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Ten

Peregrine

The trip back to the priory didn’t feel nearly long enough to Peregrine. He supposed it was because once they returned, they’d have to decide what happened next and whether he would release Alexander for real. Whether he would still attempt to claim a ransom from the duke...whether he would build new plans for killing Reginald and fulfilling his revenge.

As they walked through the newly washed world, with its trees and shrubs bleeding into the jewel tones of autumn—and as he held Alexander’s hand tighter than was necessary, pulling him close, savoring his rake’s eternal Christmas scent—Peregrine wondered if his appetite for revenge had dulled somewhat. If the blade which had once cut through his grief and pain had finally blunted itself. Or had been blunted by the mere existence of Lord Alexander Dartham.

Alexander, who was everything he should hate and somehow, everything he needed instead.

They arrived at the priory, and as they entered the stables, they saw the horses belonging to the other thieves already munching hay inside their stalls. They took care of the animal and then went inside the church, where the gang was gathered with a hearty meal and a few open bottles of wine. They were clearly a few cups in, most of them sitting with their boots propped on the table and roaring with laughter at each other’s stories.

“I take it the robbery went well?” Peregrine asked Lyd as they approached the table.

“There was no robbery,” Lyd said. “And where were you two?”

“I tried to escape,” Alexander volunteered. “It was a very good escape, if you must know.”

“Why was there no robbery?” Peregrine asked, ignoring Alexander. “Did the duchess take another road to Far Hope?”

“And why didn’t you just tell me you were Judith’s cousin!” Alexander burst out. “I would have begged you to help me escape!”

Lyd had made grown men piss themselves for taking such a tone with her, so Peregrine was genuinely shocked when she answered, almost kindly, “Because I didn’t trust you to be any different than your brother or sister-in-law, Lord Alexander, and I wasn’t interested in helping a Dartham with anything. But things have changed.”

“They have?” Alexander asked, confused.

Lyd gave them both a look and sighed. “I think you deserve some privacy for this. Follow me.”

They went into the sacristy. Lyd didn’t bother closing the door, but her voice was quiet as she told them, “The duchess is dead.”

Next to him, Alexander went still in a way that Peregrine had learned meant he was upset. Without thinking about it, Peregrine drew him close, wrapping an arm around his lover’s slender waist.

Lyd’s eyebrow raised at the familiar gesture, but she didn’t remark on it. Their crowd was rather free with lovers, men and women alike, although it had to be said that Peregrine would be the first in their group to consort with someone he’d halted on the road.

“How did she die?” Alexander asked, his voice small.

“Whatever illness she had was worse than anyone thought, at least according to the innkeeper. She died there at the inn, and her body is being taken to Far Hope now.”

Lyd’s voice was level, factual, but her shoulders were loose and her eyes clear. Peregrine met her gaze, and she gave him a short nod. They had years of silent communication between them, and he knew what she was saying. She would never have her moment of justice with Judith, but the relief of Judith never being able to hurt her again was enough.

“Her husband is ill now too,” Lyd added. “The same malady, most likely.”

Fear flashed through Peregrine, hot and bright. If Reginald was also sick, and they’d all been traveling together...

“Alexander, you haven’t been—you’re not feeling ill?”

“We didn’t see each other before we set out, and then we took separate coaches after Basingstoke so she could be more comfortable,” Alexander replied faintly “I don’t feel sick in the least.”

The relief that flooded through Peregrine then nearly knocked him over. If Alexander took ill—if Alexander died —no. He couldn’t bear it. The very thought made Peregrine feel like he was being drawn and quartered.

Lyd had paused, as if considering how to phrase what she was going to say next. “His doctor is saying he might only have a few days left.”

Alexander was like a statue in Peregrine’s hold, unmoving, maybe unbreathing, and Peregrine pulled him closer, wrapped him in both arms. And instead of burrowing into him, instead of pouting or whining or rattling off a hundred different thoughts, Alexander was completely still. When Peregrine moved back and lifted Alexander’s face to his, his chest hurt at the sight.

He’d seen more life in a child’s doll than in Alexander’s face right now.

Peregrine should have welcomed the news about the duke with pleasure, exultation even, but now he felt...nothing. No pleasure, no relief.

