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men were burned. There had been treatises calling for the same in England.
    Prince Edward II was rumored to be a sodomite, granting outrageous favors to his male lover. But he was despised for it. And then too, it had always been the case that the debauchery that was tolerated at court was a far cry from what was acceptable anyplace else.
    The one thing that William was certain of was that it was shameful to want, to bed, another man. So even if the desire had never left him, he had faithfully ignored it. He suspected he did not enjoy women as much as the next man, despite the Corbet virility, and he still found his eye drawn appreciatively to the male form now and again. But it had never been so irresistibly strong, nor so accessible, that he’d acted upon it. All visitors to his bed had been female.
    But now he was alone on the road with Sir Christian Brandon. It wasn’t only Christian’s unusual beauty that provoked William. If he’d been merely a doll with a cold heart, William could have dismissed him readily enough. No, there was something about Christian that struck a deeper chord— a warmth, sweetness, and vulnerability in his deep brown eyes, the hint of shyness, and a need to please that peeked through the mask of cold strength that he wrapped around himself like a disguise. William felt almost bewitched at times, so strong was the urge to protect the man, to stare at him, to brush against him as if by accident, or clap a hand on his shoulder, to make him smile.
    God’s wounds!
    Worst of all, it was not only himself that William had to guard against. For he was beginning to feel certain that Christian… that Christian was… that he was a lover of men—
    Sodomite? Evil, odious word. He could not make himself apply it to Christian.
    —and that Christian wanted William too.
    That is not the only reason. The heat in those eyes in the firelight.
    William’s cock throbbed and ached, despite having already relieved his lust once before bed, off in the woods. He groaned in frustration and turned onto his stomach, grinding his inflamed flesh into the stony ground. He would discourage by pain what he could not seem to discourage by duty and logic.
    Sir William Corbet would not dishonor himself, nor Christian. He would not .
    ****

CHAPTER 8
    It felt like he’d been asleep only a few hours, and the moon was still high, when a hand gently shook William’s shoulder. He woke and started to speak, but a hand covered his mouth. Christian’s dark eyes were inches from his own.
    “Bandits,” Christian whispered.
    William’s hand reached for his sword even as he blinked his eyes to clear them. He strained his ears. He heard a soft sound from the brush, barely there.
    And then Christian was gone, melting into the darkness in a crouch. William stood, thrusting off his bedroll and readying his sword. He withdrew it from its sheath quietly, but the metal still sang a soft song in the night. There was a shout and they were attacked.
    William’s eyes were adjusted to the night, and the light of a full moon turned the world a silvery blue. He could see well enough, and he could see that they were outnumbered. Five men came out of the woods, two of them larger than William, and all of them rough and vicious-looking. Hell, he could already smell them. They were predators. Maybe they’d been soldiers once, but now they looked eager to skin William and Christian alive for their horses and whatever bits of gold and food they carried.
    Christian.
    William felt a sudden stab of fear for Christian and he glanced around. With any knight in this situation, he’d prefer to fight back-to-back. But Christian was nowhere to be seen.
    William felt a surge of disappointment that was surprising in its acuteness. He had been starting to trust Christian. But the young knight was a coward after all. It was true, the odds stank. But you did not desert a comrade in battle.
    The five men drew in tighter, two of them moving around to encircle