Part 1

"They're at it again," Jacks muttered in disgust as he threw another forkful of hay toward the horses. The tool was almost as big as he was.

"Aye," William Bodie agreed without emotion, yet he glanced back at the big house, the building that had belonged to his own family before the Doyles came a year ago, and his eyes narrowed at the raised voices.

Jacks continued, half smugly, half in resentment, "If I talked to my da that way, he'd tan my backside, he would." He stopped to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, glaring at the still huge bundle of hay remaining.

"Oh, aye, John would wallop you good and proper, but don't forget, it was Master Raymond that saw to it extra food was brought to your mam when she was lying sick in her bed. Have you forgotten that?" The youngster turned beet red and renewed the hard work he was doing with vigor. Bodie walked to the door of the barn, tried to understand what was being said but could grasp no one's but the father's.

"I'll not have it," the old man yelled, "not in my own house. The King gave us this house, this land! For faithful service and I'll not give it up! I owe them nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing! And that damn Night Hawk stopped my man again last night! Are you listening to me, you fool?"

Bodie thought in disgust, "The whole countryside is listening to you."

There was silence then, and Bodie returned to currying the master's horse. The old man was a right blown idiot, but he knew his horseflesh and had only the best in his stable. Moments later, the housekeeper, Birdie, came hurrying from the house. "He's going to kill him, Will!" She flung herself at the stable hand. Bodie caught her though he took a step backward as her form struck him.

"What is you're saying?" he demanded.

"The old fool is going to kill the boy. He's taken down his whip! You have to stop him."

"I doubt he'd murder his own son," the solid, dark haired man argued dryly. He turned to go back into the building proper and then the screams started.

"He's using a whip on him!" Birdie cried out, tears flowing down her thin face. She crossed herself and began to pray.

"Damn," came the murmured remark as Bodie sped toward the house. He'd probably end up feeling the tip of that whip on his own flesh, but the young man was the only decent thing about the whole Doyle family.

Ray Doyle was huddled on the floor to the library when Bodie found them His slim arms were up and around his head trying to protect his eyes, his face. Blood already seeped from his torn shirt, his lacerated flesh. He whimpered with the blow that struck as William Bodie came charging into the room, his features twisted with rage. Abner Doyle raised his arm to strike again but the stableman was there suddenly, standing between him and his son.

The old man snarled, "Move!" Bodie, his countenance threatening, warning, remained in place, cold eyed, stone faced. "Move I say, or I'll give you a taste of this!"

"Aye, you will, but better me than him. You'll kill him and then who will inherit this land the good king gave you?" His tone was bitter, sarcastic though the old man who stood panting before him did not know the Bodie's real identity. Only the older servants knew who he really was. When the Doyles had come one year ago, William Bodie had simply told them he was Will, the head of the stable, and Abner Doyle had believed him and had allowed him to stay, for weren't the stables on his new land well taken care of?

"I'll fire you," came the warning.

"Now, that's true, good Master, isn't it? You can fire us all, or we can all quit and go elsewhere." The dismissal did not come. Bodie observed in cool disdain as the anger drained from the old fool, watched him leave the room, his shoulders slumped in defeat, the whip dragging behind him.

Bodie went to Ray Doyle and knelt down. "Master Raymond?" When he touched the young man of seventeen, Doyle moaned low in his throat and cringed. "Nay, you need not fear me; I'll. not be hurting you further, but your back must be cleaned or it'll fester. Can you walk or should I carry you upstairs?" Doyle tried to rise but sagged against the stable hand when he was up on his knees. "Take it slow and easy, Master Raymond. You're not running a race you know." Trying to smile, the young man lifted his eyes, saw, instead of the pity he had feared, respect in Bodie's, and flushed in pleasure. His slim strong hands clutched the well muscled shoulders of William Bodie. "What were you fighting about this time?" the worker asked as he helped the other man stand up.

"A new roof for Widow Simpkins. It leaks and winter is coming on." The pain blurred his eyes for a moment and he lowered his head against the other man's shoulders.

"You take too much of our care on your shoulders," Bodie remarked in admiration.

Red cheeked, Doyle protested breathlessly, "Someone has to stand up for your people, Will. He doesn't care what happens.... The people aren't...." He slumped, barely conscious, against the warm, welcoming body.

Bodie cursed the old man, picked up Ray Doyle and carried him slowly toward the stairs. Birdie's entrance to the house was hesitant, fearful. "Shall I send for the doctor?" she inquired, white faced.

"Aye. He did him right good this time. Where did the old...where did the master go?"

"Into his study with the door shut." She clasped her hands tightly near her face. Her voice trembled. "Will the boy be all, right, Will?"

"Aye. Go now; he's hurt bad."

Birdie ran from the room and Bodie went on upstairs. Doyle came to as they reached the door to his room. The green eyes held pain and gratitude. When Bodie lowered him onto his bed, Doyle bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Perspiration dotted the forehead, his dark curls. "Damn fool," Bodie murmured as he wiped some of the moisture away. "Don't lie on your back."

"No," Doyle agreed with a faint grin. "I won't." He closed his eyes to hide the rush of pain when he moved restlessly and the cloth pulled.

"I sent for the doctor." He soothed back the wet, chestnut curls. "Why do you push him so hard?"

"He has no right to take and not give, Will; no right."

"His way is the way it's done, isn't it?" His hand's movement turned into a caress before drawing quickly away.

"It shouldn't be that way." Doyle bit his lip again, fastened his eyes tightly to hide what he was feeling. "Besides, you don't act much like an employee, Will; you push him too."

"Not servile enough?" the other man asked softly.

"No. He can fire you, you know, see to it that no one around here will take you on."

"He tried that once and failed, now didn't he?" His blue eyes sparkled as the memory returned of the chaos that had resulted the one time Abner Doyle had terminated his employment. Abner could never prove anything but he had suspected the other servants had deliberately slowed things down, messed things up. Still, the moment William Bodie was brought back on the estate, work ran smoothly once more.

"Yes, but one day he'll let you go and won't ask you back, no matter how much trouble he has here and you know it, so why do you do it?"

Before Bodie could answer, Abner Doyle entered the room, his body stiff with anger. "Leave my house. The shit on your clothes is stinking up my home."

"I've called in the doctor." Bodie stepped away from the bed, stood staring at the man in proud scorn. "His back needs to be cleaned."

"I'll take care of my own son!"

"Oh, aye, you've done a right good job so far, haven't you?"

Hatred flared in the old man's hazel eyes. "I said get out and if you ever come into my home...."

"Your home?" Bodie inquired in icy contempt.

"Mine! You jackanapes! The king...."

"Took Gylcone from the rightful owners and placed it in your hands." Abner Doyle struck him but Bodie did not flinch, reacting only by a twitch in his eyes. "Who will he give it to next.... Master?" he asked insolently as he tugged at his forelock.

Blood suffused Abner's cheeks. His hands turned into claws. "GET OUT!"

"Go, Will, please," Doyle begged beneath his breath. Bodie left.

---

Part 2

"Master Raymond!" Bodie exclaimed in exasperation, "Get down!"

Doyle looked down from the roof of Widow Simpkins' tiny home. He flushed. "You scared me, Will." Dry leaves blew across the rough, handmade tile. They rustled as they flew, crackling and brittle in sound and appearance. The smell of autumn was strong in the cool air.

"I'll do more than that if you fall, you bloody dolt."

"No, you wouldn't." There was no hint of reproof in his voice, just a touch of sadness, but nothing else.

"Nay, I wouldn't. Why are you up there?"

"I was going to do the roof, but you've already done it, haven't you?"

"Aye. I thought it'd save you a clambering around like a right idiot, but you did it anyway, didn't you? Come down now, Master Raymond; You've only been out of bed for a few hours."

"You did a good job." His climb down was stiff, slow. At the bottom rung, he gritted his teeth when his foot slipped and he hit ground with a sharp thump. His knuckles grew white as he clutched the wood of the ladder.

Hiding his anxiety, Bodie resorted to gentle sarcasm, "I thank thee for thy kind words, master." He tugged at his forelock in mock servility.

"Don't call me that, Will." Doyle's green eyes held depression, mild desolation.

"I was just teasing. Does your father know you're out here?"

Doyle shook his head. "He went to the Williams' estate. The landowners are holding a meeting."

"About what?"

"The Night Hawk. They want to stop him. Father thinks they should set a trap."

"Oh? What kind?"

Doyle seemed disturbed. "They want to send out a false carriage, and bandy it about that it carries rich visitors from London, but it'd really have a couple of soldiers inside."

"Aye? And when would they be doing this?"

"I don't know."

"From the sound of your tone, you don't like this idea."

"The Night Hawk helps the poor people."

"By taking from the nobs. Have you forgotten you're part of them?"

"No, I haven't forgotten." He left the Simpkins' house, heading toward the stables.

"Where are you going?"

"For a ride."

