Page 25

Chapter 1

It was past six a.m. when Colin MacDuff followed his boyfriend, Andrew, up the spiral staircase of the Auld Keep’s watchtower. Technically that made it morning, but in Scotland on the thirty-first of December, the sun couldn’t be arsed to make an appearance until nearly nine. Which meant it was still pure dark and freezing where they were headed.

The rest of the guests at Dunleven Castle, along with Andrew’s family and its staff, were away to bed after the midnight wedding and its extra-long reception. A beautifully brutal snowstorm had left them all stranded at the castle overnight. No one had complained.

“I’m ecstatic to finally bring you up here,” Andrew said, his red plaid kilt swishing with each step. “You’re going to absolutely perish from the view.”

Colin smirked at the hyperbole. Lord Andrew Sunderland, second son of the Marquess of Kirkross, was known to the press as a professional drama queen. Most people thought it an act, but Andrew was equally grandiose in private. He was always and forever himself, and Colin loved him for it.

Not that he could resist having a go at him.

“I’ll ‘perish,’ aye?” Colin asked. “After all your nursing care this year, you’re gonnae bump me off on Hogmanay? Dramatic irony, so it is.”

“Shut it.”

Colin did shut it. Andrew laughed at most of his stupid jokes, but never those about Colin’s brush with death and slow crawl back to life. Colin was ready to put all that behind him now, to start the new year as his old self, both on and off the football pitch.

Andrew reached the top of the stairs. “Ah, lovely. The staff think of everything.”

In the glow of the wall sconces, Colin saw Andrew holding a snow shovel. “Let me do it.”

“I’ve got it.” Andrew pushed at the tower’s exit. The door opened only a few inches, no doubt blocked by the freshly fallen snow. “You shouldn’t strain yourself.”

“It’s what I live for. Stand back.” Colin gave the door a crushing shoulder tackle, the sort he couldn’t wait to deliver on an unsuspecting defender. The door surrendered with a groan.

Andrew brushed past him through the exit. “I do wish you’d be careful.”

“And I wish you’d let me shovel.” Colin followed, trying to grab the tool. “You’re still in formalwear. The best man shouldnae do manual labor. You said yourself, your job was to look pretty and…”

Colin trailed off as he caught sight of the view. The sky had cleared, providing a black velvet backdrop for an obscene amount of stars. But it wasn’t what was above that captured his attention.

Like most medieval castles, Dunleven sat on a hill, the better to see approaching enemies. Until now Colin had never appreciated just how high that hill was. All of Fife stretched before him, from the glittering lights of Dunfermline and Kirkcaldy to the black expanse of Loch Leven.

Closer still lay the five thousand acres Andrew’s family had sold off to pay the estate’s crippling debts, land that included the cozy boathouse Andrew’s parents had promised would be his forever. Colin wondered if it pained him to set eyes on this view now.

“I told you you’d love it,” Andrew said. “And look, the wind has cleared a path to the edge, so we won’t need the shovel after all.”

Colin moved between the drifts until he reached the waist-high stone parapet at the tower’s edge. “This is…my God.” He kept his voice at a whisper, as if to avoid waking the countryside from its snow-swaddled slumber.

“It’s more impressive in daylight,” Andrew said as he stepped up beside Colin. “I considered waiting until sunrise, but by then the others might be awake.”

Colin squinted at a glimmer on the southeastern horizon. “Is that Edinburgh?”

“Mmm-hmm. We can see it only on the clearest nights.” He took Colin’s arm and turned him to face north. “There’s Perth, which is closer but smaller. Sometimes we can even see Dundee and Stirling.”

Speechless, Colin pivoted full circle, then peered down through the steel railing that stopped people falling through the gap in the parapet whence arrows once flew. Nearly a hundred feet below him, the castle’s wide stone courtyard still glistened from thousands of white holiday lights, their glow multiplied by the fresh snow.

“I love it here,” he told Andrew. “I hate that I love it, but I do.” He still couldn’t help calculating what the Sunderlands spent on a day’s worth of food, and how that amount could feed Colin’s family for two weeks.

Andrew tugged on the ends of Colin’s undone necktie. “Do you hate that you love me?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“I used to. But you’ve proved you’re more than a pretty face and a social-media darling.” He kissed him, and the warmth of Andrew’s mouth accentuated the cold air around them.

“Hush,” Andrew murmured against his lips. “Don’t tell anyone I’m a man of substance. I’ve a reputation to uphold.” With a smile, he turned in Colin’s embrace so they were front to back, looking over the fairytale landscape together.