His enemy was dying, and the only thing he felt was worry for Alexander. All he wanted to do was make everything better, fix this or ease this for him somehow. His sweet rake hadn’t wanted to be the duke or the leader of the Second Kingdom, and now the possibility was bearing down on him like a runaway coach—it would run him over whether he was ready or not.

And that Alexander’s worst fear would come on the heels of his brother’s death...

Peregrine felt something shift inside him, as if some final, vital seam had been ripped open. As if the Peregrine Hind of four hours ago really had been nothing more than those unstitched pieces on a table.

He would have to be made into something new. And whatever it would be, he wanted that something to put Alexander first, always.

“I’ll take you to him,” Peregrine said.

“What?” Alexander asked.

“ What? ” demanded Lyd.

Peregrine turned so he could see Alexander’s face, cupping his jaw so he could look into Alexander’s dark eyes. Even though there was a table of carousing thieves in the next room over, even though Lyd was watching them with a curious, perceptive stare, it almost felt like they were alone. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to my mother or my siblings before they died, and I don’t want that for you. You should be with him. You should be home.”

“But you hate Reginald,” Alexander whispered.

“I do. But what I feel for you,” Peregrine whispered back, pressing his forehead against Alexander’s, “is stronger than any hatred. It’s fiercer than any revenge.”

“Oh,” Alexander said, his breath catching a little. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Peregrine said, affirming the unspoken questions in those ohs . Whatever the questions were, Peregrine knew the answer was yes .

“But I never wanted to see him before now,” Alexander said after a moment. “What if he doesn’t deserve a goodbye?”

“I know with certainty that he doesn’t,” replied Peregrine. “But you do.”

Alexander met the highwayman’s gaze with raw blue eyes. “I thought you’d be happier about this. About him dying.”

“I would have been,” Peregrine admitted. “Up until this very week. But telling you about what happened has made it easier to bear. And not only speaking of it, but speaking of it to you. You are so much to me, so much more than...” He trailed off, uncertain of how to frame what he meant. Alexander had shown him the way to something other than grief and anger; Alexander was a future filled with hope and possibility when before there’d only been an agony-laden past.

“I thought his death would kill my grief,” Peregrine started again, still trying to explain. “I thought his suffering would ease my own. But suffering cannot be bought or sold like that, and neither can grief. I am so?—”

Here he stopped, aware of Lyd watching them, of the other thieves nearby. Aware that the words he was about to utter were in no way adequate in the face of what he’d done.

“I’m so ashamed, Alexander. I was so ready to spill Dartham blood that it stopped mattering who carried it in their veins. I’m ashamed that I scared you, threatened you, and made you bargain for your life. And I’m ashamed that I ever once entertained the idea of killing you.”

Peregrine took Alexander’s hand and laced his fingers through his, bringing the younger man’s knuckles to his mouth to kiss. “But more than being ashamed, I am sorry. Sorry past what my words can describe. I won’t ask forgiveness for it. But I want you to know that you’re safe from me.”

“I think,” Alexander said, his eyes searching Peregrine’s face, “I must have known that, deep down. I think I knew I was safe from the beginning. After all,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting, “not many captors take the trouble to find silk for their captive’s wrists instead of rope.”

Peregrine smiled back. “If I’d known how much you would enjoy the silk, I would have bound your entire body in it.”

Despite everything, Alexander’s pupils dilated with interest. “There will be time,” he murmured.

Peregrine didn’t think so, but he didn’t say that out loud. Getting Alexander to Far Hope was the main thing, and if he cast any doubt on their being together in the future, Alexander might react like...well, like Alexander.

Perhaps not. Perhaps Alexander would understand. Perhaps he’d even be relieved that Peregrine saw the future so sensibly. But speed was of the essence, and Peregrine couldn’t risk this conversation now. It would have to happen later, if it ever did.

“I’ll ready a fresh horse,” Peregrine said. “Gather what you need and then meet me outside.”

The sun was sinking as they rode, but at least the wind was mild and the skies newly free of clouds. Alexander chattered the entire way about how much the Second Kingdom would love Peregrine, even though he’d openly robbed a fair number of them by now, and about where Peregrine could sleep, and about how Alexander would make sure Peregrine didn’t have to see the duke while he was at Far Hope.

