessed doorway. As he passed, Kit quirked an
eyebrow, and Stephen made a rapid hand sign and melted
into the deepening dusk.

Kit recoiled when they rounded a corner onto Lime Pit

Lane to find two mounted soldiers waiting for them with
extra horses saddled and at the ready. Clearly these men
intended to take him out of Huntingdon.

“How far do you want to travel tonight, Captain?” Robert

asked, glancing at his companion as he withdrew the knife
at Kit’s back.

The other man shrugged. “Not much past dark.”

Robert nodded and snapped his fingers, and one of the

guards trotted forward. “Hearst, we’re heading back to the
inn at Shifnal. Go ahead and make arrangements.”

Hearst saluted smartly and turned his mount toward

the village that Kit knew lay five miles to the west of
Huntingdon. He stored the information away carefully.

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Robert signaled to the other guard, who tossed him a

length of rope. He motioned with his finger, and Kit turned
around and linked his hands together behind his back. As
Robert looped the rope around his wrists and pulled tightly,
the captain stepped in front of him. “I should introduce
myself,” he said. “My name is Alec Weston. I’m a captain in
the City Guard.”

Kit clamped his lips together tightly; he had absolutely

no intention of revealing his own identity. But Weston simply
smiled. “No need to stand on ceremony, Kit Porter,” he said
pleasantly. “I already know who you are.”

LEC

watched Robert secure the young man’s hands and

boost him onto the back of a horse, his brow furrowing as he
contemplated his prisoner. Kit was younger than Alec had
expected, barely eighteen by his reckoning. He noted the
boy’s well-made clothes and expensive leather boots, the
heavy gold chain that glinted at his neck, and the jeweled
dagger Robert had taken from him. His glossy hair was
gathered in a thick braid that fell halfway down his back,
and his whole appearance was remarkably neat and clean.
No doubt about it, Kit Porter was not like any footpad Alec
had ever encountered.

He’d been curious when the Lord Chancellor had

dispatched him all the way to the eastern border of the shire
just to pick up a petty thief, but Anthony Arlen wasn’t a man
who encouraged discussion, so he’d kept his questions to
himself. Arlen had ordered him to bring Porter back to the
city as quickly and quietly as possible, but outside of Kit’s

The Mark of a Man | Maggie Lee

name and general whereabouts, Alec had been told nothing
about the assignment. His curiosity had been piqued further
when Arlen insisted that he take an armed escort with him,
to Alec’s mind, a wholly unnecessary precaution for picking
up one lone cutpurse. The Lord Chancellor undoubtedly had
his reasons for shrouding this mission in secrecy, but they
were certainly not becoming any more apparent.

Robert tossed Kit’s reins to him, and the small party

moved out, with Alec leading Kit’s horse. The young man sat
stiffly, occasionally glancing sideways, searching Alec’s face
as though he might find some clue there. “Why are you
taking me to Shifnal if you plan to accuse me of theft in
Huntingdon?” he asked.

Alec had been instructed not to disclose any information

regarding Porter’s arrest or final destination, another
peculiarity in this already strange undertaking. “You’ll learn
soon enough,” he replied.

Kit’s hazel eyes remained fixed on his face, and Alec felt

a faint shiver at the intensity of his gaze. “You’re City Guard.
What possible interest could you have in me?” Kit pressed.

“I’m concerned with any felony throughout the shire…,”

Alec started, but Kit shook his head.

“The Guard deals in political intrigue and sedition,” he

stated firmly. “It leaves petty larceny to the locals.”

Alec arched an eyebrow. “You seem remarkably well

versed in the system of justice,” he said drily. “It sounds as
though you have previous experience.”

For a moment the young man’s features tensed; then

his expression cleared, and he shook his head, but it was

The Mark of a Man | Maggie Lee

obvious that he was hiding something. Alec’s misgivings
intensified; there had to be something significant about Kit
Porter to bring him to the attention of the Lord Chancellor,
the highest law enforcer in the county. It was a riddle Alec
intended to probe more fully over the course of the next two
days.

Robert was setting a good pace, and an hour later, they

rode into the cobbled courtyard of The Cross Keys Inn, just
as the blackness of night closed in around them.

Alec slid off his horse and threw his reins to Yates, the

second of the armed guards he’d been forced to take along
with him. He turned to find a huge, fat man stepping out of
the inn, holding out his arms in greeting.

“Captain Weston, well met. Come in, come in,” he urged,

as though welcoming the return of a long-lost relative. Alec
smiled to himself; obviously the coin he’d spent in the inn
last night had been enough to guarantee a warm reception.

“Thank you, Mr. Stafford.” He nodded toward Kit. “I’m

afraid I’ve brought my work along with me today.”

The innkeeper looked Kit up and down, his lip curling in

disdain. “I’ll lock him in the cellar for you.”

Alec couldn’t fail to see the shudder of revulsion that

shook Kit. He didn’t blame the lad; the thought of spending a
night in the dank bowels of the inn, sharing his lodging with
brimming chamber pots, the dripping carcasses of butchered
animals, and beady-eyed, ravenous rats, was enough to
make any man quake.

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Without thinking he laid a protective hand on Kit’s

shoulder. “No need for that,” he said. “I’m sure my young
friend will be no trouble.”

Kit glanced up from beneath long lashes, and Alec

inclined his head, silently acknowledging the look of startled
gratitude on his face.

“Let me show you to your room,” Stafford said. “This

way.”

Kit trailed silently behind as Alec followed the innkeeper

to the top of a wooden staircase. Beads of sweat rolled down
Stafford’s face, and he panted heavily as he unlocked a door
at the end of a long hallway, throwing it open with a flourish.

The room was spacious, much larger than the one Alec

had been offered the previous night; Stafford had clearly
decided he was a man worth cultivating. Leaded windows
lined one end, flooding the room with silver moonlight, and a
huge four-post bed dominated the space.

“I’ll have hot water sent up, sir,” Stafford said, all but

bowing as he left.

Alec pointed to a high-backed chair positioned beside

the fireplace, and Kit crossed the floor and perched warily on
the edge of it. He looked around furtively, his eyes darting
rapidly from the window to the door, and Alec was fairly
certain he was assessing the prospect for escape. A moment
later there was a knock at the door, and Robert entered and
deposited Alec’s valise on the bed. He was closely followed by
a maid carrying a large pitcher, her eyes widening when she
saw Kit, though whether it was because he was trussed up

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or because he cut such a striking figure was hard to tell. Kit
raised his head as she passed by, and the girl’s step faltered.

“Put it on the dresser,” Robert scolded. She blushed

furiously and put the ewer next to the washbowl, ducking a
quick curtsy before she hurried out, though not before
sneaking a final glance at Kit.

“Everything is secure for the night, Captain,” Robert

reported.

“What about our fellow travelers?” Alec asked. He knew

Robert would have wasted no time in thoroughly checking
the inn and investigating everybody who was staying the
night.

“Just a family of three on its way home and a merchant

on a trading trip.” He looked over at Kit, who was listening
intently while trying to look indifferent. “The place is sealed
up tighter than a duck’s arse,” he said pointedly. Kit scowled
briefly, confirming Alec’s suspicions that he’d been planning
his escape.

“Very good,” he said. “I’ll see you downstairs for dinner.”

“Do you want me to send up one of the men to watch

him?” Robert jerked his thumb in Kit’s direction.

Alec looked over and shook his head. “He’ll join us,” he

said.

Kit’s impassive expression momentarily brightened,

while Robert’s face plainly revealed his disapproval. “I’ll wash
up first. Give me ten minutes?”

The Mark of a Man | Maggie Lee

Robert nodded curtly and left the room, shooting a

warning look in Kit’s direction, which failed to register
outside of a slight narrowing of the young man’s eyes.

Alec opened his leather valise and pulled out a deep

blue shirt, remarkably unwrinkled considering it had been
stored in the bottom of his bag for days. He glanced at Kit.
“You can wash up in a minute if you like,” he said. “There’s
plenty of water.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Kit said, sounding genuinely

appreciative.

Alec poured warm water into the basin and pulled off

his surcoat and shirt. He hesitated when he heard Kit gasp,
turning to see that the young man’s eyes were fixed on his
torso. He glanced down at the deep stripes cut into his front,
a mirror to those Kit had seen covering his back. “It’s a
mess, isn’t it?” he said, ruefully, imagining how ugly his
scarred body must look to unaccustomed eyes.

“What happened?” Kit asked, his eyes widening.

Alec shrugged. “I spent some time as a guest of the Sun

League,” he said drily. “They didn’t care much for my
company.” He turned back to the washbowl before Kit’s
shrewd eyes could read anything more from his unguarded
expression. It had taken the better part of two years to bury
the memories of the barbarous treatment he’d received when
he’d fallen into the hands of the outlawed Sun League; it
wasn’t something he cared to reminisce about.

“The Sun League?” Kit breathed, and something in the

tone of his voice made Alec turn back. Kit’s huge hazel eyes
stood out starkly against the sudden pallor of his skin, and

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they were filled with apprehension. “You were captured by
the League and you survived?”

Alec smiled weakly. “I’m not sure my friends would have

termed it survival,” he said.

“How did you escape?” Kit asked.

Alec shook his head. He didn’t want to be drawn any

further on the subject; besides, Robert would consider tales
of escape an ill-suited topic for a prisoner. “That’s a story for
another night,” he said softly, watching the agitation in Kit’s
eyes slowly recede. “Here, why don’t you wash up now?”

Kit stood and crossed the room, turning his back as

Alec withdrew the hunting knife hanging from a scabbard by
his side and severed the young man’s bonds with a quick
flick. Kit pulled off his woolen tunic but kept his fine linen
shirt on, and Alec wondered if it was possible that he might
be shy. He withdrew a few steps to give the young man more
room and busied himself unpacking his valise while Kit
scrubbed himself clean, the sharp tang of citrus soap filling
the air.

When he was finished, Kit loosened his hair, its rich,

chestnut color shining like burnished copper, and it settled
around his shoulders like a cloak. He ran wet fingers
through it, combing it into some semblance of order; then he
deftly rewove the thick strands into a neat braid. Though
blessed with fine features and glossy hair, with full, sensual
lips and clear, expressive eyes, Kit seemed wholly
unconscious of his beauty.