"What's wrong, Master Raymond?" His hand reached out, gripped the slim arm, stopped Doyle's retreat.

For a moment, the young man didn't answer. His voice was strained when he finally replied, "My father has arranged a marriage between me and Lucy Greenway."

"She's a beautiful woman," came the reserved remark. "She'll do you proud."

Doyle wasn't reassured. "She makes me feel cold inside."

"Aye? Well, now, she'll thaw you out when you're in bed together." Flushing, Doyle pulled away and went slowly down the road toward the stables, head bent, lost in thought. Bodie watched him leave, his brows lowered.

---

Part 3

Night had come; the moon had risen though it was constantly being eclipsed by dark clouds.... The horse had appeared at the stable hours before, but Ray Doyle had not yet returned to the Doyle Estate. Abner, swallowing his pride, called for William Bodie but the servant was not available either.

Three of the men who worked on his estate were gone as well. Even when Birdie told Abner that they had already gone out looking for the young man, he was enraged. Abner threatened to fire them all when they finally did show up. He settled for the few house servants accessible to him.

"Find my son," he bellowed. If his young idiot died out there.... He saw the marriage between his only child and the heiress to the Greenway wealth vanishing, and with it, the great fortune she would one day inherit.

---

Owls screeched in the treetops. The air was cool as the autumn wind swept across the vast expanse of road and empty land. A lone figure limped down the road, moving slowly, tiredly, toward the Doyle estate. The man stopped once to take a deep breath, to glance upward at the sky. Rain threatened. He shivered. Horses materialized behind them. The men on them wore hoods, black clothing. He froze, fear choking him as they circled him. A lone figure broke from the ranks. The black horse reared upwards in protest as the rider abruptly halted him, coming to a stop right before the young man. The black creature squealed against the strength of the horseman.

"What are you doing out this late at night, Ray Doyle?" the cloaked, hooded man on the animal demanded in a low, guttural tone.

Doyle took a step backwards but the men and horses behind him curtailed his steps. "Who are you and how do you know me?"

"There's very little I don't know. Why are you out here?"

"My horse threw me."

"Walking home, then, are you?" The expression in his voice held amusement.

Doyle sighed. "Yes."

"I noticed you were limping. Have you injured yourself in your great journey?"

"Bad boots," came the embarrassed reply.

"Aye? Well now, that's what you get for selling your good boots to buy food for the McGuire family."

"They needed...how did you know? Who are you?"

"I am the Night Hawk." The answer was harsh sounding, threatening.

"They're setting a trap for you," Doyle said in earnest warning, taking a step forward. "You must be careful. They'll have soldiers hiding in a carriage...."

"I'm already aware of that, but I thank you for informing me. Why should you care if I'm caught?"

"You help the people."

The Hawk nudged his horse forward, put out his hand. "Climb up; I'll take you back to your home, young master."

"I'm not a.... Don't call me that."

The Night Hawk only laughed. "You're very prickly, young sir. Aren't you afraid of me?"

"Should I be?"

"You're surrounded by my men and you're alone out here. No one knows where you are, do they?"

"No."

"I've killed men."

"Will said you didn't; that it was a lie bandied about by those you've robbed."

"Will? That weak kneed stable master of yours?"

"Will is more than a servant...." When the highwayman laughed in derision, Doyle exclaimed in a hard tone, "He's my friend, and he's not weak kneed!"

"Rich and poor don't mix. If you call him friend, you're deluding yourself," the Night Hawk said in a harsh voice.

"I'm not." Anger turned his voice cold.

"Come on, unless you want to hobble the rest of the way to your silk and satin bed." Again he reached out. Hesitating only a moment, Doyle accepted the offer and allowed the other man to pull him up. He settled himself behind the Hawk. "Hold on," the Hawk teased in a gruff voice. "We wouldn't want you falling off again, now would we?" Doyle didn't answer though he flushed slightly.

The horse flew over the landscape, his hooves sounding and resounding like drums being played. The wind stunned Doyle's eyes and he hid his face behind the huge, muscular back of the Hawk. Strange feelings surged through Doyle as he held on, his cheek resting against the coarse texture of the rough, black material. The physical awareness of that warm, hard body so close to his was arousing him like Lucy Greenway had never done. Shaken, ashamed, he begged, "Let me down here." His inflection was close to panic. He did his best to control the timbre of his voice. "If they see you...."

"We're not close enough yet." His voice sounded subdued, troubled, yet he halted the black beast they were on.

"Please!" He had to get away from this man, away from what he was experiencing. He fell from the horse in his great desire to be free from the sensations that were overcoming him, from the human who was causing it. He remained on the ground looking up at the Night Hawk. While he could not see the highwayman's eyes, he felt as though the other man knew what he was undergoing, what was really wrong, and he became even more troubled, more conscience stricken. His heart thumped wildly and his breath became erratic. The heat rose up his neck, spread to his cheeks even as his loins sang the age old song of desire and need.

Thank God it's night, a part of him thought. Thank God...thank God.

"As you will...master...." The Hawk rode off, rejoining his men who were waiting up on the hill.

As Doyle stood up, he heard someone calling from the direction of his house, and he replied loudly, "I'm here."

His father, when he finally reached home, was incensed. "How dare you...." Even through his wrath, he noticed the disturbed look on his son's face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry if I worried you. I forgot the time. On my way home, a fox frightened my horse; he threw me."

"Well, you're home now, dirty again I see. Go wash up and have something to eat."

"Yes, Father."

"Eat?" he thought. "I'm not hungry." Shame colored his soul He had responded sexually to another man...A MAN! Doyle shuddered as he limped up the stairs. A man, his mind repeated. I was attracted to a man.... Oh, God....

---

Part 4

Depression had settled around Doyle like a murky shroud. He toyed with his breakfast. He didn't feel like eating; he was always tired but couldn't sleep when he did lie down. The revelation he had discovered about himself had thrown him into the void where nothing dwelt but the melancholy in his soul.

His father talked and talked and talked before he finally noticed his son was too quiet, too restrained, even for him. Abner threw down his fork. "Here I am talking about your future wife and you sit there looking like I've just died! They're due here within the hour and I'll not stand for that long face around them! Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Father. May I be excused? I think I'll ride out and greet them."

"You haven't touched your food. Do you have any idea how much money you're throwing away? Still, it is for a good cause I guess. Just see you don't greet her with the distasteful expression on your face." When his son smiled, it did not reach his eyes, but the father, who never truly noticed his offspring, saw only the upturning of the young man's lips. "That's better, and see you keep that ugly frown away from them."

"Yes, Father." Sighing inaudibly, Doyle left the house.

Someone was burning leaves. Doyle could smell the tangy cremation the moment he stepped outside. The air was warm but the wind had a promise of coming winter in it. A small flock of birds circled overhead. A crow scolded in the distance. The young man hurried down the stone path toward the stable. The area was empty while he put the bridle on his horse and led it out of the stall, but Bodie was there by the time Doyle threw the blanket over the animal.

"Shall I do that for you?" Bodie inquired. He noticed the tenseness, the stiffening, of the other man immediately.

"No, thank you."

"See to it that you don't lose your horse this morning," came the teasing order. Bodie chuckled, "Or should I may, see to it that your horse doesn't lose you?"

"I'll be careful."

The tone was wrong, that lack of joining in the fun, that unwillingness to look around. "Are you all right?" Bodie stepped closer.

"Yes." Doyle lugged the saddle from the holder, threw it up and over the horse's back.

"No, something's wrong. What is it?"

"Nothing's wrong." He began the intricate fastening the saddle required.

Bodie was insistent. "Did something happen last night?"

Oh, God, Doyle thought. Did something happen last night? The cleanness in me perished! "No," he murmured in a shaky voice.

Bodie placed his hand on Doyle's back. The young man grew stiffer, stopped breathing. "Did your father hit you again?"

Doyle was more aware of the man beside him than he had ever been. That awareness touched his loins. The torment of knowledge choked his spirit. In a trembling voice, Doyle begged, "Please don't touch me."

Bodie dropped his arm. "I forgot, young master. I ask your forgiveness."

Doyle turned, anguish eating away at his features. "No! It's not that! I...." Anguish turned to agony. "Will...!" He turned back, tears blinding him, to finish preparing the horse.

"What is it?" Bodie wanted to touch him again, wanted to give him comfort, but he didn't; something told him not to, some inner sense.

"Please leave me be." Doyle blinked away the tears. He couldn't see the last buckle. He fumbled with it.

"Let me do that." Shoving the younger man away, he completed the work. "I'm here, young sir, if you need someone to talk to." Bodie tried not to look at the suffering on the handsome face. It tore at the servant's heart, that pain. If that old fool in the house had hurt Ray again, he'd....

Doyle mounted the animal, broke it into a fast trot and escaped the truth that was left standing behind him in man form.

"What's wrong with the young master?" Jacks asked as he lugged in a pail of water. "He was riding out of here like the devil himself was hot on his tail."