Colin gave a happy sigh, then asked, “Will the snow be cleared in time for us to get to Edinburgh for the fireworks?”

“Absolutely.” Andrew paused. “But I was thinking, perhaps we could go back to Glasgow and just stay home tonight.”

“Home in your flat?” Though they’d been living together ever since Colin’s injury at the end of September, he was still careful to refer to the place as Andrew’s, not theirs . He’d hoped to pay rent now his endorsement deal was done and dusted, but Andrew had refused to take his money. As cozy and enjoyable as their cocoon-like living situation was, Colin never forgot that it was a result of circumstance, not choice. He worried that one day he’d wake to find he’d overstayed his welcome.

“Yes, in our flat,” Andrew said. “We could greet the new year just the two of us. I’m too shattered to stand about in the cold with drunken tourists.”

Colin frowned. Between his long recuperation and this month’s shite weather, he’d gone pure stir-crazy. “Is this one of those times when you pretend to be tired cos you think I need more rest?”

Andrew made a noise of mock shock. “I would never.”

“Aye, you would.” He gave Andrew a squeeze. “I’m fighting fit now, so you can stop treating me like an invalid.”

“God’s honest truth, it’s not about you this time. I’m genuinely exhausted after this wedding.” Andrew turned to face him. “And I don’t mean to treat you that way. I know you’re brand new again. It’s just that worrying about you is a hard habit to break.”

“I get it. But mind, I’m not your patient. I’m your boyfriend. Your lover.” He nuzzled Andrew’s ear, then gave it a nip. “Your lion.” He pronounced it the French way, as Andrew often did, lee-ON .

Andrew shivered. “Tu es mon lion. Sans cesse.”

Colin frowned at his own limited French. “Without what?”

“Without ceasing. Sans cesse means always . Technically it means always as in, constantly or nonstop , as in, Tu me déranges sans cesse , but?—”

“I’m always deranging you?”

Andrew put a finger to Colin’s lips. “Always interrupting me.”

Colin smiled, then captured Andrew’s finger, drawing it deep and sucking hard. Andrew’s lashes flickered, then he crooked his finger in Colin’s mouth to pull it forward to meet his own. As their tongues met, trembling, Colin felt a jolt shoot down his spine straight to his cock. He wanted to take Andrew here, on top of the world, in defiance of the freezing wind and chilling propriety.

“I want to be your lion again. Sans cesse. ” Colin reached below the waistband of Andrew’s kilt to cup his arse with both hands. “But you cannae keep me in a cage and expect me not to go a wee bit mad.”

“In that case.” Andrew pushed him away slightly, then mimed turning a key and tossing it over his shoulder. “Your cage is open.” He leaned back and spread his arms, placing his palms on the stone wall behind him. “Be your wild self.”

Colin dropped to his knees in the snow, not caring how the icy water seeped through his trousers. He slid his hands up Andrew’s calves, over the cream-colored stockings criss-crossed with black laces, then the soft skin behind his knees. Then he continued up, hooking his thumbs beneath the hem of Andrew’s kilt. Even in the tower’s dim light, he could see the sinews of Andrew’s thighs, built from years of swimming and yoga. Goosebumps dotted the smooth skin in response to the bitter pre-dawn air.

Colin raised the kilt above Andrew’s hips and found him already half-erect. He moved forward, starving for this man.

Andrew gave a ragged gasp as Colin tongued the rough skin of his sack. “Yes. Give me your mouth.”

With a grunt of assent, Colin wrapped his lips around Andrew’s left ball.

“Oh!” Andrew clutched Colin’s hair, tugging at his scalp. “Do it. Suck me.”

Colin released him. “Since when do you give the orders?”

Andrew looked down, silver-blue eyes gleaming, then swiped his tongue over his top lip. “My apologies.”

“Keep your hands on the wall,” Colin said with a growl, “and let me do as I please.”

“Aye,” Andrew whispered as he obeyed. A tremor went through him, one Colin recognized as anticipation mixed with the bliss of submission.

He set about devouring Andrew’s cock with a ferocity he couldn’t mute. Back when they’d first started dating, Andrew had loved when Colin took control. He’d loved when things got rough. He’d begged for it.

But after Colin had been stabbed saving Andrew from abduction, the sex between them had turned safe and tame. For the last three months, Andrew had taken the lead in bringing them to orgasm—carefully, so as not to tax Colin’s strength or put him at risk for injury.

Colin had found their new tenderness sweetly satisfying, and there was a lot to be said for a combination sponge bath/hand job. But lately he’d been dying to pin Andrew down and pound his arse into oblivion. Just like old times.