Alec wasn’t aware that he was staring until Kit’s bright

eyes met his. A warm flush swept through him, partly

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embarrassment at being caught, and partly the unsettling
stirring of attraction. “That’s a pretty substantial chunk of
gold around your neck,” he said, trying to mask his sudden
awkwardness. “Was it a gift?”

Kit bit his lip and looked away quickly, his skin flushing

bright red, and Alec realized that his flippant remark had
struck a raw nerve. “That’s a story for another night,” Kit
murmured, echoing Alec’s earlier evasion. He pulled on his
tunic, then glanced at his abraded wrists and looked up
apprehensively.

“Give me your word that you won’t try to run, and I

won’t bind you,” Alec offered. He didn’t know why he trusted
Kit; after all, he was little more than a common thief. But
there was a lack of swagger about him that Alec had rarely
seen in a captive, and he found the young man’s modesty
and quiet poise appealing.

Kit cocked his head, as though weighing the proposal.

“Very well. I’ll give you my parole,” he said solemnly, then
added, “But only during dinner tonight.”

Alec smiled. “Fair enough,” he replied. “Let’s go see what

the cook has prepared for us. As you can tell by the size of
our host, the food here is very good!”

tried not to squirm under Robert’s critical eye as he took

his seat in the small dining room. It was clear that Robert
thought he should be eating with the soldiers in the
servants’ quarters, or better yet, tied up in some dismal
dungeon, instead of sitting at the captain’s table.

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Out of habit, he cast a look around the almost-empty

room. A solitary man sat at the table closest to the door,
reading a pamphlet while he stuffed his mouth with bread,
and a small family group sat at the table next to the fire, a
young boy ignoring his heaped plate and looking around
with interest.

The boy caught Kit’s eye and waved, and Kit smiled

back at him.

“Eyes front,” Robert barked.

Kit sighed heavily and turned his head. While they

waited for their food, he took the opportunity to study his
captors. Robert was sturdy and compactly built with ruddy
skin and sandy hair, and looked every inch the hard-bitten
veteran. Kit could guess that he’d spent his life in the City
Guard, and from what he’d witnessed, Robert appeared to be
a tough and capable soldier.

Weston was something else. Cultivated and softly

spoken, he didn’t seem like the kind of man who’d made
soldiering his life work. His handsome features were strongly
defined, but it was his eyes that drew Kit’s attention;
piercingly blue and startlingly direct, they looked as if they
could see past the facade of words and appearance and
straight into the heart of the matter. He looked too young to
be in a position of authority, not yet thirty if Kit were called
upon to guess, yet he easily commanded the respect of more
seasoned men.

“Tell me,” Weston said, “is there anybody we should

notify of your arrest? We could arrange to have word sent.”

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Kit frowned, wondering how far he dared distort the

truth. He shook his head mutely.

“Come now,” Robert said briskly. “There must be

someone. Your family?”

“I have no family,” Kit lied.

“A friend, then?” Weston asked, more gently.

Kit shook his head again.

“Surely somebody has an interest in you?” Robert

persisted.

“I’ve been by myself since I was fifteen. Nobody cares

what I do,” Kit said. Weston looked at him long and hard,
and Kit schooled his features to innocence, hoping those
sharply appraising eyes wouldn’t detect his dissembling.

“You’re certainly a very uncomplicated lad,” Robert

remarked. “That should make our job easier.”

A young serving girl approached the table, barely able to

balance a tray loaded with food, and slopping ale over the
brims of three full flagons. Kit gave her an encouraging smile
and helped her unload the tray, ignoring Robert’s glare of
disapproval. When she left, stammering her thanks, Kit
started pulling apart the greasy duck on the plate in front of
him. His ears pricked up when Robert began discussing the
particulars of their journey.

“I think the back roads would be quickest,” Robert said.

Weston shook his head. “I’d prefer to stick to the more

populated areas. If we pick up the pace, we can stay on the
main road and make it back by Friday.”

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Kit raised his head. “I think if you’re going to drag me

halfway across the county, you could at least tell me what
I’m supposed to have done,” he said.

“For now there’s the booty we found slung around your

neck,” Weston said mildly.

“If you could pin that on me, you’d accuse me in front of

the local Assizes,” Kit reasoned. “Besides, since when does
the captain of the Guard concern himself with petty
thievery?”

“Since that’s what he was ordered to do,” Robert cut in

sharply.

“Well, if you won’t tell me where you’re taking me and

what I’m supposed to have done, will you at least tell me who
sent you?” Kit asked hopefully.

Robert pointed at Kit’s plate. “Leave off asking questions

and eat,” he ordered.

Kit rolled his eyes but returned to ripping apart his

duck, his mind rapidly turning over what he’d gleaned so far.
Several things had become apparent: firstly, despite what
Weston said, he hadn’t been arrested in Huntingdon for
theft—these men had already known his name and had been
sent specifically to pick him up; secondly, his armed escort
was leading him away from the eastern border and deeper
into the shire; and most importantly, it appeared that
Weston didn’t know of his association with Marcus de Crecy
and the Sun League. Given Weston’s cruel treatment at the
hands of the League, Kit was suddenly glad of the captain’s
ignorance. Still, that left the question of just who had
ordered his arrest, and why.

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When they had finished eating, Kit glanced up to see the

young boy from the nearby table sidling up to the captain,
his eyes widening at the sight of the insignia embroidered on
Weston’s coat. Weston smiled kindly and held out his hand,
and the child crept closer.

“Can I see the birdie?” he asked shyly.

Weston nodded. The young boy reached a tentative

hand and stroked a stubby finger over the swan design. He
looked expectantly at Robert, who pulled aside his tunic to
reveal his own badge of office. The child’s eyes grew round
with wonder. “Do you have one too?” he asked, turning his
head toward Kit.

Kit’s hand came up instinctively to rest over his heart,

covering the identifying mark that had been carved into his
flesh almost three years ago. Unlike the emblems Weston
and Robert proudly displayed, his symbol was not intended
for public viewing and had always filled him with burning
shame. He shook his head, and the child returned his
attention to the captain’s badge. Kit risked a glance at
Weston and found the man’s searching gaze fixed on him. He
dropped his hand quickly, hoping that Weston wouldn’t read
anything into his unconscious slip.

When the child toddled back happily to his parents,

Weston led the way back upstairs. Hearst was stationed
outside the door to their room, and he stood stiffly to
attention as they approached.

“In case you get any notions,” Robert said, directing his

comment at Kit.

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Once inside, Robert motioned to the chair beside the

fireplace, and Kit reluctantly resumed his seat. Robert pulled
several thin strips of cord out of his pocket and set to work
binding Kit in place, first anchoring his wrists to the arms of
the sturdy chair.

“Is that really necessary?” Weston asked as Robert knelt

to tie Kit’s ankles to the chair’s legs.

Robert tugged at the rope, testing its security. “Better to

be safe, Alec,” he replied easily. “We wouldn’t want to lose
young Kit, would we?” He straightened up and reached to
ruffle Kit’s hair.

Kit pulled his head away. “How do you expect me to

sleep like this?” he grumbled.

“You’ll manage,” Robert said. “Unless you prefer the

hospitality of the cellar….” He trailed off as Kit shuddered,
then turned and strode toward the door, adding over his
shoulder, “I’ll be in the room across the hallway if you need
me, Alec.”

“Good night, Robert,” Weston said. “We should get back

on the road at dawn.”

Robert saluted and left, dispensing final stern orders to

the soldier outside as he closed the door firmly.

“He doesn’t like me very much, does he?” Kit asked.

Weston smiled apologetically. “Robert can be a little

overcautious.”

Kit grimaced as the tight ropes bit into his chafed

wrists. Weston frowned and looked around the room, his
eyes lighting up when they fell on the towel beside the

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washbowl. He grabbed it up and tore it in two, then knelt in
front of Kit.

“This might help a little,” he said, carefully tucking a

length of material underneath each of the ropes that bound
Kit’s wrists. The gentle touch of his callused fingers sent a
shiver dancing up Kit’s spine. He looked down at Weston’s
handsome face, so focused and intent, and something stirred
deep inside. He was accustomed to attention, but only in the
service of somebody else’s pleasure; he couldn’t remember
the last time anybody had cared enough to put his comfort
first.

Weston glanced up, his intense blue eyes warmed by

concern. “There now, that should feel better,” he said,
patting Kit’s knee.

Kit read kindness and affection in Weston’s bright, easy

smile, and the emotion that had awakened in him stirred
more strongly. “Thank you, Captain,” he murmured, feeling
warmth suffuse his face. Their eyes held for a moment
longer, the air between them strangely charged. Kit was
keenly aware of Weston’s hand, resting heavily on his knee,
until the captain shook himself and stood up.

He crossed the room and twitched a blanket off the bed,

tucking it quickly around Kit’s legs; then he stoked the
embers in the fire, encouraging a last burst of heat. “Let me
know if it gets too cold,” he said. “And try to get some sleep.
We have a very long day ahead of us.”

Weston tugged off his breeches as he returned to the

bed, revealing a cotton undergarment that hugged the curves
of his body. His heavy, half-hard prick was clearly outlined,
and Kit felt unexpected desire throb in his own groin.

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Despite the markings on his back and chest, or maybe
because of them, Kit found Weston’s taut, muscular body
deeply moving.

The captain slid beneath the sheets and blew out the

candle, leaving the room aglow in soft moonlight. “Good
night, Kit,” he said quietly. “Sleep well.”

“And you,” Kit whispered. He tipped his head and rested

it against the back of the chair, suddenly feeling the weight
of the day dragging at him. He tried to keep the dark
thoughts at bay, but they churned in his mind, driving away
the pang of yearning and preventing him from sleep. By now
Stephen would have reached Marcus and told him about the
arrest, and Marcus would be organizing a rescue party.
Given the League’s influence and power in these parts, it
would be easy enough to track Weston through the eastern
shire, and Kit knew that he’d soon be back in Marcus’s
hands.