"I don't know," Bodie murmured in worry, "But I intend on finding out."

The time for discovery would not arrive for days. Doyle concentrated on playing the good son to Abner, the attentive fiancee to Lucy Greenway. The only time he went to the stables was to get a horse so he could go riding with the beautiful blonde. No one noticed the young man's eyes except Birdie for he was careful to keep away from Bodie.

"There's no life in him," she told Bodie on the seventh day. "His eyes.... Dear God, can't that man see there's something wrong with his son? His own son!" She placed her hand on the stableman's arm. "Can't you do anything for him? He likes you: he trusts you."

"He does not want to marry that woman," Bodie confided in a low voice. "I can't do a thing about that, now can I?"

"He's dying, Will; slowly dying." Tears overflowed her grey eyes. Bodie patted her arm. "Please do something."

"Woman, you ask a miracle of me! Do I look like a priest?" He didn't try to hide his exasperation.

"Please...."

Bodie ran a hand through his hair. "I lack good sense when I'm with you. If you hadn't taken such good care of my mother...."

"Then you'll do it? You'll help him?"

"Aye, though what it is you think I can do...." His words were cut short by her thin arms hugging him. She kissed his cheek soundly and then returned to the house in a happier mood. "Women!" he muttered as he went back to the horse he was currying. He scowled at the sleepy eyed animal. "Women!" He ran the brush through the white hair. "Work a miracle, she says. Save the young master. How? I ask you. How am I suppose to do this? I should have gone to America like I had planned. That's what I should have done!"

Still, every time he tried to talk to Doyle, the young man would flee him as though the stableman were the ultimate in evil. Peeved, Bodie swore he'd corner the young heir to the Doyle estate if it were the last thing he'd do...somewhere, somehow...if it took forever...and it looked like it just might.

---

The carriage trap failed. Three times it went out and three times it passed safely over the road, untouched, unchallenged. There was a spy somewhere, it was decided, someone who was passing on information. Servants were questioned and questioned again. The landowners assembled once more, alone, with no domestic near them, and the trap was again laid. It too failed.

---

Doyle's eighteen birthday came right before All Hallows Eve. A party was thrown where his engagement was announced and cheered. On the way home, two carriages were stopped, the people robbed.

---

"Damn that man!" Abner Doyle hissed, getting up from the supper table, stalking the room in his usual storm. He cursed the Night Hawk as he threw his glass into the fireplace. "How does he do it? How does he know?!" He hurried to his son, grabbed the young man's collar. "Stop looking at me with that ugly face!" He shoved his offspring away. Doyle kept himself from tumbling from his chair with great difficulty. "Lucy was complaining about you. You don't kiss her like you enjoy it."

"I don't want to marry her," Doyle announced in a quiet voice. The deadness of his eyes had grown. He was close to reaching the breaking point. It would take very little to send him over that edge.

"You'll do what I say." An unpleasant expression came into his dark green eyes. "You're a virgin, that's the problem. You've never...."

Doyle stopped listening. His eyes had gone to the window and he was watching Bodie lead a horse around in circles in the fading sunlight, checking out a healing hoof. How beautiful Will was. Sad longing tinted his melancholy. He missed the friendship they had shared. If only....

"I'll take you into town. Once you've had experience, you'll warm up to Lucy right enough. Come on, get your coat."

"What?" His attention was fully on his father now.

"I said I'll take you to the Green Man in town. Prudence will break you in. Have you grown deaf? Haven't you been listening?"

"I would rather not go, if you don't mind."

"Well, I do mind, and you are going. I'll not have you so green on your wedding night you disgrace yourself."

"She's dirty. Will says...."

Abner threw his napkin at his son. Even though Doyle knew it wouldn't hurt him, he ducked. "I don't care a pig's arse what Will says. He ruts around in muck all day. You're going and that's that. Once you get a taste of a woman's tits, you'll welcome the sight of Lucy's."

Maybe, Doyle thought in hope, maybe he's right. Maybe if I lay with a woman, I won't feel...that way...about a man. "I'll go," the young man agreed in a soft voice.

"Damn right you will."

Prudence fawned over the virginal Ray Doyle. She smelled of unwashed body, dirty clothes, cheap perfume. The scent of her nauseated the young man. Her dirty and unkempt hair, her rotting teeth made him cringe. When her hand cupped his flaccid shaft, the others in the tavern laughed in lewd joy. They laughed even harder at his red face, his trying to draw away.

"Take him upstairs and break him in," Abner declared, taking a tankard of ale from the other barmaid.

"Aye, that I will," the woman promised, running her hands over Doyle's arms. She vowed, "This one won't be able to walk tomorrow."

Laughter followed them up but the moment the door was closed, they were forgotten. When he came down an hour later, his shirt dragging behind him, no one noticed. His father was so busy discussing politics with his cronies, he failed to noticed the ashen, shaken face of his son. Doyle escaped the noise and the smell, going out into the cool of the night.

When Prudence came down moments later, she sneered, "He couldn't get it up!" Abner, his anger coming back in full force, demanded his son be sent down. She shrugged, "He's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"What do I care?" She went to another patron and slid into his lap. "Hello, Carl, been missing me, have you?"

Abner, assuming the young man had gone on home, snarled beneath his breath, "Bloody fool! I swear, if he does anything to upset this marriage to Lucy...."

Bodie, riding back from a secret meeting, spotted a lone, shirtless figure standing close to the river's edge. The cold wind picked up and a few drops of rain splattered down. Shivering, the stableman jerked up his collar, tugged his hat down lower over his eyes and looked again.

"Ray?" It couldn't be. What would he be doing out here? But it was. And there was something about the way he was standing.... "Master RAYMOND!" Bodie broke his horse into a gallop, jumping off close to the young man.

Doyle heard, turned, saw him coming at him, and took a few steps closer to the edge. The rocks were damp and he slipped. By the time he had regained his feet, Bodie was there. He grabbed the slim arm with hands strengthened by hard work. Ray Doyle did not want to be saved. He struggled for release.

Unprepared for the fierce fight the other man put up, the servant lost his balance and fell, pulling the younger man down as well. Doyle battled to free himself, fought like a trapped animal who was going to be slaughtered. Bodie was stronger. He subdued the young man, pinning him down. Shock ran through the servant's body as he realized Doyle was weeping. The storm broke, sending a sudden, lashing, icy torrent of water on and around them.

"Come on," Bodie said as he tugged the now unresisting man up with him. "We have to get out of this rain." He forced a limp Doyle up on his horse, mounted himself and they rode off into the stormy night.

The strain Doyle had been under took its toll. He lost consciousness. When he came to, he was naked beneath a blanket, lying on a straw mattress, in a tiny cottage. Fire burned brightly on the hearth. It hissed, crackled, popped, sending warmth and tangy pungency through the small one room place. Bodie was seated next to him, clothed in breeches but no shirt. Their eyes met and Doyle looked away first, not being able to keep that clean, wonderful gaze with his.

"Were you going to jump?" Bodie asked point blank. Doyle tried to sit up but the servant held him down. "Master Raymond?" Stunned and dismayed by the emotions that played on the younger man's features, he caressed the hurting face. "What is it?" When there was no answer, Bodie asked, "Has your father done something to you?"

"Why did you stop me?" Doyle asked in a strained, agony filled voice.

"You were going to jump, weren't you? Why? What has the old fool done this time to bring you to this?" Doyle closed his eyes, trying desperately not to weep. "Master Raymond?" Bodie sighed wearily. "Well, we have all night. The storm's too bad to ride through. We'll have to stay here tonight." When Doyle tried to rise again, Bodie once more held him down. "I cannot let you go out in this; it's too bad."

"Let me go, Will; no one would ever know you'd found me."

They stared at each other, the worried servant and the disturbed employer's son. Perplexed, Bodie argued in a quiet, still voice, "I'd know. Nay, I'll not let you leave. Move over." Doyle's face worked strangely as deep emotions overcame him. "I said, move over."

"You can't.... I.... Will, let me go; you don't understand."

Bodie heard the anguish in the utterance and did not fathom the reason behind it. "You're right; I don't. I do know I'm tired and I do know I'll not be letting you go back out into the night to kill yourself. You'll not be feeling this way tomorrow."

Doyle rolled over, huddled beneath the rough blanket. Bodie shoved the young man over, slipped out of his breeches and climbed beneath the covers. He felt Doyle's tenseness. "I know I'm not gentry, but I don't have bugs and I won't be bragging about any conquests tomorrow, so relax." Doyle curled into a tight ball. It took a moment for Bodie to grasp the fact that the shivering was caused by more than cold. "You're afraid of me."

"No," came the tiny sound.

"You are. I thought you knew me better than that, Raymond Doyle; I'll not be hurting you," Bodie promised solemnly.

"I know," came the whispered, dismal reply.

