SleepyHollow2BookBundle (23 page)

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John rode up to the farmhouse wearing a bleak expression that spoke of more than just an unpleasant ride on an ill-mannered horse. Brom rose from his seat at the table, putting down the fork he’d just used to devour half an apple pie. Since the relatively recent death of his mother, the local farmwives seemed to view it as their duty to ply him with more food than one man could possibly eat on his own. Now that he was engaged, they seemed to have taken things up a notch, erupting into a sort of grand finale of roasts and pies to see him off into married life.
 

A second pie rested in the center of the table – he’d intended to share it with John before they left on their nightly patrol, but John looked as if he’d eaten something that had disagreed with him. What kind of trouble could he possibly have gotten into since leaving the schoolhouse to come here? Brom hurried out the door and met John outside.

“I’ll take him,” Brom said, seizing the reins when John slid from the saddle, looking nearly as grey as his horse.

He led Gunpowder to the stable, and John followed silently beside him. He looked well enough, other than his color – his face was clean, and his hair tied back into a tidy tail, fastened with a length of black ribbon. His clothes were modest but neat. He hadn’t been involved in any sort of physical disaster then, but something was definitely eating at him from the inside. “What happened?” Brom asked as they stepped into the cool shadows of the barn.

John sighed, meeting Brom’s gaze directly for the first time since he’d arrived. His grey eyes gleamed with grim resignation. “I’m afraid I must confess something, and you’re not going to like it.”

For half a moment, real fear pierced Brom’s heart, and a slew of terrible possibilities raced through his mind. What was John up to? This had the air of an impending lovers’ disaster about it. God, John wasn’t planning to try to leave, was he? Maybe he’d made arrangements to teach somewhere else. Brom gripped Gunpowder’s reins tightly, letting the leather cut into his fingers. “What is it?”

In the instant it took John to blink, batting his long, dark lashes, Brom managed to get ahold of himself. It didn’t matter if John had indeed dreamed up such a foolish plan – Brom would never let it happen. He’d stop him physically if he had to, would show him with his hands, mouth and body that this was where he belonged.
 

“I kissed Katrina.” John said the words as if someone had forced him to read them from a printed page, then tensed a little, as if expecting a physical blow.

Brom stood mutely for a few moments, gaping at John as his brain tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. His mind was still whirling with thoughts of how to keep John in Sleepy Hollow – what John had just confessed seemed absurd in comparison to what he’d expected to hear. “You what?”

John didn’t flinch as he replied, though he looked as if he were struggling not to. “Just a few minutes ago, in the kitchen of the Van Tassels’ home. I kissed her, and I enjoyed every second of it. I’m sorry.”

No real rush of emotion came to Brom, only a vague sense of surprise. John was plainly expecting the worst, however.
 

“Go on then,” John said. “Hit me. I deserve it.”

Gunpowder snorted, apparently tired of the conversation, and tossed his head. It wasn’t until sharp pain flared in his wrist that Brom realized he’d been bitten. “Damn!” he cried, grasping his wrist with his other hand and whirling to face the Jansens’ wicked nag. Gunpowder snorted again and backed up a step, tossing his head in defiance. Brom jerked sharply on the reins, bringing the beast’s head down, not caring if he gave it a good jolt to the mouth. Quickly opening an empty stall, he forced the beast inside and closed the latch, ignoring the evil look it gave him from within.

“Are you badly hurt?” John had rushed to Brom’s side and was peering down at his arm, attempting to pry away his hand so he could see the damage beneath.

“Damn it,” Brom breathed, his wrist throbbing. First his badly bruised backside, and now this. If anyone besides John knew, they’d think him an idiot who didn’t deserve his reputation as a master horseman. And of course, he could never explain to them the peculiar ways in which John managed to distract him. “It’s not that bad.” He lifted his hand – it wasn’t quite true. A nasty purple ring had risen on his wrist, in the shape of the horse’s teeth, and a little blood was smeared over the wound.

“We should clean the wound, first thing,” John said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the creature had a poisonous bite.”

Brom snorted in laughter, despite the pain. “I wanted to go inside for a few moments anyway – I recently came into possession of a couple of fresh pies.”