It was hard not to speculate about where he was being

taken, not to wonder if what lay ahead might provide
deliverance from the harshness of his life and from Marcus
de Crecy’s strict control and relentless attentions, but Kit
knew it was useless to think that way—Marcus wasn’t about
to let him go. Kit only hoped that when faced with the
League’s ruthless determination to retrieve him, Weston and
his men would be prudent enough to give him up without a
struggle. He didn’t want to consider the consequences if
Weston decided to stand and fight.

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E WASN

’

aware of falling asleep, but hours later Kit woke

from a restless doze to find predawn light spilling into the
room. His limbs were stiff with disuse and he felt chilled all
the way down to his bones. He squirmed against the hard
wooden seat, cursing quietly as the blanket slid off his lap
and onto the floor, carrying with it the last vestiges of
warmth. The fire had burned itself out, leaving only
smoldering ashes in the grate, and the room had grown so
cold that Kit could see his breath.

He looked enviously at the bed heaped with blankets

and the lump he presumed was Captain Weston buried
warmly in the middle. Weston grunted, and the lump shifted,
and moments later the captain sat up straight, his hair
mussed and his expression dazed. The blankets pooled
around his waist, and he shivered as the icy air hit his
naked chest. He looked over at Kit and winced.

“By God, you must be freezing,” he said. Kit’s teeth were

chattering so hard that he couldn’t answer.

Weston dragged a blanket off the bed and snatched up

his dagger, then swiftly crossed the room. With a quick slice,
he cut the ties holding Kit down and dragged him onto his
feet, wrapping the blanket securely around Kit’s shoulders.
Kit huddled into the scratchy material, his violent shivers
ebbing as welcome heat seeped into him.

“I thought I told you to call me if it got too cold,” Weston

scolded, chafing one of Kit’s icy hands between his own. It
tingled painfully as blood began to flow again, working its
way to the ends of his numb fingers.

Kit shrugged. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he mumbled.

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Weston frowned in displeasure, and Kit cringed; it was

not a look he’d want to draw his way too often.

“Get over here,” Weston growled. He pushed Kit toward

the bed. “In,” he ordered.

Kit sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots,

then wriggled out of his tunic. He kept his breeches and
shirt on as he slid underneath the covers, sighing in pure
pleasure as the warm blankets enveloped him.

“Damn fool,” Weston muttered, although whether he

was speaking about himself or Kit was uncertain. He strode
around to the other side of the bed and climbed back in.
“You didn’t have a very restful night, I take it,” Weston said,
sounding a little less angry.

“It was cold,” Kit started.

“Before that,” Weston cut in. “What kept you awake?”

He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow,
looking down at Kit, his blue eyes sharp with curiosity.
“There is someone, isn’t there?” he said softly into the
silence.

Kit stiffened momentarily, then forced his muscles to

relax. “I don’t know what you mean—”

“Somebody interested in your whereabouts,” Weston

interrupted.

Kit turned his head away, biting down on his lip to

maintain silence.

“A relative? A friend?” Weston mused. He paused for a

moment, and Kit could almost feel his searching gaze, like a
warm touch against his skin. “Maybe a lover?” he ventured.

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Kit tensed but held his tongue. He couldn’t think of a

word to describe what Marcus was to him, but none the
captain had suggested came close.

“I think there’s more to you than meets the eye, Kit

Porter,” Weston said, but he didn’t pursue the matter, just
rolled onto his back and laced his hands behind his head.
“You should try to sleep,” he said. “I’ll wake you at full light.”

As Kit thawed enough to take his mind off his chilled

limbs, he slowly became aware of Weston’s nearness, and
the heat from his body seeping across the space between
them. In the pale moonlight, he could just make out the
shape of the man’s solid chest and trace the raised marks
from neck to waistline before they disappeared under the
covers. His hand itched to reach out and touch the ridges
that his own experience told him had been made with a
whip. Weston sighed and turned over, and Kit glanced at his
face, relaxed in sleep, the strong features softened by the
silver glow of the moon. He stifled a groan as his cock
stiffened. Despite years of conditioning under Marcus’s
practiced hands, he’d never felt this kind of yearning before.
Realizing the hopelessness of his situation, he rolled over
carefully, turning his back to Weston and shuffling to the
edge of the mattress. Eventually the fog of arousal
dissipated, but Weston’s warm, comforting presence
remained at his back, enveloping him in a powerful sense of
safety and security—something that three long years in
Marcus de Crecy’s bed had never been able to provide.

Kit hadn’t thought there was any chance of falling

asleep, but waking up relaxed and rested proved that
assumption to be false. He opened his eyes to find Weston
perched on the edge of the bed, and Robert sitting in the

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high-backed chair watching him curiously. Weston was fully
dressed, and the sunlight streaming into the room told Kit
that it was already late in the morning.

“I suppose we have to wait while he breaks his fast too?”

Robert said sourly.

Kit sat up, rubbing his eyes. Weston turned and nodded

to a tray on the dresser. “We can’t have him wasting away,
can we?” he said, winking at Kit.

Robert muttered something under his breath that Kit

chose to ignore. He picked up the tray and settled it on his
knees before tearing into a hunk of bread and cheese.

“We’re hours behind schedule. We’ll have to ride hard if

we want to make Uffington tonight,” Robert grumbled. “I’ll
get the horses packed up and ready.” He saluted and strode
out, shaking his head as though in disbelief.

“Now he hates me even more,” Kit said between

mouthfuls. He picked up a small red apple and bit into it.
Juice trickled down his chin, and Weston reached absently
to wipe it away with his finger.

“He doesn’t hate you. He just—” He stopped suddenly as

Kit froze, the apple halfway to his mouth. “I’m sorry,” Weston
mumbled, his face flushing. “I didn’t think.” He stood up
quickly and backed away a few steps.

Kit shook himself. “It’s fine,” he said softly, dropping the

apple back onto the tray. In truth, the simple touch had
conveyed more tenderness than all the years of Marcus’s
greedy, insistent hands on him, and he couldn’t deny the
thrill of pleasure that had shivered through him.

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“We should get going,” Weston said abruptly. “Robert

will be waiting.”

An hour later they were trotting along a narrow, rutted

track. Kit was surprised that he’d been allowed to ride
without being bound, but he was effectively boxed in by the
others, so there was little chance of escape.

He looked around with interest. They were traveling

through a heavily wooded area, the road bordered on both
sides by tall oaks. Gaily colored violets and primroses grew
wildly along the hedgerow, and through the occasional gaps
in the tree line, Kit could see gently rolling hills, dotted with
grazing sheep, receding into the distance. Though there were
no markers on the route, Kit had often traveled the area with
Marcus and other League members, and he knew the
landscape well enough to guess that they were making their
way through Walcot Wood. He did a quick calculation in his
head: they were following the movement of the sun, so he
knew they were riding westward. He’d overheard that they’d
be in Uffington by sundown, and the captain had said they’d
reach their final destination tomorrow. Taking all into
consideration, and given that the City Guard was only
stationed in the most densely populated areas, Kit figured
they had to be heading to Shrewsbury, the county seat.

He turned his head, glancing at the captain’s profile.

“The man who ordered my arrest, did he say what he wants
with me?” he asked.

Weston shrugged. “You might ask yourself what you’ve

done to warrant Robert and I being sent on a three day
journey to pick you up,” he said.

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“I told you, I haven’t done anything,” Kit said. Though

Marcus had trained him in many disciplines, he’d never
worked much beyond simple snatch-and-grab jobs, and
those only under the closest supervision. He couldn’t believe
it was paltry thieving that had led him here, not when
compared to the things Marcus and the League had done….
The thought struck Kit like a lightning bolt, almost stopping
him in his tracks. Weston looked at him sharply, so he tried
to compose himself, but the stark realization had cut deep.

“You’ve figured it out,” Weston said with certainty,

curiosity writ large across his features.

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Kit insisted. “I’m sure

you’ll find this is all a mistake.”

The cold clutch of dread in the pit of his stomach told

him otherwise. Alec Weston might not know who he was, but
Kit was certain that the man who had ordered his arrest
knew very well. Whoever it was had no interest in him or his
minor pilfering, and they certainly hadn’t sent a man like
Weston on a three-day trek to arrest an insignificant
pickpocket. It seemed obvious now that his only value was
his connection to the Sun League and his thorough
knowledge of its inner workings. If that was the case, then he
was all but lost; betraying the League was out of the
question, which meant that the only things waiting for him
in Shrewsbury were a judicial interrogator, a county court
trial, and a hangman’s rope.

Kit couldn’t believe how foolish he’d been. Far from

delivering him from Marcus and the Sun League, this
journey was drawing him inexorably toward torture and
death. He was suddenly grateful that Marcus would be

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coming for him, even though it meant returning to a life of
servitude. Still, they were less than a day away from
Shrewsbury, and they were traveling fast, and as yet there
was no sign of the rescue party. Kit realized that he no
longer had the luxury of waiting for Marcus to free him; his
only option was to plan his own escape.

FTER

three hours of solid riding, they reached a shaded

clearing by the side of the road, and Alec called a halt. The
fresh country air had sharpened his appetite, and they all
needed a rest before the afternoon’s hard push. He glanced
up at the sun, figuring they’d be able to reach the tavern in
Uffington just before nightfall. They were making good
progress; they could afford a short break.

Yates and Hearst dismounted and unpacked the food

the innkeeper had bundled up for them, and Robert scouted
the area quickly before signaling Kit off his horse. The boy
slid down gracefully and sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. The
tense preoccupation that had settled in on him had
deepened over the miles, and Alec was now certain that he
had guessed the reason for his arrest, and that the
explanation was weighing heavily on him.

“Eat something,” he encouraged, but Kit just shook his

head.

“We’ll not be stopping again for hours,” Robert

cautioned.

“I’m not hungry,” Kit mumbled.

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“Suit yourself.” Robert shrugged and returned to his

own food.

Alec spread his woolen cloak on the grass and sat down,

chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of cold ham while he
watched the frown deepen on Kit’s face. He tried to recollect
the conversation that had darkened the young man’s mood,
but he couldn’t remember saying anything that might have
betrayed where they were going or who had sent them. Still,
it was obvious that Kit had worked something out for
himself.

