Page 16 of By Marsh and By Moor (Marsh and Moor #1)

“…and for the labouring man, of course, there is nothing better for the soul than good, healthy work in the fields, as I always tell my parishioners,” the parson finished. “Don’t you think so, good sir?”

This was addressed not to Jed but to the middle-aged travelling salesman who was the only other passenger in the covered waggon making its ponderous way along the Exeter road.

The salesman did not respond, but only shifted to get more comfortable on the bench where he was crammed in between a sack of wool and a parcel of newspapers.

Solomon was on the driving box, and Jed was in the waggon with the passengers, lost in his own thoughts.

What were the odds that he and Solomon would have the waggon to themselves when they stopped for the night?

The parson, surely, would take a room at the White Swan Inn, but the middle-aged salesman looked like the class of man that might want to save his pennies and sleep in the waggon with the waggoners.

“Bishop Stafford reminds us that the working man’s long day of toil is his best protection from life’s temptations,” the clergyman went on. “From drink, idleness, loose women… As a matter of fact, I have a copy of the good bishop’s sermons with me. Perhaps I may—”

“I’m liable to be ill if people talk at me when I’m travelling,” the salesman said. “It’s the rocking of the waggon, you see.” He put a handkerchief over his face.

The parson glanced at Jed, who quickly turned his head to look at the road ahead. “Hill’s coming up,” he said.

The salesman groaned, but they all got out to lighten the load as the six sturdy horses dragged the heavily laden waggon up the hill.

They reached Copplestone Cross just as the sun was setting.

The White Swan was one of the busiest inns on the Exeter road.

When they pulled into the yard, the ostler who came out to greet them was a grizzled little man known to Jed of old.

“Lord above, it’s been years since I’ve seen you on this road, friend.

I thought you must surely be dead. Weren’t you the Ledcombe carrier, before? ”

“I’m working out of Barnstaple now.”

“So I see, so I see.” He turned to bellow through the taproom’s open window. “Carrier from Barnstaple’s here.”

The clergyman had climbed down from the waggon, and now he addressed himself to the ostler. “Is there a bed free, my good fellow?”

“There is indeed.”

“Excellent,” the salesman said. “I’ll come with you to find the landlord, parson.”

The two passengers disappeared into the inn. Jed met Solomon’s eye. They didn’t have time to speak—the first people were already hurrying from the inn, clamouring for their goods and parcels. But anticipation shivered down Jed’s spine.

An hour later, he and Solomon were in the taproom. They’d fed, stabled, and brushed the horses, and washed the mud of the journey from their own bodies. Now they were sitting down to a hot meal.

Solomon raised his tankard with an ironic tilt of the head. “Here’s to a healthy day’s labour. I hear it’s good for the soul.”

Jed let out something that was halfway between a huff of laughter and a groan. “To think we’ll have that parson fellow in the waggon again tomorrow.”

“So, did your day of toil divert your thoughts from the paths of temptation?”

Jed looked him up and down. Solomon sat lounging back against the wall, head bare and neckerchief loosened, legs stretched out under the table so that his calves brushed Jed’s. The corner of his lip twitched.

Jed’s mouth curved in an answering smile. “No, I can’t say as it has.”

He brought his tankard to his lips, thinking of promises of things to come.

In the meantime, sitting here and talking was its own pleasure.

On board ship, he’d been entirely self-sufficient, neither avoiding nor seeking out company.

For five years, he’d clung to the idea that he was only there temporarily; for a man who was just passing through, there was no point making close friends.

But with Solomon, it was different. Over the past few weeks, Jed had found himself telling Solomon things he’d never expected to tell anyone else.

And if Solomon didn’t always seem able to do the same…

well, maybe that was something that would come in time.

The taproom was crowded, but they had a table to themselves, a little space of their own. As they talked, they had to raise their voices above the raucous laughter and singing that had broken out at a nearby table, where a group of travellers were in their cups.

“You used to work at an inn like this, didn’t you?” Jed said.

“A London coaching inn, yes. Bigger nor this one, even. Upward of twenty coaches a day. No waggons, though.”

“And… don’t you miss it? I mean, you were head ostler, weren’t you? It was you giving the orders, and now you’re a hired man in a carrier’s yard.”

Solomon gave this due consideration. “It don’t bother me as such, no. Maybe I’ll have a position like that again someday. But maybe someday’s a long way away.”