For once, John showed no enthusiasm at the prospect of pie. He only shot a dark look in Gunpowder’s direction and started towards the house, mumbling vicious threats toward the horse under his breath. “Should we encounter the headless horseman tonight, I think I shall propose a trade,” John said when they reached the house. “My horse for his – there can’t possibly be a more wicked horse alive than old Gunpowder, and you’d think that’s just the sort of mount a devil would want.”

Brom stated his agreement as John pulled the door shut, sealing the privacy of the otherwise empty farmhouse. “There’s a wash basin in my bedchamber, just down the hall.” It hadn’t really been necessary to mention the last part – he didn’t need to tell John where his bed was located. They’d lain in it together numerous times before, stealing time there when they dared.

“Let me do it,” John said when they reached the room and Brom dipped a cloth into the washbasin.
 

Brom gave up the cloth and sank onto the edge of his mattress, allowing John to dab at his wound, washing away the blood. There was great tenderness in his motions, but also an underlying tension. “I don’t intend to hit you,” Brom said.

The cloth slipped from John’s hand and landed on his knee with a wet sound, dampening his breeches. He snatched it up hastily and dipped it in the water again, then let it stream over the bite mark on Brom’s wrist. “It was wrong of me to kiss her,” he said, his back stiff as he continued to clean the wound. “I’ll not deny you your right.”

Brom snorted. John was naturally prone to melodrama, and at times, it was maddening to witness – he put too great of a strain on himself. Christ, he’d nearly killed himself, and all over an assumption, much like this one. “I’m not angry with you, John. In fact, if I’m going to hit something, I’d prefer it to be that horse.”

“Not angry with me?” John’s voice roughened, as if he meant to shock Brom into rage with the boldness of his declaration. “I tasted your betrothed’s lips and mouth, felt the softness of her body against mine. How can you possibly not be angry?”

John’s words brought the situation to life, and all at once, the image flashed in Brom’s imagination, vivid and erotic. He could just see John and Katrina’s mouths melding together, her luscious curves conforming to his lean muscle. And he knew well how John’s body must have responded, his cock rising and hardening, pressing into the soft flesh of Katrina’s belly. He’d held her and kissed her that way himself, and knew the sweet sensuality of her embrace. “I rather like the idea of it, to be honest.”

John dropped the cloth again and didn’t bother to pick it up. His eyes gleamed with shock, and he seemed to have assumed all of the indignance he thought Brom entitled to. “You
what
?”

“I said I like it.” He picked up one of John’s hands and placed it high on his thigh. John’s expression transformed into one of incredulous understanding as his fingertips met the bulge that had risen beneath Brom’s breeches. “I trust you understand my meaning?”

“I’m not a prudish man, Brom.” John spoke with as much dignity as anyone could muster while kneeling on the floor with a sopping cloth in their lap. “But I must say, I am shocked.”

Brom laughed, amusement striking him as suddenly as the lust that had caused his cock to harden. “Do you mean to tell me that you don’t feel the same? When you think of Katrina and I kissing, or—” He stopped when a furious blush crept across John’s cheeks, making him appear quite boyish. “Ah, so you
do
see.” He let his lips curl into a wicked smile.
 

“I—” John’s monosyllabic reply came out half strangled. “I’d never thought of it that way.”

“And now that you have?”

“I rather wish I hadn’t. I fear I won’t be able to sleep at night, for thinking about it.”

Laughter rose up in Brom again, and John joined him this time, though his face remained flushed with embarrassment, and – judging by the way his breeches had tented – arousal.
 

“God, what would Katrina say if she knew? She’d think us the most depraved men on earth.” John shook his head.

Brom dared not contemplate what Katrina’s reaction might be, for that too lent itself too easily to fantasy. If she kissed them both, if she loved them both – and she did – then she might not be quite as disgusted as John imagined. He shoved the thought from his mind, letting his attention turn to the deep ache in his wrist. The bite could have been worse, could have broken bone, but it made for an effective enough distraction as it was. “She didn’t spoil your appetite, did she? Those pies are still waiting for us on the table in the kitchen.”