“I’m sending Yates ahead of us,” Robert said, drawing

his attention away from Kit’s melancholy. “He’ll secure rooms
for us at the tavern up ahead.”

“Good,” Alec said. “With luck we’ll complete our journey

tomorrow.”

On hearing his name, Yates bolted down the rest of his

food and arose, and with a parting instruction from Robert,
he rode out at a gallop.

Alec closed his eyes and tipped his face toward the early

spring sun, basking in its warmth. A picture of Kit, apple
juice glistening on his reddened lips, rose unbidden. He
hadn’t been consciously aware of moving this morning, but
his hand had reached to brush the sticky mess off Kit’s chin,
and that simple gesture had somehow seemed loaded with
meaning. Kit had blushed fiercely, as though he too felt the
charged tension of the moment. Alec wondered what had
been going through Kit’s mind, scarcely understanding what
he himself had felt, a shock of connection unlike anything
he’d experienced before.

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He wished he could sit like this for a little longer, maybe

use the soothing peace and quiet to pull his scattered
feelings together, but unfortunately time was pressing. He
heard Robert’s voice instructing Hearst to “see to the boy,”
and knew that he was ensuring that Kit made water before
they took to the road again. A moment later he felt a nudge
against his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to find Robert
holding out a bundle wrapped in a scrap of cloth.

“Food for the boy,” he said gruffly.

Alec’s lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile.

Robert scowled. “You know he’ll be hungry later, and I’m

not stopping again.”

“I understand,” Alec said. He was about to tease Robert

about his hidden heart of gold, when Hearst yelled out a
loud curse.

Alec shot to his feet and shaded his eyes, quickly

scanning the area. A few yards away, Hearst was doubled
over, gasping as he clutched at his groin, his face almost
purple, and Kit was halfway across the clearing, running so
fast it was as if his feet didn’t touch the ground.

Robert jumped onto his horse and wheeled the animal

about, obviously hoping to cut Kit off before he disappeared
into the dense woodland. Alec took to his heels, running
lightly over the grass, glad he’d shed his thick cloak. Kit was
nimble, leaping over rocks and dodging shrubs; he would
have easily outrun Alec, but he was no match for Robert’s
charger. As Alec slowed, Robert thundered alongside Kit, and
just as he reached the edge of the glade, Robert leaned down
and gave him a small shove. The momentum sent him

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crashing to the ground, and he skidded along on his
stomach, then rolled spectacularly, ending up flat on his
back. Robert leaped off his mount, and in one move, he’d
straddled the winded boy and immobilized him.

Alec sprinted the rest of the way, coming to a stop as

Robert shook Kit harshly. “I’ve a good mind to tan your
hide,” he growled.

Kit’s eyes widened, and his mouth thinned into a tight

line, a look of sheer misery on his face.

“Let him up, Robert,” Alec ordered.

Robert grunted his displeasure, but he climbed off Kit.

Alec knelt on the ground beside them, wincing when he saw
how damaged Kit was by his fall. The left side of his face was
scraped raw, and his palms were all but skinned; his
breeches were ripped apart, and his knees were torn and
dripping blood.

“God, Kit,” Alec breathed. “That was a very foolish

move.” Kit turned his face away, but not before Alec saw his
lower lip tremble fiercely and tears well beneath his lashes.

“Bloody idiot,” Robert muttered, but he moved gently to

help Kit stand, supporting him when the boy wavered on his
feet.

“Can you walk?” Alec asked.

Kit nodded mutely and stepped forward, limping as he

walked, but holding his head up resolutely. He cringed when
he walked past Hearst, as though afraid of retribution, but
the soldier was too well trained to take out his anger on a
prisoner. He glowered darkly, though, and Kit shrank back,
keeping a wary eye as he skirted around him.

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“Are you able to sit your horse?” Robert demanded.

Kit paled, but he nodded again, and Robert boosted him

up into his saddle. Alec noticed how severely he flinched
when he sat, a low moan escaping between his clenched
teeth.

“We’ll get you patched up at the tavern,” Alec promised.

Robert dug about in his saddlebag and pulled out a

leather cord. Alec threw him a questioning look, but Robert’s
expression hardened. “I’ll not have the men put at risk,
Alec,” he said firmly. “The boy needs to be tamed.”

Kit recoiled, but he seemed to calm when he realized

that Robert simply meant to bind him in place. He offered
his hands meekly, and Robert slipped the cord around his
wrists and tied the rope to the pommel of Kit’s saddle. He
gathered up the reins and tossed them to Alec. “You’ll have
to lead him,” Robert said. “God’s wounds, we’ve just added
hours to the journey.”

Kit looked so mournful that Alec felt pity stirring in him.

He patted Kit’s thigh gently. “Come now,” he said kindly.
“We’ll say no more about it.”

Kit looked down at him, wide eyes filled with remorse.

“I’m sorry I hurt Hearst,” he mumbled.

Alec glanced over at the soldier, who was sitting stiffly in

the saddle, obviously in some pain. “You might want to keep
out of his way for a while,” Alec cautioned. He mounted his
horse, and with a signal to Robert, the solemn group moved
out.

The rest of the journey was slow but uneventful, and

hours later they limped into the stables adjoining the tavern

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in Uffington. It was already fully dark when they arrived, and
dinner was long since over. While Robert wandered off to try
to bribe the tavern keeper into reopening the kitchen, Alec
sat Kit down beside the fire and called for water and
supplies.

“Let’s clean you up a little,” he said softly. Kit sat

motionless as Alec gently dabbed a wet cloth across his raw
cheek, wiping away mud and dirt. When the scrape was as
clean as he could make it, Alec knelt so that he could deal
with Kit’s torn knees. He had to scrub harder to clean out
the wounds, and Kit sucked in a noisy breath and flinched
away.

“I’m sorry,” Alec murmured, grabbing Kit’s wrist and

holding tightly. “It has to be done.”

Kit looked down at him; tears brimmed in his eyes, but

he held them stoically in check. He bit down on his lower lip
and nodded wordlessly, and Alec returned to the task,
wincing every time Kit did, but persevering until all the dried
blood and dirt was washed away.

“Good boy,” he whispered. He reached to cup a hand to

Kit’s cheek and used his thumb to wipe away a smudge of
dirt clinging to his eyebrow. Kit’s breath hitched again, and
Alec found himself looking into bright eyes filled with
gratitude. He stilled, one hand resting against Kit’s smooth
cheek, the other still encircling his wrist, watching as
gratitude turned to something else, something a good deal
more tender. When he heard a noise behind him, he glanced
up to see Robert leaning against the door frame, arms folded
across his chest, with an unreadable expression on his face,
and he dropped his hands guiltily.

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“Food’s ready,” Robert said, leveling a speculative look

at him.

Alec nodded and stood up, noticing the way Robert’s

eyes darted between himself and Kit as they cleaned away
the bowl of soapy water and the bloodied rags. “What is it?”
he asked, wondering how much Robert had seen, but Robert
just shook his head.

When the food arrived, they ate in silence. Alec kept his

eyes on Kit, cajoling him into eating when he would have
stopped after the first two mouthfuls, but it was clear that
whatever was bothering Kit had become more profound after
his failed escape attempt.

“I’m taking him upstairs, Robert,” Alec said when Kit

couldn’t be tempted by any more food.

Robert raised a questioning eyebrow, but he held his

peace, merely nodded and returned to his venison pasty.

Alec led Kit upstairs and into the chamber Yates had

secured for them. It was considerably smaller and gloomier
than last night’s room, with a tiny window above the bed,
but Alec decided it would do well enough.

Kit stood in the middle of the room, turning when Alec

closed the door. “Where do you want me?” he asked wearily.

Alec glanced over, taking in Kit’s sagging shoulders and

listless eyes, the livid bruise coloring his cheek, and his sad
air of resignation. He knew Robert would think he’d lost all
reason, but he couldn’t stand to see the young man any
more downcast than he already was. “Get in,” he muttered,
pointing to the bed.

Kit’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

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“The only way out of this room is through the door, and

Yates is sleeping outside tonight,” Alec explained.

Kit nodded his understanding. He stripped off his tunic

and tattered breeches and slid into the bed, groaning when
his torn flesh scraped across the rough cotton bedding. After
blowing out the candle and removing his outer garments,
Alec climbed in beside him. The bed was smaller than the
one they had shared last night, and he found himself settled
more closely alongside Kit. He rolled up onto his side.

“What did you figure out back there, before you ran?”

Alec asked.

Kit turned his head, and the single shaft of moonlight

shining through the window reflected off his dark eyes. “I
know that you’re taking me to Shrewsbury,” he said.

Alec started in surprise; the young man was sharper

than he’d suspected. “What’s awaiting you in Shrewsbury
that causes so much distress?” he asked.

“Don’t you know?” Kit replied, turning despondent eyes

on him. “You accepted the assignment.”

“I was sent to pick up a thief,” Alec countered. “You’ll

not deny I caught one.”

“And it never occurred to you to question the value of

this thief?” Kit asked.

“I’m questioning it now,” Alec said. “What is it that

makes you so important?”

Kit turned his head away. “I have absolutely no

importance, Captain,” he said bitterly. “I’m merely bait.”

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Alec frowned, no closer to understanding why he’d been

sent to arrest Kit, knowing only that something about this
assignment didn’t ring true. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he
blurted. He wasn’t sure it was within his authority to make
such a promise, but he knew he’d do everything he could to
safeguard the young man.

“You don’t even know what you’re up against,” Kit said

quietly.

“You’re under my protection,” Alec insisted.

Kit’s mouth quirked at the corners, but the smile didn’t

reach his eyes. “We’ll see,” he said softly, looking so bleak
that Alec knew he was hiding some terrible secret. He wished
he could reach out and reassure the young man, but he
knew that was impossible; lying this close to Kit’s warm body
stirred up too many confused emotions.

He turned his back and closed his eyes, but Kit’s face

seemed etched into his brain—hazel eyes wide and watchful
and filled with a melancholy that woke something deep
inside Alec’s heart. The image followed him into fitful sleep,
seeping into his dreams and melding with the disquieting
force of his growing attraction.