"Then, why...." Bodie sat up, placed his hand on the cool, slim arm. Doyle tried moving away. Bodie's hand went to the bare chest, forced him onto his back, pressed downward. Doyle's trembling increased. "Look at me," the servant ordered in a deep, husky voice. "I said, look at me." Doyle did. Bodie saw shame in the green depths, but he saw desire as well before moisture submerged the emotions and hid them. Bodie froze a moment. "I see," he said at last.

"Let me go, Will. For God's sake, let me go!" Doyle begged, his tone one of deep pain, his eyes thin slits. One lone tear escaped, rolled down his white cheek. But the stableman's hand remained firmly on the quivering form.

"And if I feel the same way about you?" Bodie finally asked.

"Oh, God, don't!" Doyle begged. "I know I'm evil, unclean but don't mock me." The young man swallowed thickly. He had trouble breathing, trouble controlling his emotions. "Let me leave before I.... LET ME LEAVE!"

"Nay." When Doyle tried to get up any way, Bodie held him down. The young master of Glycone desperately strained to liberate himself. The servant's strength was greater. He forced the young man's arms upward, pinned him down. He gently ordered, "Calm down. Ray.... Calm down." All fight left the man beneath him. Desolation overcame him again. Bodie stared down in deep concern at the tortured features. Then he kissed each eyelid. Doyle froze as the touching began, inhaled deeply, in ragged agitation as though it were hard for him to take a breath, and then began his struggle to get away anew.

"No..." Doyle moaned.

"What if I feel the same way?" He touched the other man's lips with his own, a hesitant brushing. "What if I feel the same way, Ray?" he repeated. As he kissed him again, a more assured touching, he released his hold on Doyle's wrists and allowed his hand to tease the flaccid organ that waited in loneliness between the slim man's thighs. Sobbing, Doyle stiffened, tried to force the hand away.

But Bodie was stronger and he would not relent.

Afterwards, sighing, a little in tiredness, a little in frustration, the servant covered up his young master. "I love thee, young sir." He kissed the bruised lips in tender caring and slipped beneath the blanket where he cuddled the man in more than willing arms.

---

Part 5

Dawn brought a wet countryside, a dreary sky, and a mildly concerned Bodie. He hadn't raped the young man sleeping by his side, but he had refused to let Doyle continue running away from the truth. How would the young man take the overwhelming emotions that had overcome him? Would he continue to deny reality? Would he accept what had occurred between them? Would he accept the truth about himself! It could go either way, Bodie knew.

The servant kissed the cool shoulder. Doyle woke instantly, turned over onto his back and stared up into the knowing, blue eyes in shock. He stiffened when Bodie placed his hand on the slim cheek and then things changed. A look of love made Doyle's face glow.

"Will..." Doyle whispered. His hand went up to cover the work toughened, calloused one. His breathing altered...his eyes changed becoming inflamed with passion, hope...pleading.... "Please?"

"Aye." Satisfied, gently and lovingly, Bodie kissed him.

---

It was late afternoon when they reached home. Doyle stopped the man beside him before they rode close enough to be seen. "I can bear being married to Lucy Greenway if we can...." His eyes said the rest.

"If we're discovered...." Bodie didn't finish either; he didn't have to. Doyle knew the danger they both faced for the love they shared. The servant's hand shot out without warning, across the small space between their horses, and curled around the slender fingers. "I'll not be giving you up, Ray Doyle." The look of joy and love that came over the other's face was a gift Bodie would never forget.

They separated at the stables; Bodie returned to his job, and Doyle hurried toward the house. Lucy Greenway and her father were preparing to leave. Abner, face florid, was apologizing for his son's absence. When he saw the young man entering, clothes stiff with mud, he shot forward, backhanded his son, and sent him sprawling. As Doyle lay there dazed, blood dripping from the comer of his mouth, Abner kicked him. His son moaned in pain...and he didn't lift a finger to stop the old man.

"I refuse to marry such a weakling," Lucy announced coldly and slipped the ring from her finger.

Abner, seeing his plans being destroyed, turned to the woman and her father. "He's not! He respects his father. That's why he does not lay a finger upon me!"

"I would not allow my father to strike me like that," the ebony haired female announced haughtily. She met Doyle's hurting eyes and sneered. Though Abner argued with her and Robert Greenway, her decision was final. She left in a cold rebuff, her father following close behind.

"See what you've done?" Abner demanded in white hot fury. He picked up a candlestick.

Birdie was hysterical as she ran from the house. She sobbed, "Oh, God, I think he's killed him!"

"What?" But he had to shake her severely to bring her to sanity. "What's wrong?"

"Will...he...he's...oh, God, I think he's dead!" She wept into her hands.

Bodie bolted toward the house, his heart fluttering in fear.

Doyle lay unconscious on the floor, bloodied, white. Abner was propped against the table, perspiring, pasty. He wiped his forehead only to have to do it again moments later. His breathing was abnormal. His flesh whitened even more at the expression on Bodie's face. He stumbled over his feet trying to escape the menace confronting him.

---

Part 6

His head ached. Doyle moaned, tried to lift his hand. Someone stopped him. "You'll upset the bandage," Bodie said. There was love in his voice, love and caring and deep concern.

Doyle's mouth worked a moment before he was able to say, "Dark."

Bodie hesitated a moment then agreed in a strange voice, "Yes. You have a bandage over your eyes, around your head. Are you thirsty?"

The young man tried to answer and couldn't. He tried to nod and the pain that movement caused struck him with violence. Doyle gagged. Bodie helped him roll over. Though spasms struck, nothing was released from the injured man's stomach. When things had settled down, Bodie helped him lay back again.

"Try to drink a little water." He eased him up to a sitting position.

Doyle felt a glass touching his lips. He drank thirstily, greedily. Tiredness came without warning. Bodie allowed him to rest against the pillow. "Bodie?" The voice was weak, barely a whisper.

"I'll not be leaving you," the servant promised grimly as he held the cold hand. "Not even the old devil himself could get me out of here. You rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Father?" Fear tinted the bruised features.

"He'll not be bothering you. I guarantee that." He watched peace come to the battered face, and wrath, strong enough to overcome a man of the cloth, took over the servant's soul.

"May that old bastard rot in hell," he thought, trying to control what he was experiencing. Doyle needed a cool head, a calm person, when he awoke. The only good thing about this whole mess was the death of Abner Doyle. "Serves you right, you son of Satan. I hope he claims your soul, you foul creature. I'm glad you're dead. I only wish I could have gotten my hands on you before you died."

---

Part 7

It would be three days before Doyle asked hesitantly, "Why hasn't father come in?" There was a sad, beaten sound in his voice. He fumbled with the covers, nervous.

"Ray...." Bodie took the fidgeting hands into his, calmed them. "Your father...is...dead."

"Dead...? I...." His lips trembled. "Will?"

"His heart stopped the day he...hurt you. He died instantly." He held the fingers up to his lips. "You're free of him. He'll not be hurting you again."

Tears slipped from beneath the bandage, rolled down the white cheeks. He removed his hands from Bodie's grasp, positioned his arms across his chest. A spasm of pain crossed the hurting features when he pressed too hard on his broken ribs.

Bodie couldn't understand why Doyle was weeping. Surely he was glad the old fool was gone out of his life? "Ray?"

"He'll never love me now."

"Ray, you must not...."

"I'm evil!"

"Nay! You're not! And I'll not be hearing that from you! You're a kind, decent, young man. Do you hear me! That old bastard was the evil one, not you!"

Doyle felt Bodie's hands on him. but there was no comfort in them. not then. "If I hadn't...if we hadn't...." And the weeping grew, shaking the slim body.

The doctor came in with a sleeping draught. "Give him this." Bodie did and he fell into a restless sleep.

Five days later, as Dr. Whitehall and Bodie stood at the end of the hallway, the doctor asked, "Have you told him yet?"

"Nay. I did not know how."

"Would you like me to?"

Bodie wanted to say, yes, but he wanted the truth to come from him and not some stranger. "Nay, I will."

"I'm removing the bandages today."

"I'll tell him now."

"Would you like to be alone? I can go down for a cup of Birdie's tea."

"Aye, I think that would be best." Disturbed, Bodie could feel his body tensing.

"How did he take his father's death?"

"Badly."

"The lawyer contacted me yesterday, inquiring into Abner's death."

"He sent word this morning to Master Raymond. He wanted to read the will. I sent word back explaining that the new master was still recovering, but Master Jarvis insisted on coming tomorrow."

"It's a bad business when a father harms his only child like that." The doctor shook his head and turned toward the stairs. Bodie went into the young man's room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Doyle, seated in an over large chair beside the window, turned. He half smiled. "Will."

"Smelled me, did you?" Bodie teased, moving rapidly to him. He clasped the other man's shoulder.

Doyle tried to laugh but it didn't ring true. "I heard someone else's voice?"

"Aye, you did. Who was it?" the servant asked quietly.

Bewilderment tinted the healing features for a moment. They cleared and Doyle replied, "The doctor."

