Pretender's Fate

Young William Howard approached the gates of Roxburgh Castle with some trepidation. He had been in London these last ten years, receiving an English education and serving as squire in the new King Edward II's court, the previous Edward having died seven years previously. Since he had left Scotland ten years earlier as a boy of eight, William had grown into a man. And it was a refined English man he had grown into rather than the rough, perpetually on-the-edge English overmaster of the Scots he may have become if he'd stayed in the northern border region.

It was this that William was a bit worried about. He knew the difference between the courtly education in chivalry and play fighting he had been taught in the English court and the reality of the brutal life—and what that required of a man—on the Scottish border. He only hoped that his father, the distant in more than miles Sir Thomas Howard, would be patient with him and would mold him in what was required to command an English bastion in Scotland. He knew that someday this would be what he was called to do when his father fell by the wayside.

He caught a glimpse of Sir Thomas, descending the stone stairs from the keep into Roxburgh Castle's interior courtyard as he rode under the portcullis in the shadows of the gated entry into the castle. The man stood tall and William could see the smile on his face. It would be all right.

But then it wasn't all right. As they came closer and William pulled himself down from his horse, the expression on Sir Thomas's face change dramatically to surprise, horror, and then disgust, and the lord of Roxburgh turned and his heels and ascended the keep stairs once more. William was left, perplexed, standing in the courtyard. The other knights gathered around him, though, welcomed him heartily, and turned immediately to unpacking his horse.

"You needn't mind Sir Thomas," a grizzled old knight, who William barely remembered from his earlier years at home as always having been kind to him, whispered. "He has been strange of late. Stick close to the older knights, lad. They will see you through. Their hope is in you now."

Although relieved to see that there was some support for his return—in the end, even though his father had showed it in a peculiar way, William wasn't surprised by his cold reception—William did ponder on why it was the older knights he should trust rather than the younger ones. He represented the younger blood in the family. He would have expected his support, if there was any, would come from the squires and younger knights.

William had been wary of his return from court and the reasons for that, which he was afraid had reached the ears of his father. Thus, he perhaps was more surprised at the smile he had first seen on his father's lips than with the cold rejection he subsequently received. The mixed reception meant perhaps that his father had not been told that William had been sent home from the court—and why. He had, completely innocent himself, been caught up in the court intrigue for the favor and ear of the king, Edward II. William's downfall had been that he was too fresh and comely looking. The king had first had him while sitting on a throne in his bed chamber, William having been called there on some squirely duty, he was told, but really because he had caught the king's eye. William was stripped down under the king's gaze, while the monarch licked his lips in anticipation, and was just settled on the king's cock, facing away from him, while the chamberlains watched a shocked and sobbing William being pulled up and down on the king's cock with the king's hands leveraging the fuck by grabbing the young man's willowy waist.

There was nothing William could do in resistance. Edward was the king.

On subsequent visits to Edward's chamber, William was expected to become more active himself, first feet flat on the arms of the throne and gripping the arms with his hands as he raised and lowered himself on the king's staff as the king covered his nipples with his hands. And then, as they became more comfortable with each other, William facing the king, with his back resting on the king's thighs and his legs running up the king's chest, as Edward gripped his waist and pulled him on and off the cock. For one night—and one night only—Edward took William to his bed and lay between William's legs and fucked him twice in the night, promising that there would be a place for William in his bed henceforth. After that night, though, William never saw the king again.

His failing was that he became too much the favorite of the king. The king's councilors, wary of public knowledge of the king's proclivities even though they provided for his needs and in later years used his preference against him, did not let him keep a young man in this special service for long. William was sent from the court, although not before having been turned over to the tower guard detachment for two nights to be used by any and all who had such an interest. He had no idea what, if any reason, was given to his father for his having been expelled from court.

It had been the two nights of being gang cocked by the tower guards that had given William a taste for the rough fucking. Rather than breaking his spirit, it had sharpened his desires.

It didn't take longer than the meal in the great hall on the evening of his return to Roxburgh to show William what the old knight had meant. The younger knights minced around Sir Thomas like strumpets, and when the meal was over, he took his pick of them and the two of them went off to Sir Thomas's bed chamber arm in arm. Immediately afterward, most of the others blended back in with the older knights, acting more manly and letting their eyes dart around the chamber, taking everything and everyone in and endlessly spinning their schemes for position.

All day long on that first day home, William had wondered when his father would pounce concerning William's behavior at court, an occurrence that never arose. When that was not worrying him, he was thinking of what the old knight had said about who he should trust and who he should not trust—and the combined fear and lack of respect the elder knights held for his father. Seeing his father leaving the hall with one of the younger knights showed Thomas to be no different from the king. Little doubt was left to William that this was a pit of vipers. For the first time, though, he felt right at home. This was little different from the court in London. It was only as he was traveling between there and Roxburgh that he was able to lodge in the meaner manors and see what English family life could be about. He had the presence of mind to wish for that and to appreciate the English at the lower ranks of the nobility.