OME

time later, Kit woke with a start, momentarily

disoriented; then all his aches and pains screamed into life,
and memory flooded back. His escape had been thwarted,
and all he’d gotten for his trouble was a badly scraped body,
Robert’s increasing hostility, and doubtless a tightening of
security for the rest of the journey.

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He sighed heavily, nervously fingering the thick gold

chain at his throat. He comforted himself with the thought
that Marcus’s hunting party would be closing in; after all,
Robert and the captain had taken no pains to cover their
tracks, so they would be easy enough to follow. Kit wondered
why Weston had been sent on this assignment so perilously
uninformed and ill prepared, oblivious to the danger that
was bearing down on him. If Kit’s suspicions were correct,
then whoever had sent Weston knew of his affiliation to the
Sun League but had chosen not to share the information
with the captain. He supposed it had something to do with
Weston’s previous encounter with the League; there weren’t
many men who’d willingly go back up against them after
what he had experienced. Still, if Weston had been
purposefully kept in the dark and his life endangered, it
meant the man who’d sent him was ruthless, and that didn’t
bode well if Kit were to fall into his hands.

He turned onto his side, watching Weston’s sleeping

face, his eyes inevitably drawn to the scars on the man’s
chest. He reached out and ran a tentative finger over the
most livid, intimately acquainted with the pain Weston must
have suffered. Kit felt his throat tighten; there would be no
mercy if the captain fell into the League’s hands again; he
was surprised to realize just how much he cared. He didn’t
dare warn Weston—he couldn’t risk the captain evading the
rescue party—but Weston had shown him so much
consideration, and he seemed genuinely unaware of what
awaited Kit in Shrewsbury; Kit didn’t think he deserved the
dark fate that was moving through the night toward him.
Although he knew it wouldn’t sit well, Kit decided that when
the League inevitably caught up with them, he would plead

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with Marcus to spare Weston and his men. Marcus would
undoubtedly see it as defiance, but it would be worth
suffering his displeasure if it meant leniency for Weston.

He was still pondering the situation when the door

suddenly swung open and a shadowy figure entered. Kit was
about to shout out when he recognized Robert, who crossed
the floor quickly and bent over the captain, shaking his
shoulder.

“Alec, wake up. There’s trouble,” Robert whispered.

Weston sat bolt upright, fully awake. “What is it?” he

asked, swinging his bare feet onto the floor.

Robert cast a glance at Kit and bent to whisper directly

into Weston’s ear. Weston nodded briefly, then turned back
to Kit.

“Up,” he ordered. “Quickly.”

Kit scrambled out of bed and into his clothes, trying to

ignore the pain that shot through his skinned palms. He was
surprised when Weston grabbed his hands and held them
together in front, looping a leather thong around his wrists
and pulling it tight.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered. His heart hammered

against his rib cage. He guessed that this had something to
do with the rescue he’d been anticipating. Weston put a
finger to his lips, silencing him.

Kit found himself manhandled toward the door, Robert

leading the way with sword drawn. They walked swiftly down
the hallway, and at the top of the stairs, Robert stopped so
suddenly that Kit almost barreled into him. Robert held up a

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staying hand, and Kit felt the captain’s fingers dig into his
shoulder painfully.

Robert turned and gestured wordlessly, and the captain

pushed Kit past the staircase, then tugged at a door handle
and bundled them both into a small closet. Kit found himself
pressed up against a wall, the captain’s gloved hand clamped
across his mouth, as Weston pulled the door behind him,
leaving a sliver of a gap open.

A moment later Kit heard Robert’s muffled voice talking

to another man. Although he couldn’t hear the words, he
could tell from Robert’s belligerent tone that some kind of
argument had broken out.

Weston was pressed firmly up against him, and Kit

could feel the hard outline of his body and smell the lemon
scent of soap, and underneath that, an earthier musk. When
Weston shifted, their groins rubbed together briefly, and
despite the tension of the situation, Kit felt his prick stirring.

A trickle of sweat ran down his spine as he tried to pull

away, but he was trapped between the cool plaster wall
against his back and the captain’s warm body at his front.
He stilled, willing his traitorous arousal under control,
suddenly aware of Weston’s startled eyes seeking out his
own. The captain eased back slightly, a small frown creasing
his forehead, and Kit felt the heat of humiliation scald his
cheeks.

Weston tilted his head, and Kit could make out the

sound of a scuffle and a muted groan before the door was
wrenched open and Robert appeared, breathing hard.

“Out, now,” he ordered.

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Weston tugged, and Kit stumbled forward, freezing to

the spot at the sight of a man’s body sprawled halfway down
the stairs, dark red blood seeping slowly from his side.

“God’s wounds,” Weston cursed.

“This way,” Robert hissed. He pulled at Kit to make him

move, but Kit couldn’t get his leaden legs to work. The man
lying at his feet was his friend, Stephen, his sky-blue shirt
torn wide open to expose the Sun League’s sign tattooed over
his heart. Weston’s face paled horribly; then he turned
incredulous eyes on Kit.

“He’s alive. Now move!” Robert growled. Kit felt relief

wash through him as he stumbled down the stairs, the
captain following close on his heels. Stephen had always
shown him kindness and had protected him or patched him
up more times than Kit cared to remember when Marcus’s
towering temper was turned on him.

Once they reached the ground floor, the tavern seemed

to explode into action. The innkeeper appeared, his
nightgown stretched across his round belly, his eyes wide
with shock. Robert leaned in to whisper something into his
ear, and Kit recognized the leather bag filled with the
goldsmith’s coins that Robert pressed into his hand. When
Robert straightened up, he began to snap orders to Yates
and Hearst, who had appeared out of nowhere with swords
drawn.

The two soldiers ran back up the stairs, and moments

later they descended, dragging Stephen’s inert body behind
them, his head bouncing obscenely on each step. While they
set about binding his arms and legs, Weston bundled Kit out
of the door and marched him into the stable, and before he

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could protest, Kit had been boosted onto a horse’s back.
Weston paused long enough to tie the rope binding Kit’s
wrist to the pommel of his saddle; then he too mounted up.
Sweeping up Kit’s reins, he led them both out through the
gates, and when Robert and the two soldiers reappeared, the
whole party lit out, thundering westward along a dark dirt
track.

They rode steadily for what seemed like hours, though

the sun was barely skimming the horizon when they finally
stopped at the edge of a wooded glade. Weston dismounted
and strode toward him, untying him and dragging him down
off his horse as Robert crowded in behind.

“I think you’ve been keeping secrets from us, Kit,” the

captain said, his eyes drilling into Kit’s own.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kit stammered.

Weston’s eyes never left Kit’s face as he reached down

and tore open his shirt. “The sign of the Sun League,” he
said distinctly, his cool fingers brushing over the tattoo of
the sun engraved over Kit’s heart.

Robert cursed quietly. “Who are you?” he hissed.

“I’m nobody,” Kit said fervently. “My name is Kit

Porter—” He staggered back as Robert backhanded him
sharply across the mouth.

“Don’t lie, boy,” Robert growled.

Kit spat out a mouthful of blood and dragged his hand

across his lips. “My name is Kit Porter,” he repeated
doggedly.

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“And you’re a member of the Sun League,” Robert

growled. “And that man? He was sent to rescue you. Will
there be others?”

Kit nodded miserably. There was no way Marcus would

have sent Stephen by himself; doubtless he was just the
vanguard, meant to sniff out where Kit was being kept and
take the information back to the main rescue party.

“All right,” Weston said slowly. “At least we know what

we’re dealing with. Robert, we’re a day away from
Shrewsbury. Do you think we can evade them until we reach
the city walls?”

Robert nodded tersely. “We’ll give it our best damned

try.”

LEC

’

mind was teeming with a hundred questions, but he

couldn’t afford to stop and tease out the answers just yet.
He’d ordered his men off the main road, sure that they’d
never be able to simply outrun their pursuers, and they were
presently picking their way through the dense woodland in
the hope of throwing the Sun League off their trail.

Alec prided himself on his ability to read people, and it

was hard to reconcile the fact that Kit, this likable young
man, was allied to the most vicious gang of outlaws in the
country. Little was known about the League’s shadowy
structure or membership, but it was thought to have a toe in
every unlawful activity in the land. There were whispers that
the gang had spies in all the great houses and that

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everybody from magistrates to judges to half the government
was in their pocket.

Alec shuddered, reliving the horror of his own capture

and imprisonment by the League. He’d barely survived their
torment: the daily beatings, the threats, the humiliations
heaped one upon another. He knew he would have died
under the harsh treatment if Robert hadn’t risked his life to
free him.

By the time Alec called a halt, it was almost dark, the

way barely illuminated by the crescent moon glimmering
through the thick canopy of trees overhead. It was too
dangerous to consider pressing on, and they had yet to see
any evidence of their followers. Alec decided they could risk
stopping until first light.

They dismounted, all of them looking pale and haggard

after the fierce ride. Kit looked worst of all, clearly suffering
the effects of yesterday’s fall, aggravated by lack of sleep and
hours in the saddle. His face was almost white with
exhaustion, dark rings circling his eyes, and he moved so
clumsily that Alec knew he must still be in pain.

“Do you want a fire, sir?” Yates asked through

chattering teeth.

Robert frowned, but he was shivering as badly as the

rest of them, and the night would undoubtedly get colder. “A
small one,” he said reluctantly.

Yates nodded and wandered off to collect firewood, and

soon they were all huddled around the flickering flames,
holding their hands close to try to suck up some warmth.
Hearst pulled a pouch from his pack and distributed hard

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bread and salted cod, and silence reigned as they chewed the
tough fare.

When they’d finished eating, Hearst moved off to take

first watch, and Yates rolled himself in his cloak and lay
down, falling quickly into sound sleep.

Alec wiggled his fingers, trying to coax some life back

into them. He glanced at Kit, who was staring into the flames
as though entirely lost in his own world, shivering in his torn
shirt and flimsy tunic. Despite what he now knew about Kit’s
disturbing affiliations, Alec took no pleasure in seeing him
suffer. He unfastened the clasp on his thick woolen cloak
and swept it over the young man’s shoulders, encircling
them both. Kit looked around, startled out of his reverie, and
flashed a look of gratitude at Alec as he huddled into the
warmth.