“So…”—this was Jed’s real question—“you don’t expect to leave Barnstaple any time soon?”

“Well, Wallace has become uncommon friendly with the barmaid at the Boar, so he’s not keen to leave. And as for me”—he met Jed’s eye—“I have reasons of my own to stay.”

It was an unlooked for but very welcome gift, and pleasure warmed Jed’s innards.

Over the years of his adult life, he had taken many drinks in many inns and alehouses, some of them with carnal intent. But none of those evenings had ever been like this one.

“What are we doing?” he asked abruptly.

“I don’t know, but I’d like to go on doing it.”

Jed swallowed. “So would I.”

Their plates were empty, and the chatter and carousal around them faded into the distance, so that there was nothing in Jed’s world but Solomon and himself.

“Another drink?” Jed said, nodding at their empty tankards, not actually expecting Solomon to say yes.

Solomon shook his head. They left the taproom together. Outside, the cool night air tingled on Jed’s skin. Solomon was inches away, and the back of his hand brushed Jed’s.

They separated, Jed to look in on the horses, while Solomon made the rounds of the waggon.

The horses snickered softly as Jed passed through the stables.

His chest was tight with expectancy. With a light step, he left the stables and crossed the yard to the stony ground behind the inn where they’d left the waggon, nodding to the sleepy-eyed stable boy on duty.

By the light of his lantern, he threaded his way through the empty carriages and carts drawn up there until he reached Solomon.

They climbed into the waggon together, pulling the canvas door shut behind them. Jed hung the lantern from its hook, ensuring that its light would cast no betraying shadows on the canvas.

He turned to Solomon, who was watching him in silence, face shadowed in the lantern light. He looked perfectly calm, save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

“Lie down,” Jed said. “Get them breeches off first.”

Silently, Solomon stripped off his clothing. They had cleared space on the floor for their blankets, and Solomon stretched out on them.

Jed put his hands to his neckerchief, but didn’t pull it loose.

Instead, he just stood, unmoving, for a moment.

It was a sight to take his breath away: Solomon lying on his back, head pillowed on his raised arm, his naked body all planes and angles in the dim light, his prick rapidly stiffening, his warm, grey gaze fixed on Jed.

Jed swallowed. Slowly, he began to strip under that intense gaze. He laid his shirt and breeches aside, but then he paused. It was tempting to join Solomon on the blankets, to press his body over Solomon’s, to let the night unfold. But there was something he had to ask first.

Solomon was a man who liked to be obliging. Jed had noticed that about him on more than one occasion: he did what he thought people wanted of him. What assumptions had he made about what Jed wanted?

Jed had a feeling that Solomon would go along with whatever he suggested. And that wasn’t going to work between them for more than one night.

“What do you want?” he said bluntly. They were speaking in low voices, even though there was no risk of being overheard.

Solomon gave him an amused look. “Didn’t we have this conversation once already? I have broad tastes—I don’t doubt I’ll like whatever you do.”

“You said something about me, driving into you…” Desire shot through him at that tempting thought. Deliberately, he banked it for the moment. “Is that your preference? Or had you liefer take the other part?”

Solomon propped himself up on his elbows. He wore a faintly puzzled air. “I took it that you would… That is, whatever you like.”

“I’m quite fond of being on the receiving end of a good rogering myself,” Jed said experimentally, his eyes fixed on Solomon. He noted the hitch in Solomon’s breath at his words, and went on, “You, sliding inside me. Tight as a glove around you.”

Solomon’s prick jerked. His throat moved as he swallowed. “Yes. That.”

The air in the waggon was heavy with desire.

“All right.” Jed knelt over him, straddling him but not touching him yet. “Let me see you frig yourself.”

Obediently, Solomon put a hand to his shaft and began to stroke himself, slow and tight. Jed knew, now, what those long fingers felt like. He studied Solomon, noting how he liked it, storing up the knowledge for future use.

Solomon’s head fell back, face slackening, eyes losing focus.

“Stop,” Jed said. “That’s enough.”

Solomon groaned, but his hand stilled. He met Jed’s eye, his lips twisting wryly.

Jed grinned at him. “I’ll need that stiff prick of yours later.”

That won him a strangled laugh. “At—at your service.”

Jed leaned forward, bracing himself on his hands. He lowered his body over Solomon’s, chest to chest, bending his head to claim a kiss.