"Aye, and you win a kiss for knowing that." Doyle grew taut for just a second when Bodie's mouth touched his, then he gave into the moment. His lips parted and the servant's tongue explored the warm darkness. They held onto each other for a moment before Doyle drew away.

"You both sounded concerned. What is it?"

"I have something to tell you. I should have told you sooner but I could not bring myself to do it." Bodie tugged a straight back chair closer to Doyle. "I was being a coward and I'll ask your forgiveness for that."

"What's wrong?"

"The blows on your head your father gave you caused some damage. The doctor isn't sure how long it will last." He gripped the other man's hands in his own, larger ones.

"What is it?" Doyle felt a chill run up and down his spine. He began to tremble.

"The doctor said you'll be...." God, how he hated this! Damn that man's rotten soul for doing this to his son!

"Bodie?"

The servant heard the apprehension. "Master Ray, when he takes the bandages off today, you'll still be in darkness."

"I don't understand."

"You're blind." And he caught the younger man as he grew weak.

---

Part 8

The lawyer was pompous, and overweight. He called everyone into the room as though he himself owned the Doyle estate. It was there the obese gentleman told everyone in stark unfairness that Abner Doyle had left one single pence to each of the servants. There were murmurs of dissent, muttered curses on the soul of the stingy deceased. It was, however, what he said next that froze everyone into silence.

"I leave my entire fortune to my lawyer and my good friend, Ebe Jarvis. To my son, I leave nothing--only my contempt for his very existence." Jarvis, smug in his new found wealth, announced coldly, "I'll give you one week to vacate my home, Raymond Doyle."

"He's blind, you fool!" Bodie snarled, taking a step forward.

"I'll have you arrested if you come near me, William Bodie! And you're fired. I'm bringing in my own stable master, so I shan't be needing your presence on my estate. You, sir, can leave within the hour."

"He's blind," Bodie repeated coldly, speaking up for the silent, depressed young man who sat in a chair, gazing into the darkness of his world.

"That's none of my concern. I have a list of things and I'll be doing a complete inventory. Raymond Doyle, you're to take nothing that doesn't belong to you, do you understand?" Jarvis took out his snuff box and opened it.

"Where's he supposed to go?!" Bodie demanded in suppressed anger.

"That is not my concern either." He took a pinch of the black powder and inhaled it. "Let him carry a cup in London." He sneezed. "Or become a whore. I'm sure his blindness won't be noticed as long as his body isn't deceased."

Birdie grabbed Bodie's arm. "Nay, Will; Master Ray will be needing you." By sheer force of will, Bodie remained calm. "May I help him move today?" Jarvis gazed at the servant with cool regard before answering, "Yes, I suppose so. The sooner he's gone...." He shrugged and turned toward the mantle where he investigated the silver mugs and candlesticks that sat flamboyantly upon it.

"What will poor Mr. Ray do?" Birdie fretted, wringing her hands.

"I'll take him to my little cottage," Bodie said firmly. "He'll not want with me alive."

"You're a good man, Will," she said, adoration on her wrinkled, homely face.

"He's had enough," the servant said calmly, trying to hide the overwhelming upsurge of love.

"Let Mr. Ray come to the kitchen with me while you gather his things," Birdie whispered into Bodie's ear.

Bodie looked at the man hunched over in the chair as though he were hiding.

"Aye, that would be best." He went to the young man, pulled him gently up.

"Will?" He sounded muddled. He groped for the firm arm Bodie offered him.

"I'll be taking you out to the kitchen while I get your things."

"Will?" Doyle did his best to hide his uncertainty, his trepidation, but it showed on his face, in the tightness of his fingers.

"You'll never need to fear as long as I live," Bodie said softly, squeezing the hand he held. Love and faith turned the dark, cloudy features into a clear sunshine lit countenance. It touched William Bodie, made his own love even harder to hide. "Come on then, the sooner we're gone, the sooner we can get the stink out of our nostrils."

---

Part 9

"I've brought you something, Ray," Bodie said as he entered his tiny cottage. He stopped, watched the other man place the broom he had been using awkwardly against the wall. He still marveled how well Doyle was adapting. Once there depression had sunk back into oblivion, the young man had begun to learn his way around. He was now able to walk to the small well, draw up water. He could peel vegetables, wash dishes and clothes. He kept the place as clean as he could. He even made stews and vegetable soup though his being so near the fire scared Bodie. All the people the young man had helped before now took their turns visiting and bringing food.

"What?" Doyle walked slowly forward, his hands partially out to feel for obstacles. He knew his way around well enough, but accidents still occurred now and then. He allowed Bodie to sit him down, allowed the other man to place his hands in a cupped position. A tiny form was there--suddenly, a small, soft bundle of fur that wiggled and mewed. Doyle held him up to his face. The joy glowed in his expressive face. "Will...."

"Aye, but I'll not have him pooping in our bed," the solid built man teased. Doyle laughed and rubbed his cheek against the soft fur. When the kitten purred, he laughed again. His surprise showed when Bodie reached out, cupped his face. "I love you, Ray Doyle." Lips touched lips, tongue teased tongue. Bodie drew back before it grew too strong. He didn't have time to make love to the one he loved...not now.

The dreamy expression on Doyle's face receded as he stood up. "The curate brought bread this morning. I made soup. Are you hungry?" He held the kitten out, waited until Bodie took it, and then turned slowly toward the fireplace, walking in short, easy steps toward it.

"Ray, I have to go out tonight; I'm not sure when I'll be back." He saw the other man stop for an instant but the question that he thought would be asked, why, was not questioned.

"Do you want to wait to eat until after you come back? Or will you be eating out?"

Bodie heard the uncertainty in the man's voice. He hurried to Doyle, took the startled man into his arms, hugged him fiercely. "I love you!" Doyle buried his face against his lover's neck, put his own arms around the solid body. "Forget the food," Bodie said huskily, "Let's go to the bed."

---

Doyle had tried sleeping, but nightmares had driven it from him. He hated remembering when he was a boy growing up, hated recalling the beatings his father had given both he and his mother. When Bodie was around, they stayed away. Bodie wasn't here now and the pain and the blood and the broken body of his mother dying on the floor haunted him. Trembling, Doyle rose, drew on his clothes. He wondered what time it was, wondered where William Bodie was...and with who. Though his mind said the opposite, his heart told him Bodie had another lover, someone who could see, someone stronger, someone who could take care of himself.

Depression ate away the edges of his fragile self-respect.

It was cool in the room. The winter wind whistled around the snug, little cottage that Bodie owned. Carefully, Doyle added more fuel to the low burning fire. As the dry faggots and wood caught, they snapped, smoked a little. In his box, the kitten mewed. Doyle retrieved him, found his way back to the bed, and sat down. In his hands, the tiny animal purred.

"What color are you?" Doyle whispered. Anguish smacked him. He rubbed his eyes but the darkness remained. He curled on the bed, praying the depression would not linger. Bodie had enough to put up with; he didn't need a silent, hurting Doyle on top of it.

"Why?" he asked the kitten. "Why did he take me in? He didn't have to. I wasn't his responsibility. It's hard enough for him to make a living working here and there, without having to support me. No one would have hated him if he hadn't taken me in. Why?" Doyle sighed, moved restlessly beneath the old quilt. "He's gentle with me, kind, never cruel. It scares me sometimes, that goodness; I keep waiting for it to vanish, for him to change." His father's angry face rose to the surface and the young man shivered in fear. His hands clutched the rough material as panic twisted his mind. The kitten, unaware of the turmoil within his owner, only purred as it went back to sleep, safe in the small cocoon that was Doyle's arms. Drained emotionally, the young man went to sleep as well. He didn't hear Bodie come in, but he felt the rush of cold wind, heard the door click as it was closed.

"Will?"

"Nay, it's Father Christmas, come early. Did you save any food?"

"Yes. I'll warm it." He sat up.

"Nay, you stay in the warm bed. I can fetch my own meal. Are you hungry?"

"No."

Bodie saw the questions dancing in the sightless, green eyes, on that beautiful face. He waited, but none were asked. Doyle never inquired; he only accepted what Bodie gave him. No, he amended quickly, Doyle accepted what life gave him, good or bad. He never fought back, never asked for better. For one brief moment, Bodie stood, staring at the other man in perplexity. He could sense the strength hiding at the back of Ray Doyle. Aye, he knew it was there, but.... Shaking his head, he got his food.

"It's cold out there," he said as he sat down at the table.

"I can hear the wind. Will? What color is the kitten?"

The kitten was orange. "He looks like sunshine, like you do when you smile." Doyle's face lit up with love and delight. Like now, Bodie thought, like now. "Have you named it yet?" When Doyle shook his head, Bodie suggested, "How about Magpie?" The other man smiled hugely and shook his head. Bodie took a bite of the bread and grimaced. "The curate's wife is a lousy cook; no wonder he takes so many meals with other folks." He ate quickly, polishing off his food in record time. "I'm tired." Again he waited for a question from Doyle, but it never came. "I've got cold feet; hope yours are warm."