“How long have you been with the League?” Alec asked,

breaking the deep silence.

“Three years,” Kit replied softly.

“How did you end up with them?” Alec asked.

Kit looked away. “My father died,” he mumbled.

“And you’ve done their bidding ever since,” Robert

sneered.

Kit chewed frantically on his lip, biting so hard that Alec

was afraid he’d draw blood. “I did what I had to do,” he
replied stonily.

Alec tried to draw him further on the subject, but he

clammed up and refused to answer any more questions.
Eventually he lay down, pulling the billowing folds of Alec’s

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cloak around him, and turning his face away, he was soon
fast asleep.

Alec stared into the dying fire, lost in thought, until

Robert stirred beside him.

“Did you know, Alec?” Robert asked.

“Know?” Alec asked, frowning.

“That he was Sun League?” Robert clarified.

Alec shook his head. “No, Arlen didn’t choose to mention

that,” he replied.

“But you think Arlen knows?” Robert pressed.

Alec was silent for a moment, pondering the question.

Eventually he sighed. “Yes, Robert. I think he knows. It’s
why he was so secretive about this assignment. Given my
history with the League, he likely thought I’d refuse if I knew
they were involved.” Alec winced, fancying he could feel the
scars on his body throbbing, although in truth they scarcely
bothered him these days. He had to acknowledge that Arlen
was right; if he’d known that this mission would pit him
against the Sun League, he would have turned it down.

“That arrogant bastard could have gotten us killed,”

Robert spat.

Alec glanced at Kit, wrapped up tightly in his cloak,

looking young and entirely harmless. “He’s Sun League,” he
muttered, still unable to believe it, though the sunburst
tattoo was clear proof.

“You have feelings for the boy, don’t you?”

Alec looked up, startled. Robert was watching his face

closely, but his tone was gentle, almost sympathetic. Alec

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thought back to the tavern and Kit’s slender body pressed
against him. Despite the danger, he had felt arousal coursing
through him, strong and insistent. For a moment he’d
thought Kit felt the same thing too.

He sighed. “Have I misread him so badly?” he asked,

sidestepping Robert’s question.

Robert shrugged. “I’d be willing to bet a month’s wage

that you haven’t. I’ve been at this a long time, and he isn’t
like any lawbreaker I’ve ever dealt with. It just doesn’t seem
in his nature.”

Alec glanced down again. “I don’t know what the Lord

Chancellor wants with him,” he said, “but I’d be willing to
bet it has something to do with his association with the
League.”

Robert shook his head. “I can’t see this ending well for

the lad,” he observed. “Whatever he’s mixed up in, I doubt
he’ll get the better end of the bargain.”

Alec’s eyes stayed fixed on Kit as he nodded. “I’m afraid

you might be right, Robert,” he said softly. “In fact, I’m
beginning to think this will end badly for us all.”

LEC

jumped as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, shaking

him out of a doze. He looked up groggily at Robert, who
quirked a tired smile at him and gestured toward the rising
sun. Alec groaned but sat up stiffly, disentangling himself
from the folds of his cloak.

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“We should press on,” Robert said. “We can be in

Shrewsbury by mid-afternoon.”

Alec nodded his agreement and struggled up, grimacing

as he stretched out the knots in his muscles.

Kit woke a moment later, looking bleary-eyed and

wretched. Alec silently promised that he’d see Kit was taken
care of as soon as they reached Shrewsbury, but there was
little help for it now but to push on as hard as they could.
They broke their fast while they struck camp, contenting
themselves with the last of the hard black bread.

They returned to the trail, and the morning mist had

barely burned off when Alec saw Kit’s back stiffen and his
head cock to the side. He strained his ears, trying to hear
what the boy did, but there was nothing other than the
sounds of their horses’ muffled hooves and a lark somewhere
off in the trees calling to its mate. Still, he kept a close eye
on Kit, and when his head snapped around and his eyes
went wide, Alec knew something was wrong.

“What is it?” he hissed, slowing his horse.

“They’re here,” Kit said, sounding certain.

Alec scanned the area closely, but he couldn’t see

anything to support Kit’s assertion.

“You won’t see them until they want you to,” Kit said, as

though reading his thoughts. “But they’re nearby.”

Robert edged closer, looking skeptical. “Alec?” he asked.

“We have little choice,” Alec said, through clenched

teeth. “We’ll have to make a run for it.”

“They’ll be armed,” Kit warned.

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“Then we’d better be sure to outride them,” Robert said

grimly. “Follow my lead.”

They made their way back to the road, and Alec

gestured to Yates and Hearst, who bunched up tightly
behind him. With Robert out front, and the narrow path
edged by high embankments, Kit was effectively surrounded.

At a signal from Robert, they spurred their mounts to a

hard gallop. Only then did Alec see what Kit had already
sensed—a party of four horsemen, emerging out of the forest
behind them like dark wraiths.

The two groups hurtled headlong, the hunting party

gaining ground irrevocably, until one of the men peeled off,
his mount scrambling frantically up the steep walls of the
embankment until it reached flatter land. It didn’t take long
for the lone horseman to gain ground on the grassy flats,
getting so close that Alec could plainly make out his features
and see his long black hair flowing behind him like a cape
fluttering in the wind. Kit chanced to turn his head, and
despite the furious pace at which they rode, Alec could see
that he flinched when he caught sight of their pursuer.

Alec’s stomach lurched as the man reached for a long

wooden bow and slowed marginally, just enough to take aim.
Alec’s eyes widened in shock, and he had sufficient presence
of mind to reach out and jerk Kit’s reins so that the arrow
missed its target, sailing past Kit and lodging in the fleshy
part of Alec’s shoulder instead. He yelled as the arrow
burned its way into him, but somehow managed to keep his
seat. Before the pursuer could fire off another shot, two
arrows whistled toward him as Yates and Hearst let fly.
Neither arrow hit its mark, but one glanced off the rider’s

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horse, and the animal stumbled, throwing the attacker to the
ground. Alec risked a quick glance behind him, noting with
relief that the other riders had slowed and were gathering
around the fallen bowman.

They galloped on wildly, Robert keeping up the

punishing pace long after they had shaken their pursuers,
and Alec had to grind his teeth together to stop from
screaming as the motion ground the arrow deeper into him.

Just when he thought he couldn’t travel another step,

he spied the high stone walls of Shrewsbury off in the
distance. He dragged at the reins, slowing his lathered
mount to a canter, and blindly followed Robert as he guided
them past the startled guards at the eastern gate and into an
open courtyard. He tugged his horse to a standstill and
kicked free of his stirrups, then slid sideways, thankful that
Robert was there to catch him before he crashed to the
ground. Robert lowered him onto the cobbles, swearing out
loud at the rivulets of blood that were now running freely
down his arm.

Robert barked out an order and one of the soldiers

dragged Alec’s pack down off his saddle and tipped the
contents onto the ground.

“Hold still,” Robert snarled. He wrapped an old shirt

around the shaft of the arrow and pulled, and Alec felt a
searing pain shoot down his left side. The last thing he saw
was Kit’s stricken face; then his vision blurred at the edges,
and he blacked out.

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hadn’t said a prayer since the day he’d watched his

father bleed to death, his insides slowly leaking through a
gash in his bloated stomach, but for the past few hours he’d
prayed with all his might. He’d sent up his first entreaty
when he’d heard the Sun League’s telltale call,
masquerading as a lark’s song, and he’d kept up a string of
pleas until the moment the arrow whistled past him and
thudded into the captain’s shoulder. After that there had
been only one petition: to keep Alec Weston alive.

The captain was lying on a sodden straw-filled mattress

in the tiny back room of a dingy boarding house, his face
drained of color, with a soiled bandage pressed into his open
wound. Robert was kneeling beside him, hands black with
dried blood, his face almost as ashen as the captain’s. “Come
on, Alec,” he muttered. “Fight!”

Kit stood on the other side of the bed, clutching the

arrow that had so recently lodged in the captain’s shoulder.
He’d seen the markings a hundred times before, the arrow
unnecessary proof of what he already knew: Marcus had
tried to kill him, and that could only mean that he’d figured
out that Kit’s arrest had been orchestrated as a move against
the League, and had decided to stop the threat in its tracks.

Alec suddenly groaned, the first sound he’d made since

passing out, and Robert pressed a wine skin to his colorless
lips, forcing some of the red liquid down the captain’s throat.
Weston swallowed, then choked, spitting wine everywhere.
His eyes flew open, and he sat up, coughing weakly.

Robert patted him on the back. “Alec, are you with me?”

he demanded.

Weston waved him away, his eyes searching for Kit’s.

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“You’re damned lucky he didn’t kill you,” Robert said. “A

few inches to the right….”

“Not me,” Weston croaked.

“You’re the one with the hole in you,” Robert reasoned.

Weston pointed, and Kit stepped back. “You,” he said.

“He was trying to kill you.”

Robert looked his way, a bewildered expression on his

face. “They’re trying to rescue him, Alec.”

“No,” Weston said sharply. “That arrow was meant for

him, not me.”

Kit stepped back farther as Robert leaped to his feet and

closed the distance between them, grabbing the front of his
shirt and pulling him close. “What in damnation is going on
here?” he snarled, clearly at the end of his patience.

“Robert,” Weston barked, then succumbed to another fit

of coughing. Robert let him go reluctantly, returning to
Weston’s side to try to coax more wine into him, but the
captain pushed him away.

“Tell us what’s going on, Kit,” he demanded.

Kit swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Last night they

tried to rescue me, but you stopped Stephen before he could
report back to them,” he said.

“And today?” Weston prompted.

Kit shivered. “Today they realized that rescue was

impossible. Today they decided the only way to stop me
getting to Shrewsbury is to kill me.”

“God’s wounds!” Robert hissed.

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“Who’s out there?” Weston asked, his voice surprisingly

gentle, though no less insistent for that.

“I can’t….” Kit started.

“Don’t lie to me, Kit,” Weston warned. “You recognized

him. I saw you.”