William's father didn't ignore his son—not entirely—but he continued to be cold toward him. William, naturally, was set at the high table and was given every deference due the heir of the lord—Sir Thomas seemed to be as aware that this was his only heir as anyone else was—but few words passed between the two in the days leading up to the Christmas celebrations.

Whenever they were at table, however, and before Thomas became besotted with drink and his choice of bed companion for the night, William felt that Thomas's eyes were on him, assessing him, but with an edge of hate. But every time William looked at his father, the man turned his face away.

It thus was with great surprise the evening that Thomas looked upon his son at high table and announced that they—just the two of them—would be hunting in Roxburgh Forest the next day for a wild boar or two for the Christmas night meal.

"Just the two of us, Father?" William had asked.

"Yes. It is time for us to get to know each other better and learn to work together. I wish to know you very well."

William thought the hunt plans were very unusual, as his father did nothing without a full retinue around him—mostly of the young men he was lavishing his attention and favors on. And, indeed, when he descended to the courtyard the next day, there was a sizable entourage mounting up.

But to his surprise, the entourage stopped and started setting up camp at the edge of the forest. Only Sir Thomas and his son would go in.

William was elated, seeing this as his chance to show to his father that he, indeed, had become a man and one having the promise of being a warrior and a strategist.

The strategist idea worked out well enough. It was William who sensed the presence of the boar and who silently sketched out a promising plan of attack in the dirt with a stick while his father smiled and nodded his approval.

The plan, however, brought William in the line of vision of the boar before his father was fully in place to attack the animal from his flank, and the boar raced toward William in full tilt and with angry snorts. But then Thomas was at the side of his son, pulling him away and throwing him to the ground while at the same time setting the butt of his spear into the ground and holding fast with his strong arm as the boar rose for the pounce and impaled itself on the spear.

The force of the animal meeting the spear head forced Sir Thomas off balance too, and he was thrust aside and landed full on top of William.

The two men lay there for a bare second, Thomas looking down into the eyes of William, fully sprawled out on the smaller body of the younger man, both men panting heavily.

With just an instant of eye contact, with William clearly seeing the lust in the older man's eyes, Thomas grabbed the edges of William's doublet and ripped it open, exposing the younger man's lithe but well-muscled chest, heaving now not only from the act of being winded by the boar's charge but also from the shock of what his father was doing—and at the mixed look of lust and hate in the older man's face.

Before William could react further, his father had lowered his face to William's and was taking his mouth in a possessive, cruel, deep kiss.

William pulled his face away. "Father!"

"What's good enough for the king is good for me. And I be no father of yours," Sir Thomas roared. And then he backhanded William's face, snapping the young man's head to the side. Thomas already had his other hand between their bellies, ripping at the lacings of his own breeches and pulling on William's lacings and then pulling William's breeches over his hips.

William struggled, calling out "Father!" again.

Thomas's hands went to William's throat, and he squeezed until he felt the young man go limp. When he released his hands, William let out a gasp and tried to rise up. Thomas punched him in the face and William blacked out.

He came to again with a cry and a gasp, as Thomas's cock, its head already having purchase inside William's entrance, plunged up inside his channel. William's arms were raised above his head and his wrists were bound around the thin trunk of a tree. A rolled-up blanket from the saddle of one of the horses was wedged under the small of his back, raising his pelvis to the desired angle of Thomas's thrusts. William's legs were splayed out and his knees raised, his feet flat on the matted ferns below. Thomas was on his knees between William's legs. William's leggings were off and his doublet had been ripped open. Thomas's doublet was open too, revealing a massive, hairy chest. His breeches were still in place but the lacings were undone and the material pulled wide from his groin. Thomas's teeth were on one of William's nipples and his cock was pounding, pounding, pounding inside William.

Fully awake now and in pain throughout his body, William started to writhe and struggle.

"Do I have to put you out again?" Thomas growled.

With a whimper, William stopped struggling and tried to relax. And as he relaxed, he felt the pleasure and his own arousal creeping in. He had been fucked by the king, but, as a man, the king was not what Thomas was. Even with the king, though, he was afraid of his attraction of having a cock churning inside him. Even that was a pleasure he had experienced long enough to want more. But he also had not wanted to come back to his father wanting the attentions of other men. He wanted to be the strong warrior leader his father was. He wanted to forget what his king did with young men—just as he had been told to do when he was expelled from the court.

But he had found that his father lay with men himself. And now he was claiming not to be his father. What was that about? And . . . and, to William's consternation, Thomas

had

known that the king had been inside him.

"Wanting it now, are you?" Thomas muttered. "Going with me now. You want it. Your cock tells me that too. I cock better than Edward, don't I?"

William moaned in an obvious admission of Thomas's challenge, which brought a guttural laugh to Thomas's lips.