“She did, but I suppose I could manage to put away a slice.”

CHAPTER 6

Katrina set down her knitting needles and lifted her new masterpiece, admiring it in the soft glow of candlelight. It was a stocking, made from the sturdiest yarn she’d been able to find, and would protect its wearer well against the chill of winter. She’d already knitted its companion, and intended to give the pair to Brom as a gift. She’d finished them earlier than expected – worry usually drove her to work with her hands, baking, knitting or cleaning, and she’d been doing copious amounts of each lately. It was growing late, but she didn’t feel tired. Perhaps she should begin her next project before bed. She picked up a thread of the thick yarn and rolled it between her fingers.

Should she make a pair of stockings for John too? He spent all of his money on books, and his wardrobe had suffered years of neglect as a result. Did he even have a pair of warm winter stockings? She began to knit, mentally picturing the slender muscle of his calf. The stockings would need to be a bit narrower than the ones she’d made for Brom; that would save her time, and hopefully allow her to finish them before the first frost. The thought was pleasing, but it couldn’t quell her nervousness. She glanced at the window, steeling herself for what she might see, but there was only the vast sky and a sliver of a moon. Had she imagined the phantom rider?

Maybe, but… She hadn’t been very tired that night, either. She’d been lying sleepless for a while – it wasn’t as if she’d emerged from the fog of slumber, her mind still half-tangled in dreams. And though it had been brief, the sighting had seemed so real. Could the rider be out there now, unfettered by things as simple as gravity? It was a chilling thought, knowing that Brom and John were out there too, actively searching for the horseman.

John had left her doorstep that evening looking grim. He was a notorious believer in the supernatural, and no doubt she’d alarmed him with her tale, but she hadn’t been able to keep from confessing to him. She’d told no one else of the incident, and it had lain like a stone in the pit of her belly, an uncomfortable burden that caused her stomach to knot whenever she remembered the sighting. It had been a relief to share it with John. If anyone would take her seriously and understand her feelings, it would be him. What on earth would she have done without him – worry her father? No, certainly not. Tell Brom? He doubtlessly would have been sympathetic enough, but he wouldn’t have believed her. The last thing she wanted was for her future husband to think her an idiot who could be easily scared by a few ghost stories. Thank God for John.

She began to knit the first of the pair of stockings she intended to make for him – if only she could provide something to protect him against the threat of the supernatural as well, and the danger of his own guilt. After all, the expression he’d worn when he’d left the house hadn’t been due entirely to the prospect of hunting the headless horseman. No, she knew better – he would tell Brom that they’d kissed. Her cheeks heated at the thought, and she knit faster. What had she
done
?
 

She’d meant to give him a bit of comfort, a token of her true feelings to ward against the cruel fact that though she loved him just as she loved Brom, she couldn’t marry him. She had, and she didn’t regret it, exactly, but what would transpire between the two men she loved when John confessed? Alarming visions flashed through her mind. Brom was certainly handy with his fists, and had never been known for a peaceable temper. Would he be angry enough with John to strike him, to injure him? Guilt stabbed at her heart as her knitting needles flashed in the candlelight. John would never admit to Brom that she had approached him and practically forced the kiss upon him without invitation. No, he’d take all of the blame, and probably wouldn’t fight back if Brom assaulted him. Biting hard into her lower lip, Katrina threw down her knitting.
 

The stockings could wait. She had to tell the truth while Brom and John’s friendship – not to mention John’s lovely, straight teeth – could still be preserved. It could hardly wait until morning, not when Brom and John would be riding together for the next couple of hours. Judging by the look John had worn when he’d departed for Brom’s farm, he wouldn’t be able to hide anything overnight. She could only hope that she wouldn’t be too late to prevent any severed affections or broken teeth. Seizing her shawl, she wrapped it tightly around her shoulders and slipped silently from the room, taking care to avoid the loose floorboard in the hall that tended to groan when stepped upon. It wouldn’t do to wake her father – she’d only be outside for a few minutes, anyway. She’d wait at the door until John and Brom rode by, wave them down and confess everything. She tried not to be afraid of what might be lurking in the night, or of what Brom might think of her when he learned the truth.