Kit bit his lip. “His name is Marcus de Crecy,” he

admitted reluctantly.

“De Crecy?” Robert said, his eyes going wide with shock.

“I thought he was just a legend.”

Kit shook his head, his stomach clenching when he

remembered the determined look on Marcus’s face as he
loosed the arrow.

“He’s rumored to be one of the most powerful figures in

the Sun League. Why would a man like that be after you?”
Robert asked.

Kit looked down at the ground, anything to avoid the

two pairs of eyes boring into him. “Because I’m his,” he
whispered.

“His what?” Robert snapped, his impatience riding back

in. Kit risked a glance at Weston and saw the startled look
on his face as understanding dawned.

“His property,” Kit said. “His possession, his boy. I’m

his!” He stopped, realizing that his voice had risen sharply.
Robert was staring at him, mouth agape, and he felt his face
burning with shame.

Weston struggled up into a sitting position. “It’s time

you explained what’s going on,” he said firmly. “We’re not
stirring another step until we’ve had the whole story.”

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Kit threw a look of appeal to Robert, but it was obvious

he’d get no help there. He turned his back and walked the
few steps to the empty grate, staring down at the cold ashes.
When it was obvious that he couldn’t stall any longer, he
pulled in a deep breath.

“When I was fifteen Marcus de Crecy and his men rode

through my village,” he said softly, shivering at the memory
of the thundering hooves clattering into the forecourt of his
father’s forge, and the swaggering group of young men who
dismounted. “My father was a blacksmith, and one of their
horses had thrown a shoe. I was working alongside him. De
Crecy took a fancy to me….” He trailed off, fighting the
nausea that rose up in him. De Crecy’s dark eyes had
sparked when they’d caught sight of him, and they’d scarcely
left his face the whole time his father worked to reshoe the
horse. Kit hadn’t been able to resist glancing up, mesmerized
by the stranger’s pale, pockmarked skin and the thick black
hair that framed his face, feeling a shiver of dread every time
he looked into those dark, lusting eyes.

When the job was finished, de Crecy threw a few coins

onto the workbench and leaned in to say something close to
his father’s ear. Kit could still conjure up the stricken look
on his father’s face, the way he recoiled as though he’d been
scalded, and the vigorous shake of his head.

“You’re sure?” de Crecy had asked, sounding almost

pleasant. “I usually get what I want.”

“I’m sure,” his father had said, the tremor in his voice

warning Kit that something was wrong.

De Crecy had simply shrugged and turned on his heel,

casting a last hungry look Kit’s way.

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“Later that night there was a fire at the forge,” Kit said

aloud, his back still turned to the two listening men. “My
father ran out. I was still half asleep. By the time I was able
to follow him, it was too late.” He didn’t elaborate, didn’t tell
of the knife he’d pulled from his father’s belly, the dark blood
that gushed out, the way his father howled like an animal
before dying. His mother arrived and pulled him off the body,
and they’d watched in helpless horror as the flames that
leaped through the forge consumed him. Kit had spent one
final night in his own home, stunned into silence, afraid to
close his eyes, because the image of his father’s gutted body
kept rising up before him.

Next day de Crecy had ridden back in, seemingly

solicitous as he leaned to whisper into his mother’s ear. Her
head reared, and she looked at Kit, her eyes glazing over
with fear, and this time there had been only nodding and
stammering assent. Moments later he was sitting astride de
Crecy’s horse, the man’s arms wrapped securely around him
from behind. When the noisy party galloped away, he’d
turned his head, taking a final look at his mother slipping
slowly away, her face a terrible mask of grief, her two
remaining children clinging tightly to her skirts.

“Your mother gave you to a stranger?” Robert said

incredulously.

“Not a stranger,” Kit said, turning finally. “Before he

spoke to my mother, Marcus revealed his tattoo. Everybody
recognizes the sign of the Sun League.”

“Did your father know?” Weston asked, his eyes filled

with a kindness that somehow hurt Kit’s heart.

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“I didn’t consider it at the time, but I think he must

have.” He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it then, but
in the long, painful nights that followed, it had occurred to
him that his father must have known; he’d certainly
recognized the danger if not the exact cause.

“And since then you’ve been… his?” A look at Robert’s

troubled face told him that the man had finally figured out
Kit’s standing with Marcus de Crecy.

“He gave me a week,” Kit said. “To mourn, or maybe just

to get used to the idea. Then he took me.” He turned his
head sharply, unable to stomach the looks on their faces.
Weston’s eyes were filled with sorrowful compassion;
Robert’s seemed to contain nothing but disgust. Kit didn’t
know which made him feel worse.

“And you’ve been with the League ever since?” Robert

asked.

“They don’t give you a lot of choice,” Kit said harshly.

“You didn’t try to run?” Robert pressed.

“Robert…,” Weston cut in.

“No, Alec. It’s a fair question,” Robert said. He turned

back to Kit. “In three years you never found the opportunity
to escape?”

Kit smiled weakly. “Of course I did,” he said.

“Then what…?”

“Take off your shirt,” Weston interrupted.

Kit backed up a step, shaking his head.

“Kit!” Weston barked.

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Kit jumped but continued to back away.

“For God’s sake,” Robert growled. He moved quickly,

catching hold of Kit’s already tattered shirt and yanking
hard. The material tore away easily, and Robert’s mouth
dropped open as Kit’s body was revealed. “Sweet Jesus,” he
breathed. He spun Kit around, and a gentle hand ghosted
over his back, barely touching the deeply grooved scars that
covered him.

“He did this?” Robert choked out.

Kit shrugged. He’d run more than once and been

dragged back each time. After the last attempt, the beatings
Marcus had given him had pretty much broken his spirit,
the scars so deeply embedded that they marked him still.

“Why does he want to stop you reaching Shrewsbury?”

Weston asked.

Kit shrugged Robert’s hand off him and turned. “Don’t

you think I should be asking you that question?” he
challenged.

LEC

stirred, lifting his eyes from the cold ashes lying in the

unlit grate, wondering how long he’d been standing here
daydreaming. He glanced across the quiet room. Robert was
slumped at the wooden table, his head resting on folded
arms, snoring quietly. Alec smiled ruefully; Robert had
pushed them all hard, but none harder than himself.

Kit was lying at the foot of the dirty pallet, curled into a

tight ball. Although dozing, he moved restlessly, as though

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peace eluded him even in sleep. Alec crossed the floor
quietly. He leaned over to twitch a corner of the rough
woolen blanket over Kit’s sleeping body, but that small
motion caused the boy to wake with a start.

“Hush,” Alec soothed. “You’re safe.”

Kit glanced around quickly, relaxing when he realized

where he was. Alec lowered himself slowly onto the edge of
the pallet.

“Is your shoulder better?” Kit asked, rubbing at his red-

rimmed eyes.

Alec rotated the joint, feeling stiffness but little real

pain. “It is, thank you,” he said. Robert had done a good job
under the circumstances, and he was hopeful that the
wound wouldn’t fester.

Kit smiled shyly, his whole face softening, and Alec felt

his heart thud against his rib cage. He glanced down, his
eyes drawn to the tattoo that Kit no longer took pains to
conceal. “The League must be pretty sure of itself,” he said,
“to mark you the way it does.”

Kit brushed his fingers over the yellow sun mark, then

looked pointedly at the Black Swan insignia on Alec’s
surcoat. “I’d say we were both in the service of arrogant
men,” he said wryly.

“It was the Lord Chancellor who ordered your arrest,”

Alec said, feeling it was the least he could do. “I’m sorry. I
didn’t know we’d put your life in danger. But at least he’ll be
able to protect you from de Crecy.”

Kit’s eyes widened. “By God, you really don’t know what

this is about, do you?” he whispered.

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Alec opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when he

heard the sound of horses clattering to a halt outside. Robert
raised his head, instantly awake, and Kit froze, his gaze
darting fearfully to the door.

Alec struggled to his feet again, ignoring the warning

twinge that shot down his side, and drew his sword, sending
up swift thanks that he was still able to wield his weapon.
Kit scrambled up, and Alec pushed him into the corner of
the room as Robert crossed to stand beside him, his own
sword drawn.

The door swung open, and Alec breathed a sigh of relief

as Anthony Arlen strode in with two armed guards at his
back. Arlen raised an eyebrow when he saw the blades
pointing in his direction. “Expecting somebody else?” he
asked coolly.

Alec lowered his sword, wondering briefly how Arlen had

known where to find them. Doubtless the guards at the city
gate had sent word; the Lord Chancellor’s web of spies was
formidable. Arlen looked around the room, his eyes lighting
when they fell on Kit. He stepped around Alec and crooked
his finger, and Kit reluctantly left the shadowy corner and
drew abreast of him.

“Kit Porter,” Arlen said, clearly satisfied. “Marcus de

Crecy’s catamite,” he purred.

Kit stiffened, and beside him Alec saw that Robert had

done the same.

“Did you know he was League, sir?” Alec asked.

“Of course,” Arlen replied.

“Yet you sent us to capture him without informing us.”

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Anger flashed in Arlen’s eyes, but he composed himself

before replying. “The League is a powerful and influential
group. The less you knew about this mission, the less
chance of infiltration and failure. Besides, I knew you’d be
able to handle yourself—”

“He almost got killed,” Robert cut in harshly. Alec laid a

warning hand on Robert’s sleeve.

“What do you want with the boy, my Lord?” Alec asked,

taking a step closer to Kit’s side.

Arlen pursed his mouth with displeasure, not used to

being questioned. “He’s the key to bringing down the Sun
League in this shire,” he said. “He’s been close to Marcus de
Crecy for three years. Extremely close,” he stressed, a cruel
smile thinning his lips. “I intend to use him to testify against
de Crecy and the League.”

Alec exchanged a bewildered look with Robert. “But that

will put his life in danger,” he said. “The League has already
attempted to kill him….”

“He’ll be quite safe under my protection,” Arlen said

dismissively.

“And if he won’t testify?” Alec asked, the acid in the pit

of his stomach supplying the answer before Arlen spoke.

“Then my interrogator will wring whatever information

he can out of the boy, and he’ll be hanged as a thief,” Arlen
said coolly.