"They are." He listened to Bodie stand up, listened to the scrape of the chair as it was moved backwards. He heard the soft swish of cloth as Bodie undressed. He had never seen the other man nude and he wondered what he looked like. He had felt him of course, when they made love, but it wasn't the same.

Bodie took the kitten from Doyle, replaced it in its box. It mewed for a moment, then quieted down. Doyle moved to the back of the bed. It tilted a bit as Bodie climbed in. He took the slim man into his arms, held him curled against his body and went to sleep. Satisfied and once again feeling safe, Doyle too returned to sleep.

---

Part 10

Christmas came and went, Boxing Day, New Year's, and then spring arrived There were many nights Bodie went out. He never told Doyle where he went or why and though he saw the hurt, the bewilderment, the wondering, in the green eyes, Doyle never asked why or where Bodie went. Bodie hated hurting him but it was necessary that he go out on those nights. Too many people depended on him.

---

Ebe Jarvis never knew why the king took a disliking to him. He only knew one day he was living in luxury and the next, he was being thrown out of his ill gotten house, and it was being returned to the original owner...William Bodie....

"You?" Doyle asked in shock when Bodie broke the news to him. "It was yours? My father took it from you?"

"The king took it from me. It's been in my family for generations. My mother spurned his advances and my father took exception to the king's attempt at getting her into bed. It did not matter to his highness that both were killed in a carriage accident. His anger, it seemed, required pacifying."

"Why did Father let you work here?"

"He didn't know who I was, now did he? Aye, but you're right, it would have been a foolish thing for the old bastard..." He watched Doyle flinch but he didn't apologize, "to do, wouldn't it?"

"The other servants knew, didn't they?"

"Some of them, the ones like Birdie, that were there when my father owned the place." He caressed the wonderful face of the man he loved. He watched the startling transformation from mild shock to delight and gladness come over Doyle's face.

"You're going home!"

"That makes you glad, does it?"

"Yes!" Another change, one of guilt, one of sadness appeared. "How you must have hated us taking your home."

"I did not hate you, but you are wrong on one thing; I'm not going home...WE'RE going home. It'll be difficult hiding our love from the servants, though Birdie will be the only one sleeping in, but we can do it."

"I can stay here, Will, if you'd let me; you need not worry about me any longer you know. I can take care of myself," came the soft, lonely suggestion.

"Aye, you can, but you will not!" Bodie pulled the young man into his lap. "Did you think I'd push you to the side now that I'm to go back to the estate?" Doyle bent his head. "You did, didn't you?! Raymond Doyle, what a simpleton you are! I'll love you forever and I'll not have you forget that! Do you hear me?"

"Yes." His hand went hesitantly upward until it came to rest on Bodie's face. Doyle explored the rugged features in love and wonder. That touching was quite erotic to Bodie. "Are you tired?"

In a husky voice, Bodie replied, "Nay." He tilted Doyle's head upward, seared his soul with a kiss. His hand dropped down until it came to rest upon the mound between Doyle's thighs. The young man's legs parted and Bodie began a gentle rubbing as his lips continued their sweet assault. When Doyle's breathing altered, the new master of Gylcone carried his lover to the bed.

---

Part 11

Birdie wept as she hugged Bodie, "You're home, master."

"I'll not have you calling me that," Bodie warned. "We've been friends too long. The pleasure behind the tears appeared clearly on her old, homely face.

"And the young sir has come home too." She hugged Doyle, still weeping. She caressed the dazed face, the dark curls. "Aye, it's a good day today." Birdie felt the young man's arm. "You're too thin! I'll have to make sure you have plenty to eat. I'll not have you walking around like a skeleton in my home, not while I'm in charge of the cooking!"

"I'll not have him looking like Cyrus Flamm, him and his arse so big it takes two chairs to hold him," Bodie warned. He laughed at the look she threw him.

Birdie tugged Doyle toward the kitchen. "I've made tea and those tiny cakes you like so well. Aye, the cat can come too," she decreed as she noticed how Doyle held onto the feline for dear life. "I have a bit of fish put back for him, though what he'll eat tomorrow is anybody's guess."

"I'm assuming I'm invited to this party too?" Bodie asked dryly.

"You've gone daft on me!" Birdie exclaimed in mock horror. "Of course you're invited; you're paying for the food." She smiled hugely at the man she had helped raise. His half groan-half chuckle made her laugh out loud. In the kitchen, she led the silent Doyle to the table, pulled out a chair. The cat jumped from his arms, wanting to explore this new area. Doyle sat down, his hands searching the table top for strange objects, relieved when he found nothing there. "I've put you two in your parents' room," she said as she pulled down cups and plates.

"Birdie?" Bodie asked softly.

She turned, placed her hand on her hip. "I'm old but I'm not senile; I know you two are lovers. It shows on his face every time you speak."

"And?" Bodie prompted in a voice of steel.

"And nothing! You make him happy; he makes you happy. What more is there?!" she demanded, her eyes flashing. "But if you ever hurt him...."

"You'll what?" Bodie inquired, more curious than miffed.

"I'll thrash you good and proper I will! I did it before and I can do it again!" She sniffed as she brought the dishes back to the table.

"I was six years old then," he reminded her gently, not trying to hide his smile.

"So? I've not lost my strength and I'll have you remembering that!" She placed a plate and a cup in front of Doyle.

Bodie rearranged them. "Your cup is at one o'clock, Ray. It's empty now."

Doyle nodded. The cat jumped up on the young man's lap, mewing.

"Magpie's hungry."

"Magpie? Is that his name?" Birdie questioned, stroking the cat's soft fur. It purred beneath her hand.

"Nay, I'm only teasing Ray. His name is Merlin."

"I don't know which is worse," she muttered. Without warning, she hugged Doyle tightly, kissing the top of his head. Startled, it took a moment, but he hugged her back, the hunger of his soul appearing on his face for his father had never shown him any love and anyone who did was immediately let go.

"You'll smother him," Bodie remarked, only half teasing.

"You leave me be, William Bodie," Birdie ordered. "I'll not be turning into a mother hen; it's just...." She caressed the blind man's face, soaking in the happiness, the love, that glowed in his features, in his sightless eyes. Tears filled her own and she moved quickly away, trying to stifle the sob that caught in her throat.

Bodie gripped Doyle's shoulder in reassurance before going to his own seat. He watched his lover's features as he tried to assimilate everything that was happening.

"Here, cat, your food is here." She settled a bowl of cooked fish close to the hearth. Merlin left Doyle again, running to the bowl where he ate the meal in noisy greed.

When food and tea was before them, Birdie grumbled, "I thought the old fool was bad but this Mr. Jarvis took the cake."

"Why?" Bodie asked.

"It was do this and do that, and was he ever satisfied? No! He fired me he did the day he was kicked out! I placed a curse on him right to his face." She giggled. "You should have seen the look on him when the king's man came with the order to vacate! He called me a witch. 'Aye,' I said, 'And I'll rot your stick if you speak to me like that again!'"

"You didn't!" Bodie asked in awe, a look of amusement on his lips.

"I did! And he believed me too, he did. Serves the arse right, him pinching the washer woman's bum when she was bent over the rinse tub." She set her cup down with a firm smack. "Well, you're back where you belong and that's that!"

"Aye, until the next time the king takes it into his head to award my home to another," Bodie said in acid sarcasm. "Did he sell off the horses?"

"Nay. No one would buy them. No one would come to see him or receive him. Served him right, the thief. Wonder how many clients he loses when they discover he took a home from a blind man?" She finished her tea and settled the cup back on the table. "You've not eaten all your cake, Mr. Ray."

"I'm not hungry." His face turned toward her. It revealed his worry.

"Did I ask if you were hungry?" she demanded in mock gruffness. "Well, I suppose you should be saving room for the steak and kidney pie I'll be baking for dinner. I'll not be having you say you're not hungry then! I'm giving you fair warning."

Bodie hid his smile behind his cup. "I'm going out to take a look at the horses and the stable."

"May I come with you?" Doyle inquired in a soft voice. "I can clean tack, Will; I know I can. I can curry the horses."

Bodie's heart twisted. There was such a forlorn expression, tinted by qualm, on that beautiful face. "Aye, I know you can too, and I'll be glad to have you work beside me." Jubilation made Doyle's face glow. Bodie was glad he had said yes.

"Thank you." His words, spoken softly, lovingly, touched both Bodie's heart and Birdie's.

"When we get back in, I'll take you around the place, help you get the feel of the house. It's been a while. If anything doesn't feel comfortable to you, we'll change it." He rose, went to his lover, briefly touching the velvety curls.