When Andrew’s knees began to buckle, Colin stood up, bringing their bodies close together. “Don’t move.” He reached down and opened Andrew’s sporran, hoping to find him as well prepared as ever. Sure enough, the pouch contained the ever-present handkerchief—which “a gentleman always carries” —along with a silky-wrapped premium condom and single-serving packet of lube. “Good lad.”

Andrew gave another pretend gasp of horror. “Here? In view of the entire Kingdom of Fife?”

“They’ll not be watching us.” Colin turned Andrew around and pushed him against the wall. “We’ll be watching them.”

Colin lifted the hem of Andrew’s kilt and tucked it into his waistband out of the way. The sight of those round cheeks, bared to the world beneath the bright red plaid, made Colin’s cock swell with need, and he nearly dropped the lube packet in opening it.

He fondled Andrew with both hands, one soft and yielding as it cupped his balls, the other slick and stiff as it explored him from the inside. Andrew moaned, fingers curling against the stone.

Finally Colin stepped back and undid his trousers. “I’m gonnae fuck you now. It’s gonnae be hard and fast, and I’m gonnae hold you down so you cannae move.”

Andrew quivered in response. “Yes. I’ve missed that.” His back arched, jutting out his arse in invitation.

Colin rolled on the condom and slathered it with the last of the lube. Then he positioned himself at Andrew’s entrance, feeling it give way eagerly. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Andrew looked back over his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re—oh!”

Colin drove deep on the first thrust. The rush of sensation flared out through his entire body.

“God, yes.” Andrew’s voice held an ache that erased all doubt. “Fuck me.”

With both hands Colin held Andrew’s hips still as he thrust again and again. At first he kept his eyes down, admiring the sway of the kilt’s material as their bodies slammed together. Then he leaned forward, wrapping his arms tight around Andrew’s waist and pressing his teeth to Andrew’s neck.

“I missed this too,” he gasped. “I missed fucking you so hard you cannae feel your feet.”

Andrew seemed past all words now, emitting sounds that formed careless syllables. Colin lifted him up on his toes and bent him over the wall. Andrew reached forward, his graceful, manicured fingers clutching the ancient stone block. For a moment Colin imagined how this would look from the outside—a dirt-poor commoner bending a lord over a castle parapet, making him beg for the jackhammering of a lifetime.

Just the thought sent him spiraling toward orgasm. He could tell Andrew was close too, and he knew just what it took—or at least what it used to take—to make him come so hard he’d go blind.

Colin lowered Andrew, letting his feet go flat on the stone floor again. Then he seized Andrew’s wrists and held them behind his back with one hand, burying the other in Andrew’s thick, golden-brown hair.

“Yes.” Andrew turned his head to the side, letting Colin press his face to the stone. Colin took care not to push so hard that the cold, rough surface would scrape Andrew’s skin. He couldn’t understand how anyone would enjoy being powerless, but it seemed to work for Andrew. And if it didn’t, he would simply give their safe word, foosball .

Instead Andrew murmured urgent encouragement as Colin held him down and rammed into him, on and on, harder and faster.

Suddenly Andrew’s body began to quake. His moan turned to a near scream. “Oh! God, yes. Colin…”

“Colin, what?” he asked, slowing his pace to torment Andrew.

“Colin…please.”

Christ, it had been far too long since he’d heard that helpless pang in Andrew’s voice, since he’d heard anything but kindness and competence and control.

“Please, what?” Colin tightened his hold on Andrew’s wrists. “Say it.”

“Make me come.” Andrew squirmed in his grip. “I need you. Please.”

Colin let go of Andrew’s hair, then shifted him a few inches away from the wall so he could reach around to grasp his cock. Then Colin began to stroke, twice as fast as he was thrusting, his own orgasm swelling within him.

Andrew cried out when he came, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth wide open against the stone. Colin joined him moments later, throwing back his head and sending a deep roar out over the Kingdom of Fife, a kingdom that right now felt like his.

As their breath slowed, steaming in mingled clouds amid the cold air, Colin heard the sound of…cheering?

“Oh look, we’ve an audience.” Andrew propped himself up on one elbow and waved down into the courtyard, where their friends Fergus and John were standing beside a black SUV, applauding . “They must be leaving for their honeymoon.” He blew them a kiss.

“Christ.” Colin stepped back out of view, wincing as he withdrew from Andrew’s body. “That’s my captain I just fucked you in front of.” Fergus would never let him live that down.

“They can’t see anything but our heads. If we’d been quiet, they’d never have known we were here.” Turning his back on the courtyard, Andrew restored order to his kilt. “Silence was not an option, thanks to you.”