Alec sucked in a startled breath, but Kit remained

strangely unmoved.

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Arlen turned. “You’ve done an excellent job, Captain,”

he said. “My men will take it from here.”

“My assignment is to deliver him to your palace,” Alec

said, pushing Kit behind him.

“For heaven’s sake, man, you’re wounded,” Arlen

snapped.

“I finish what I start,” Alec insisted.

Arlen’s eyes narrowed, but he shrugged. “I’ll expect him

before dark,” he said. “My men will escort you.” He turned on
his heel and stomped toward the door. “Don’t make me
wait,” he commanded before sweeping out, the two guards at
his heels.

As the door slammed behind him, Alec’s knees buckled,

and Kit made a grab for him, holding him up until Robert
could help lower him back to the stained mattress. His
wound had started to bleed again, and Robert cursed under
his breath as he pulled away the sodden material.

“What in the name of God are you doing to yourself?”

Robert snapped. “You need proper attention.”

“I’ll not hand him over until I know he’ll be safe,” Alec

hissed. He beckoned Kit closer, and the young man knelt
beside him, his head lowered.

“This is what you figured out,” he said with certainty.

“The reason for your arrest.”

Kit shrugged. “It was the only thing that made sense.

The only reason anybody would have any interest in me is
because of what I know about the League.”

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“I don’t like Arlen’s threats, but he’s offered to protect

you in exchange for de Crecy. It seems a straightforward
choice,” Alec said.

“It is,” Kit said calmly, his hazel eyes fixing on Alec’s

face. “I’ll be hanging in the town square before the week is
out.”

Alec recoiled. “You have to testify. After what that man

did to you—”

“For God’s sake, he killed your father,” Robert cut in.

“He spared my mother,” Kit corrected. “And my two

sisters and my whole village. Believe me, I know what
Marcus is capable of. I know what he could have done. But
he got what he wanted, and he left my family alone.”

“But if you talk, he’ll be brought to trial….”

Kit laughed, a short mirthless burst of incredulity. “If I

talk, everybody I know will be killed.”

“We can safeguard them, Kit,” Alec promised. “We’ll

throw a ring of steel around your whole village….”

“For how long?” Kit interrupted, color rising in his

cheeks. “A month? A year? Believe me, it won’t be long
enough to escape the League’s vengeance. And who will you
trust? Half the soldiers in your force are taking the League’s
coin.” He stopped abruptly, his whole body shaking with
emotion. Alec reached out instinctively to soothe him, but Kit
pulled away. “If I’m not hanging before the week is out, he’ll
presume I broke trust, and my mother and sisters will be
slaughtered,” he said, sounding totally resigned. “Don’t you
understand? There are no choices for people like me.”

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He stood up abruptly and crossed the room, turning his

back on Alec and Robert.

Robert shook his head, but he didn’t say anything, just

picked up a strip of clean cloth and began mopping the blood
from Alec’s seeping wound.

Alec dragged in a ragged breath. “This is not right,” he

muttered, righteous anger rising up in him. He caught
Robert’s eye, easily reading the emotions warring there. “You
know this isn’t right,” he repeated, more softly.

Robert shrugged. “Arlen’s a snake. Always has been,” he

said.

“And what of the men who do his bidding?” Alec

demanded.

Robert remained silent, but he looked deeply into Alec’s

eyes, and Alec recognized the moment when understanding
dawned.

“I won’t drag you into this, old friend,” he said quietly.

“There’s no point both of us ruining our lives…. God’s
wounds, man!” He flinched as Robert jammed the cloth into
his cut.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Robert

growled, with a look that could curdle milk. “This is as much
my fault as yours. I’m with you, whatever you decide to do.”

Alec nodded, abashed. “Thank you, Robert,” he

whispered, knowing he should have trusted his closest friend
to make the right choice for himself. “Help me up.”

Robert rose and helped hoist him to his feet. They

approached Kit, who turned around warily.

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“What’s going on?” Kit asked, his head swiveling

between Alec and Robert.

“Captain Weston has issued new orders,” Robert said

briskly. He glanced at Alec, a grin suddenly lighting his face.
“I believe the Lord Chancellor can go fuck himself,” he
declared.

Alec laughed, then turned to Kit, who looked completely

baffled.

“We’re getting you out of here,” he explained. “Arlen and

de Crecy can play this game without you.”

“But how—why?” Kit stammered.

“We’ll not be responsible for dragging you to your

death,” Robert said firmly. His voice gentled as he continued,
“And we’ll not see you returned to that monster. Alec here
has other ideas.”

Kit’s eyes grew round with apprehension, and Alec

reached out to gather him close. “Give me a chance, Kit. I’ll
make this right if you let me.”

Kit’s slender body trembled against his, but he managed

to nod. “I trust you,” he whispered; then his arms came up
to capture Alec in a long, fierce hug.

watched Captain Weston confer quietly with Robert, and

tried to quell the cautious optimism that had been steadily
rising over the past hour. There was still a world of trouble
ahead of them, and now they’d be dealing with Anthony
Arlen’s displeasure as well as Marcus’s ruthless pursuit.

The Mark of a Man | Maggie Lee

Still, it was hard to completely stifle the first tentative
stirrings of hope.

Robert was about to thin the ranks of the Lord

Chancellor’s guard by sending them on a fool’s errand along
with Hearst and Yates, creating the one slim chance they’d
get to slip away undetected. Kit couldn’t bear to contemplate
what would happen should they fail, and wasn’t sure if it
would be worse to fall into Arlen’s hands or to be recaptured
by Marcus.

Weston slapped Robert on the back, sending him on his

way. He turned and attempted a reassuring smile, but he
could only muster up a pallid imitation.

“We trust your family will be safe?” Weston asked,

stuffing their meager possessions into a pack.

Kit nodded. “The League’s only concern is that I don’t

talk,” he confirmed. “If word got out that Marcus killed my
family even though I kept the faith, there would be a mutiny.
Threatening our families assures our compliance and our
silence—”

“But in return the League supports them through harsh

times and guarantees their safety,” Weston finished. “Aye,
it’s that kind of stranglehold that the Lord Chancellor finds
impossible to break. It’s why the League is so powerful.”

Weston looked around the room, seemingly satisfied

with what he had packed. He glanced down at himself and
hesitated before pulling off his surcoat and staring at the
Black Swan insignia, momentarily lost in thought. Kit held
his breath, wondering if the captain was having second

The Mark of a Man | Maggie Lee

thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I know what this will
cost you.”

Weston looked up, startled. “It’s the right thing to do,”

he assured, smiling weakly.

“But your home, your family. You’ll be leaving all that

behind,” Kit protested.

Alec held up a staying hand. “We know what lies

ahead,” he said steadily. “Besides, Robert and I have lived on
the road for years, and he’s the closest thing I have to
family.” He took one last look at the insignia, then dropped
the surcoat unceremoniously onto the dirt floor.

Kit crossed the room, coming to stand directly in front of

Weston. “Are you only doing it because it’s the right thing,
Alec?” he asked hesitantly, testing the name for the first
time.

Alec sucked in a sharp breath. “I have other reasons,”

he confessed. He reached tentatively and cupped Kit’s cheek.
Kit grabbed his hand and held it in place, elated to see his
own desire reflected back in the deep blue pools of Alec’s
eyes. He savored the moment, turning his head to place a
kiss against the callused palm, feeling relief flood through
him.

He hated to break the spell, but he needed Alec to make

this decision with his eyes wide open. He lowered their joined
hands and took a step back. “I don’t think Marcus will give
up easily,” he said softly. “He’ll send others after me.”

“He tried to kill you, even though he knew you wouldn’t

betray him,” Alec said, his brow furrowing.

The Mark of a Man | Maggie Lee

Kit shrugged. “I was his problem to deal with as he saw

fit. Now that I no longer pose a threat, he’ll try to reclaim
me.”

Weston nodded slowly. “It doesn’t change things…,” he

began.

“If he catches up to us, I fear for you, Alec,” Kit cut in.

“He isn’t a very forgiving man. You of all people know what
the League is capable of when it’s crossed.”

Alec met his gaze levelly. “We’ll cross that bridge if we

have to,” he said. He reached again, and this time he wound
his fingers in the links of the gold chain at Kit’s neck. “This
was his,” he stated.

Kit nodded. The chain had always weighed heavily, part

gift, part mark of ownership, branding him as surely as the
tattoo in the shape of the sun that had been carved over his
heart within days of his abduction. Alec’s gaze held his for a
moment; then he yanked hard. The fine clasp bit into the
back of Kit’s neck, resisting Alec’s force, then it suddenly
gave way, and the hated symbol dropped to the floor.

Alec kicked the chain aside, heaping it against the Black

Swan tunic he had discarded. He leaned in, his dry lips
brushing a chaste kiss against Kit’s cheek. “We’ll both start
afresh,” he murmured.

Kit rested his hands on Alec’s shirtfront, feeling the

raised grooves against his palms. They’d never be able to
fully escape their pasts—they’d always be marked men,
hunted down by one side or the other—but at least they
understood each other, and they’d travel the road together.

The Mark of a Man | Maggie Lee

When Robert walked back in, they were packed and

waiting. “Ready?” he asked. He shouldered the bag Alec had
stuffed with supplies; then the three of them gathered by the
door. “We all know our roles?” Robert asked.

Kit nodded. Robert reached out, and all three of them

clasped hands. “Here’s to our future together, whatever it
might hold.”

“To our future,” Kit echoed. He caught Alec’s eye and

returned his affectionate smile; then he followed his friends
into a brand-new life.

About the Author

AGGIE

discovered historical fiction when she was in

her teens, and soon after stumbled across the world of M/M
romance; she now takes great delight in combining both
passions in her writing. Her interest in history is wide-
ranging, from medieval Europe to America’s Old West to the
ancient worlds of the earliest civilizations.

When not reading or writing, Maggie enjoys traveling and
watching movies, and she’s never met a musical she didn’t
like!

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Reese Dante

http://www.reesedante.com

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite
244-149, Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

Released in the United States of America
August 2011

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-002-8

Document Outline

The Mark of a Man
About the Author
Copyright

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