---

Part 12

Summer was another month away, but the heat had already closed in. Bodie's crops were coming up strong and healthy. Repairs were well underway. Doyle felt more at peace than he ever had. When Bodie was busy doing things the young man couldn't do, Doyle would visit with Birdie. Only one thing marred his happiness; Bodie's continued disappearances at night. It hurt him, those vanishings. Though Bodie's actions toward him never changed, Doyle's heart screamed that his lover had another paramour on the side. His worse fear was Bodie coming home one night and telling him he was no longer wanted and would have to leave.

Doyle was in the kitchen one hot spring day, peeling potatoes while Birdie kneaded dough. Bodie was off repairing a cottage. "Birdie?"

"Aye?" She watched the hesitation tease his features and stopped her work. "What's wrong?"

"Do you know where Bodie goes at night, when he goes out?" His breathing faltered for a moment.

"Me? How would I know?"

He couldn't see the guilt on her face, but he heard it in her voice. "Where does he go?"

"How would I know, Mr. Ray?"

"Does he have another lover? Who is it?" He couldn't hide his fear, his uncertainty, from her.

"Will doesn't have another lover. How could you think that?" She pounded the dough. "As if he'd do that to you!"

Doyle sighed. He reached for another potato. It dropped from his hand onto the floor. Slightly annoyed, he set his knife in his usual spot and scooted his chair away from the table.

Birdie grabbed a dishtowel to wipe her hands. "Let me get it."

"If you'll tell me where it is, I can." Doyle knelt down, searched with his fingers.

"It's near the far, left table leg."

Doyle rose, moved around the table, and bent down again. As he explored the floor, Bodie came in, saw what the young man was doing and retrieved the lost object himself. "Here it is, Ray," he said as he knelt down by his lover. Their hands touched, held. The love they shared flowed between them. Bodie's free hand went up, entangled in the soft curls.

"I'll turn my back, Will Bodie," Birdie offered and did so.

Bodie threw her a startled glance that quickly turned into gratitude. He kissed Doyle, lightly at first and then with more passion. He drew away before it could turn into anything more than a mere kiss but it was the hardest thing he had ever done or ever would do. He cradled a warm, trembling Doyle in welcoming arms. The young man rested his head on the firm, solid shoulder. "I forgot," Bodie said in worry. "If that had been in front of someone else...." His arms tightened on the man he loved.

"You'd not have done it," Birdie announced in scorn as she turned around. "You feel free around me, that's why you let go."

"I hope you're right," the owner of Gylcone said in a worried voice. He rose, taking Doyle with him. "How would you like to go riding this afternoon?"

"Me?" That he was surprised was clear enough.

"Aye. You know Utopia and he knows you, and I'll be right with you." Happiness lit the other's face. "Is it a deal then?"

"I'd like to."

"Then let's go upstairs and change, shall we?" When Doyle nodded, Bodie took his arm and they went up. Even though he was with someone, Doyle still counted the stairs beneath his feet. It had been Bodie's idea from the start and it had worked well, keeping the young man from missing a step and falling.

In the room, moments later, as Doyle undressed, Bodie took down a more serviceable shirt and breeches, removed stronger boots. He stopped to admire his lover's body.

"Are you looking at me?" Doyle asked as he waited nude by the bed.

"Aye." His tone was husky.

"I wish...." He blurted out, "I wish I could see you!" He turned white, grew tense. "I'm sorry." His head lowered in shame.

Bodie went to him, gripped his arms. "Nay, don't feel bad about wanting to see! If I were blind, that would be my wish too!" He pulled the other man close. "Nay, I'll not have you feeling regret because you want your sight back." He held him away. "Now, let's get you dressed before I forget why we're up here." Doyle smiled hugely; his face glowed like sunshine. "You like me feeling like this, do you?"

"Yes."

"See you remember that tonight."

"Are you staying in?" Again he paled. "I'm sorry, Will; I didn't mean.... I...." Bodie's hands gripped the worried face. He felt Doyle stiffen. "I'll not have you afraid to ask me things! Do you hear me, Ray?"

"Yes, Will." The unsure expression on the blind man's face bothered the owner of Gylcone.

In a softer tone. Bodie continued. "I have to go out tonight: I have no choice. I'm not free to tell you why I go out when I do, or where I go, but please believe me, it's necessary."

"Are you trying to catch the Night Hawk?" Doyle inquired, troubled.

Bodie laughed beneath his breath. "Nay, I'm not trying to catch the Hawk. Come on, you naked man, let's get you dressed. Here's your breeches." When Doyle hesitated, the firmer bodied man asked, "What's wrong?" Doyle shook his head. "Nay, now, I can see misery in your eyes; what is it?"

"Nothing." Doyle slipped on his breeches, fastened them.

"I don't understand you. We've lain side by side, made love, and still, you don't trust me enough to ask questions?"

"I do trust you!" Doyle protested. He wrapped his arms around his chest and held himself tightly. "I do." His voice trembled.

"Nay, you don't," Bodie argued, shaking his head. "I can see the uneasiness in your eyes. What have I done to...." He sighed, rubbed his neck. "Oh, aye, the nights again." He caressed the pale face. "I'm not doing anything I shouldn't be doing. Do you believe that?" Bodie sighed. "Nay, I can see you don't." He exhaled loudly. "I wish I could tell you what I'm doing and why but I can't. I'm asking you to trust me."

"I do! I'm sorry I...." Bodie's forehead touching his stopped him. "Will...."

"I'll never do anything to harm you." Though he tried to hide it, he was exasperated and the other man heard it.

"Please don't be angry with me," Doyle begged, slightly breathless. His trembling increased.

"I'm not angry. Here, put on your shirt." He put it in the other man's hand.

At the door, moments later, Doyle said in a strange voice, "Will? If there ever comes a time when you...." He licked his lips, emotions almost taking his breath. "If there ever comes a time when you...want me gone...."

Bodie's slipped downward to clench the slim arms, and then he shook him. "I'll not have you speaking like that!" he said gruffly.

For one brief second, that voice reminded Doyle of his father...but it was only for a second and then the similarity vanished but the fear remained.

"I only meant...."

"I know what you meant," Bodie said harshly. It suddenly occurred to him what the real problem was. His hand tightened without meaning to. Only the look of pain on Doyle's face brought him to himself. "Listen to me, and listen good, it's true you were not the first for me as was with you, but you're the last. I've not touched anyone else since our first night and I never will! I wish you could believe me." He rubbed his eyes. "It's this night business that's made you doubt me but I cannot stop it, not yet. I'm sorry it hurts you; that was never my intention. I cannot be open with you on that; it's for your own good you're not told where I go and why." He caressed the pale lips. "One day...I promise...one day...."

---

Part 13

Doyle had been too upset to eat much dinner feeling his lover's eyes on him the whole time. He hadn't meant to say anything to Bodie that afternoon. It had angered him. In bed, alone, Doyle felt his arms where the other man's hands had bruised him. Panic stopped his breathing. Bodie had been angry...angry.... Visions of his father's face, red with rage, twisted with emotion, came back to haunt him. He shot upward in bed, panting, forcing air into and out of his lungs. He felt as though he were suffocating. Though it was hot in the room, Doyle shivered. He rose, drawing on his robe and hurried from the room he shared with William Bodie. The cat mewed, curious, and followed. Doyle paused by his door, began counting the steps from the room to the top of the stairs.

The wind tinkled the chandeliers.

It was a freak accident. It wouldn't have happened had Doyle's mind been totally on what he was doing instead of his conversation with the man he loved. Halfway down the stairs, the cat stepped between his legs. Doyle lost his balance and fell. His head hit the comer of the bottom step. Pain shot through his skull. Doyle lost consciousness.

Bodie, coming home a few minutes past midnight, found him, blood pooled beneath his head.

---

Part 14

Rain pattered the windows when Doyle awoke again, the second time since the accident. Bodie and Birdie were out in the hall, quarreling.

"If I had been here..." Bodie was saying.

"You cannot be in two places at one time," she argued.

"No, but if I had been here instead of out there playing tin god...."

"You're not playing tin god!" Birdie hissed.

"Will?" Doyle's voice was low, weak, but Bodie heard him.

"I'm here," he called out as he hurried to the other man's side. He took the slim, cold fingers in his.

"My head hurts," Doyle murmured, moving fitfully.

"I know. The doctor left laudanum. I'll get you some."

"I'm sorry." He licked his dry lips.

"For what?" But Doyle only moved restlessly. "What happened?" He held the glass to the other man's lips.

Doyle drank deeply. "I tripped." He moaned as the pain stabbed him, making him sick to his stomach. The laudanum took effect within minutes and he fell into a deep sleep.

"Maybe we should move his room below so he doesn't have to use the stairs," Birdie suggested.

"Aye, that's a good idea," Bodie said thoughtfully as he soothed back Ray's tousled, chestnut curls. He buried his face in his hands. "If I had been here; if I hadn't been out riding the countryside...."

"The Night Hawk is needed," Birdie said as she patted his shoulder.

"Oh, aye, I know, but I came so close to losing him. Birdie, the doctor said he could have died. He was out for two days! Two days! His head hurts, even now, four days after he fell! Are the needs of my people worth his life?!"