Sure enough, William realized that his pelvis was moving with Thomas now. His heels were on Thomas's calves, rubbing up and down them in rhythm with the thrusts. His cries and grunts and groans were giving way to deep moans. The staff was deep inside him, making his channel walls shimmer, his whole body to tremble. On each withdrawal of Thomas's cock, William was lifting his pelvis, as if he was trying to stay with the shaft, keep as much inside him as he could for as long as possible. And when it thrust deep again, he arched his back and moaned deeply.

"Yes, yes, yes," William whimpered through gasps.

And his cock. He was hard, as Thomas was observing. Thomas was fisting the cock and pulling on it, to the rhythm of the fuck. Feeling William going with him now, though, he loosened his grip, and William was fucking his hand with his cock. Thomas bit into his nipple lightly and, with a sharp cry, William came.

Thomas fucked on, though, with William going with the rhythm until he too shuddered and came deep inside William's channel.

The two lay there, panting, without moving for several minutes.

"You say you are not my father," William whispered at last. He was trying to find a balance—and some sense of understanding—in the glorious horrors he was experiencing. He wanted men to fuck him. This had released him to that knowledge. King Edward had fucked him—and more than once. But William had felt nothing but helplessness and obedience when the king had fucked him. And it was nothing that William had sought out or desired.

In contrast, guiltily, he wanted

this

man to fuck him again. Even the brutality of it had been arousing to him to heights he'd never experienced before in any taking by Edward or the tower guards or any of the experimenting he'd done with other men or had provided to himself. He was overwhelmed by the horrors of this man not being his father, of him not really being William Howard, heir to the Howard holdings and titles. Equally, however, he suffered the greater horror of knowing that he would still want the cock of this man who had just fucked him to glory deep inside him even if Thomas really was his father. He would not have cared that he had been fucked by his father and would still have wanted to be fucked by him again.

"I saw it as soon as you returned home. It's written all across your face. I should have known that that bitch and the bastard had been at each other when he was a guest under my roof—just as later at the burning of Ayr. She had said she was taken by force after the burning, but I knew better."

"I don't understand."

"You are Robert the Bruce's bastard. You are the spitting image of him when he was younger and hadn't been knocked around so much."

"But . . . father. I'm sorry, I guess I can't call you—"

"You can and you will, damn it all," Sir Thomas roared. "I must have an heir or I must watch my back every minute of the day. Without the line, I am nothing to these men in the castle. You will continue to be my heir and will inherit, if you can survive that lion's den back there as well as I have to. But I will continue to spike you, I will. You are one of the best lays I've ever had."

And, indeed, Thomas was taken with William. He had originally planned to fuck him only to put him in line and as a vengeance on Robert the Bruce—and because he wanted to go where the king had gone. But he had found in William a supple, soft body yielding perfectly to his lusts. Not that he wasn't well muscled, but he wasn't grizzled as even the squires quickly became in the wild regions of Scotland. William's was almost a boyish body. He smelled sweet. He made arousing sounds in the fucking. His body could be manipulated into positions that gave Thomas great pleasure and deep access. And, once resigned to it, the young man had been a succulent morsel, yielding to Thomas's desires and demands in just the right ways and degree. He was a natural vessel for a man's cock and desires.

"Yes," William murmured.

"Yes what? What do you mean by 'yes'?"

"Yes, please cock me again. Again and again."

"And you will not struggle against it?"

"No. I want it. You were right. I want it. I want it again now. I feel you rise inside me. You can cock me again now."

"More's the pity."

"About what?"

"Your letting me have it. Not fighting me. But mayhap that's for the best. Sometimes when I have to take it, I forget my own strength."

"Can you untie me, though?"

"You don't like being taken bound?"

"I think I would like that on occasion, yes. Even something rougher. But now I want my hands free. I want to feel your muscles move as you cock me."

Plastered chest to chest, trying to melt into each other, only their pelvises moving in a deep, long-thrusting fuck, William dug his fingernails into Thomas's shoulder blades and wrapped his legs around the small of his lord's back, and he moaned his deep moans of the second hard and thick taking.

When Thomas was done this time, he rose from a murmuring and whimpering William, adjusted his clothing, and pulled the spear out of the boar.

"Go back to the encampment and bring men here to carry this boar. I will be going off in that direction in search for a second one. Send Miles to me there."

Miles. One of Thomas's favorite young knights, barely older than William. More warrior hardened than William.

"Will you fuck Miles when you have your next boar?" William asked. He tried to keep the whine out of his voice but was not completely successful.

"Yes, I will, and it is none of your say that I do. You are a sweet fuck, but Miles is an experienced lover. And this is the last time you question who and when I choose to fuck. This is as much a question of retained loyalty as it is of lust. It is a lesson you will need to learn quickly if you are to survive in Scotland. This is not the court of London."

Thomas stood menacingly over William until the younger man lowered his head, accepting that he had been put in his place—and possibly he now needed sex from Thomas more than Thomas needed sex from him. When it was evident that William was cowed, Sir Thomas turned and moved with deliberation toward the west.