Peregrine recognized the chatter as Alexander’s way of deflecting worry about his brother—and likely also the possibility of becoming the duke—and let him continue. It seemed to make him feel better, and if he had the notion that Peregrine would be staying with him at Far Hope, then Peregrine still didn’t have the heart to disabuse him of it. Especially after hearing Alexander’s nervous prattle, after observing his rigid but trembling form as they rode.

Alexander would find out soon enough when they got there, and in the future, he would thank Peregrine for his levelheadedness. After all, it was absurdity to think that the duke could openly parade a male lover around London, and even more absurdity when the lover in question was a notorious criminal.

And even if the Second Kingdom wouldn’t mind, Alexander would be a duke. He’d have a responsibility to marry and sire heirs, and Peregrine didn’t think he could survive watching Alexander marry someone else. He didn’t want to be a mistress, tucked away somewhere, contributing to yet another unhappy aristocratic marriage. It sounded like a way for three people to be miserable—but if he left, he could lower that number to one.

Himself.

Highwaymen didn’t get happy endings. They didn’t die old and gray in a lover’s arms. They died young and they died alone.

But it was no use trying to explain this to Alexander. He wouldn’t accept that some things were out of even a rake’s reach.

Or a duke’s.

It was fully dark by the time they reached the narrow vale of the Hope Valley and passed through the crooked standing stones at its entrance. A shallow river wound beside the road as they rode through the small village, and then, after a mile or so, the stern edifice of Far Hope revealed itself, its many windows glowing against the dark.

Somehow, that didn’t make it seem any more welcoming to Peregrine. It rather reminded him of lights along a rampart or behind a defensive ditch, like Far Hope was a fortress enduring on from a grimmer time. Hardly where he would have expected a hidden society of hedonism and pleasure—but then again, perhaps that was why the Second Kingdom was there. Far Hope did feel like a castle of its own remote kingdom, set in a land even emperors and kings had struggled to properly conquer.

“It used to be an abbey,” Alexander said, talking in that quick, overly bright way. “A Saxon one, and then a Norman one, which was converted and partially swallowed up by the medieval manor house. That’s why it’s so irregular—they say the tower there was originally a bell tower for the abbey church, but that may just be a story. I’ll take you up there, though, so you can see the views in daylight, because it’s fantastic, a vista like nothing else.”

Peregrine made noises of acknowledgment as they rode through the open gate to the house. He came to a stop in front of the large wooden door at the front and then he held the reins for Alexander’s horse as Alexander dismounted.

His former captive looked up at him. With the light coming from the manor house, half his face was cast in gold and the other in pure shadow.

“You’re not getting off with me?” Alexander asked. “Oh,” he went on, still with that brittle, fast tone, “of course, you’re going to go to the stables first. I can come with you if you’d like. Or wait here, and then we can go in together.”

“Go see your brother,” Peregrine said, as gently as a man like him was capable. “He’ll be grateful to see you alive and well and free.”

Alexander made a face. “If that’s true, it’ll only be because he will savor not paying a ransom, even on his deathbed.”

“Perhaps. But there’s only one way to know.”

Alexander hesitated. “You are coming too, right? You don’t have to see him, but you can stay here, and...” He stopped. Maybe he was realizing, as Peregrine already had, that in sickness, death, funeral arrangements, and becoming a peer, there wouldn’t be much room for a kept lover. Especially one that was officially wanted for crimes punishable by death.

“I think we both know the answer to that, Alexander,” Peregrine said.

In the gold-hued light, Peregrine could see the quiver in Alexander’s beautiful mouth.

He knew exactly how Alexander felt right now because Peregrine felt the same. Like his heart was being torn out.

“Stay well,” Peregrine said quietly. “You aren’t allowed to take ill, do you understand? Say your goodbyes at a distance and listen to everything the physician tells you.”

“If I take ill, will you come here right away?” the rake said, mouth continuing to tremble, but with petulance now as well as hurt.

Peregrine gave him his sternest look. “ Alexander .”

Alexander swallowed, stepping back in time for Peregrine to see a tear glittering its way down his high-boned cheek. It took everything Peregrine had not to haul the rake back in his arms where he belonged, but somehow, he managed. Somehow, he kept his tears to himself. Even though he’d just surrendered everything he’d held on to for the last four years.

He’d given up revenge. He’d given up Alexander.

What did he have left now?