Colin reached out and brushed the snowflakes from Andrew’s hair. “You all right?” He touched the cheek that had lain against the stone, ensuring there were no scrapes or bruises.

“Never better. You?”

“I’m grand.”

Andrew’s heavy-lidded gaze sharpened with concern. “Are you sure you’re not?—”

“I said, I’m grand.” He moved closer and took Andrew in his arms. “Look, next week I’ll be playing in a real match, and soon we’ll both be at university again. Life’s getting back to normal.”

Andrew suddenly tensed. “What’s your point?”

“I’m just saying.” Colin kissed him softly. “It’s a new year tomorrow, so let’s make it official: nae more worrying about me, okay?”

“I’ll always worry about you.” He wriggled out of Colin’s embrace, then rubbed the back of his own neck. “But I shall try to hide it better.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Colin stepped out of Andrew’s bedroom suite, leaving the door an inch ajar so the stubborn latch wouldn’t make a noise when he returned. Andrew needed his sleep—he’d seemed agitated ever since they’d left the Auld Keep tower. Clearly the stress of hosting his friends’ wedding at his ancestral home was catching up with him.

Plush red carpet muffled Colin’s footsteps as he descended the grand staircase into the Hall of the House, the central spine of the castle’s larger, Victorian-era section. It still felt a dream, wandering about as if he belonged here, and it felt especially odd to walk these halls without Andrew by his side. But the Sunderlands’ part-time butler, Dermot, had set out a table of light refreshments, and Colin was starving.

His stomach growled when he spied from above an enormous plate of croissants, and he took a moment to relish the fact his hours were no longer measured in medication doses. Now Colin could eat when he wanted, instead of timing his meals so his stomach was empty or full when the next pill was due. During his recovery from the stabbing, Colin’s life had been fully regimented, with Andrew as the drill sergeant. But now they were simply lovers again, equal at last.

Standing at the refreshment table was a man Colin still couldn’t believe had actually attended Fergus and John’s wedding.

“Good morning, Colin,” said Evan Hollister, his back to the staircase, golden hair glinting in the chandelier light. “Or maybe it’s still good night.”

Colin approached his teammate and former captain, wondering how Evan had identified him from his footsteps. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I could, and I did. But I woke when…when the grooms left.” He stirred his tea, then set the spoon upon the plate beside the hot water dispenser. “Then I couldn’t sleep.”

“I can imagine.” Colin considered grabbing a croissant and heading back upstairs, but Evan looked so forlorn—as forlorn as a six-foot-two, inhumanly gorgeous midfielder could look. Instead Colin sifted through the teabags until he found a chamomile mint. “Must be weird watching your ex get married.”

“I had to come. I had to see Fergus happy.” Evan’s chin dropped as he stared into his tea. “It’s one thing to be with him at football and hear him talk about John. But it’s another thing to watch them start a life together.”

Colin knew his next words might come off poorly, but curiosity won out. “Does it make you feel better about what you did?”

Evan didn’t flinch. “Nothing will ever make what I did okay. But this wedding helped me feel like it was all for the best in the end.” He made a toasting gesture with his tea cup. “John’s a good man.”

Colin nodded, knowing he should say You’re a good man too. He’d once thought so, before Evan had shocked the team and broken Fergus’s heart by running off to Belgium with a secret lover.

Instead Colin steered the conversation back to the safe path of football. He and Evan compared predictions for tomorrow’s New Year’s Day matches in the Scottish Premier League, then discussed Colin’s own return to the pitch with their all-LGBTQ football team. Evan seemed reluctant to pressure him into coming back, but he couldn’t hide how much the Warriors had missed Colin’s offensive creativity.

“Without you, we’re too predictable,” Evan concluded as they climbed the stairs together after finishing their tea. “Defenders have worked out how to shut us down, and Duncan’s fantastic pace does us no good if we never get the ball to him.”

“I cannae wait to get back out there.” Colin turned at the top of the stairs toward their rooms, lowering his voice so as not to wake anyone. “It’s all I can think about.”

“Right. But I need you to promise me something.” Evan paused beside Colin and Andrew’s door. “That you’ll be honest about whether you’re ready to return.”

Scowling, Colin rubbed his abdomen where his scars lay. He was dead sick of being treated like a precious artifact that might crumble any moment. Of course he was ready. He had to be. The Warriors needed him.

“Promise me,” Evan said again. “And you’d better mean it.”

Taking a deep breath, Colin searched for a diplomatic way to say Fuck off.

But just as Colin opened his mouth to reply, Andrew screamed.