"You'll have to answer that yourself, William Bodie. I only know the Night Hawk serves a purpose. Without him...." She shrugged. "You have to make up your own mind."

His own mind. Bodie laughed, silently, bitterly. What choice did he have? Someone had to help. There were so many people taking and so very few giving. What choice did he have?

---

Part 15

Doyle was up and around again in a few days. Though Bodie wanted him to stay in bed, safe, secure, he forced himself not to choke the life from Doyle's soul. Doyle was alone in the garden, seated beneath an apple tree, the cat in his lap, when the first headache smashed into him. Groaning, he bent over, held his head. Thousands of bits of color and light swam in the darkness. That and the pain passed rapidly but left him shaken, frightened. The second woke him from a sound sleep. It roused Bodie as well.

"Bad dream?" Bodie asked sleepily as he soothed a path up and down his lover's back.

Scared, shaking, Doyle lay back down. "I'm all right, Will." His eyes seemed to ache, like they had when he had first lost his sight and strained to see through the black curtain that surrounded him. Murmuring words of comfort, Bodie rolled over and went back to sleep, but Doyle lay there, afraid. He wasn't sure why he hadn't told Bodie, unless it was his fear of causing more trouble for the man who took such good care of him.

The third struck when he was on the last rung of the stairs. It hit when he stepped down causing him to lose his balance, slip. He clung to the post for a moment, waiting for the sickness the pain had generated to past.

The fourth time it occurred, he was in the kitchen, talking to Birdie. It only lasted a moment, but it frightened her enough, she ran for Bodie.

"I'm all right," Doyle pleaded when the other man had run in.

"He was in pain," Birdie argued. "He went white as a sheet. He cried out!"

"Send Jacks for the doctor," Bodie decided as he picked up the slimmer man.

"Will, I'm all right. Please."

"We'll let the doctor decide that," came the firm, grim decision. He carried the younger man into the den.

The doctor came, checked him out and found nothing. When he asked how many episodes there had been, Doyle tried to avoid answering, but the doctor refused to accept that. He seemed worried that there had been so many in such a short time span but he didn't know what was causing them or when they would stop...if they ever would.

"Light seems to hurt his eyes. Keep the house dark for a few days," the doctor said as he walked with Bodie to the door.

"Is he dying?" the owner of Gylcone inquired in a concerned voice, becoming reassured when the answer was no. That eased Bodie's mind.

The headaches vanished as quickly as they came.

There was a rumor that the Night Hawk had come close to being caught, that he had escaped by sheer luck. The militia would be combing the countryside for him. It was only a matter of time, they said, until he was captured and brought to trial. The Night Hawk didn't appear for fourteen days.

Bodie remained at home for two weeks.

---

Part 16

Awareness came slowly to Doyle. His head ached, not with the sharp pain of before, but with a dull throbbing that seemed centered in his eyes. He opened them. The darkness seemed filled with pinpoints of white, flickers of multi-colored hues.

"Will?" There was no answer. Bodie was gone again. He couldn't change things in his life; couldn't change William Bodie. Did he want to alter the man? No, he admitted to himself. He wouldn't be Will then.

Sharp pains darted through his eyes. Doyle rubbed them. There seemed to be a change in the bright flashes of light and color; though most of them were blurred, some almost looked like objects. Doyle rubbed his eyes again, frightened, disoriented. And the dancing lights changed once more. He stared at them, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. And then it hit him.... He was gazing at moonlight. He was seeing his room lit by the dim light of the moon.

Doyle sat up, became dizzy and fell back. His heart pounded in excitement. He was seeing moonlight! He simply lay on his bed, soaking in the sight, the light and the shadows, the faded colors that night brought. How long he lay here, he didn't know. He was afraid to go back to sleep, afraid to close his eyes, sure that if he did, his sight would vanish once more.

Bodie entered the room quietly, without glancing at the man on the bed. Yawning, he removed his clothes, letting them fall, to the floor, allowing them to remain there. Taking a cloth, he wet it and washed the perspiration from his body slowly, lazily, while Doyle watched in avid interest. How beautiful William Bodie was. He felt his love rise up, fill him as he gazed at the nude form of the man he loved. Doyle thought about letting him know his sight had come back, but some silly inner fear of losing it again if he did tell, kept him from it.

Bodie scratched his genitals and yawning, walked to the bed and climbed in. Once settled in, he took a deep breath, prepared to fall asleep instantly. When he fell, Doyle moved his body closer to cuddle next to him. Bodie rolled over onto his side and pulled the other man close. Though Bodie slept, Doyle remained awake. He watched the sun come up, watched the face and form of his lover crystallize into perfect clarity. He wept then, in joy, in happiness. Though the terror of losing his sight again was at the back of his mind, his heart sang in jubilation. He was...watching...WATCHING...William Bodie sleep.

Rising quietly, he put on his robe, went downstairs. He saw his cat for the first time. How lovely it was, all sleek and golden-orange, like sunshine. Bodie had been right; Merlin was like that. Doyle went to the library, searched the shelves and found a book he had read long ago. He took it down and pulled a chair close to the window. He read for a while and then the truth hit him again. I can see! He clutched the book to him and wept.

Bodie found him like that and misunderstood. "Ah, Ray, don't torment yourself like that." Bodie took the book, threw it down, and gathered the emotional man into his arms. "I'll hire someone to come in and read to you." He wiped the tears away. "Don't weep so."

"I can see!" Doyle cried out. "I can see again, Will." He sobbed against the solid, warm chest. "I can see!" The shock his lover felt delighted Doyle for he was seeing the change on the other man's face. The young man reached up, stroked the sun browned, rugged face.

"I don't understand." He searched the moistened eyes, his shock slowly turning into wonder and rapture.

"I can see, Will."

Bodie repeated, "I don't understand. What happened?"

"I don't know." They hugged tightly. "Will...." Doyle choked up, unable to finish.

Bodie's words were colored with emotion as well, "Aye, I know."

Someone pounded on the front door. It was incessant, impatient.

"Who the...." His eyes swept over the robe covered body of the man standing next to him. "Maybe you should go up and get dressed. When I get rid of whoever it is...." Doyle nodded and hurried to the stairs. Bodie went to the door but he waited until his lover vanished into the confines of the second floor before opening it. Soldiers stood there, their bright red coats looking oddly menacing in the daylight. "Yes?"

"You are William Bodie?" the short, overweight captain of the local patrol demanded as he tried to push in.

Bodie refused to budge. "I am, but I'm not receiving visitors this morning."

"The king has issued a warrant for your arrest and has ordered us to search your estate."

When the captain of the soldiers shoved forward, Bodie moved. "May I ask why?" It was then he saw the tiny, thin form of Silas Belkin, a man who had ridden with his group for years until drink had forced Bodie to refuse him any further association with his group. Coldness seeped into his mind. Belkin wouldn't look at him as the soldiers dragged him in.

"I'm arresting you for being the Night Hawk."

The soldiers spread out, moving rapidly in different directions. Bodie worried about Doyle when he saw two soldiers start upstairs. He opened his mouth to warn his lover when a commotion from the back of the house broke into his intentions.

Birdie screamed. Within seconds, she came running out in her nightgown, her grey hair streaming behind her. She clutched Bodie's arm. "Master Will?"

"It seems I'm under arrest," Bodie said desperately trying to sound sarcastic and not fearful.

"For what?!" she demanded.

"He's the Night Hawk," the captain said.

"Not bloody likely," Birdie said in scorn. "He's not tall enough! Look how thin he is! Could someone like him fool one of your soldiers? He lost his blinking house to Abner Doyle! He got stuck taking care of a blind man!"

Bodie scowled at her; did she have to be so truthful? It was almost, well, repulsive the way she said it, like he was an imbecile. His blue eyes became stormy as he stared at the woman.

"He is," Silas Belkin muttered in a hard voice, glowering at his former employer and fellow rider.

"You took his word?" Birdie demanded. "My master fired him shortly before the king took his home away! That little thumbknot drinks worse than my husband did and he was never without a bottle in his hand!"

"None-the-less, we must investigate any allegation."

Struggling footsteps sounded from the top of the stairs. All eyes turned upwards. Doyle was there, being dragged by the two soldiers who had gone up. The young man moved awkwardly as though he feared he would fall. There was a look of fear on his face. There was something wrong with what Bodie was seeing, and then he noticed the green eyes...and they were sightless again. Anguish filled Bodie. The miracle they had rejoiced over had been taken away. Sadness touched the owner of Gylcone. He wouldn't be here to give him comfort, to see him through the loss. Ray! Oh, God, why you? Why you?

"Don't hurt him!" he ordered. "He's blind!"

"Will?" Doyle called down, obviously upset. He was only partially dressed...his shirt was unbuttoned.

"Just come with them," the captain ordered coolly, "and you won't be hurt. Is there anyone else in the house?"

"No," Bodie said coldly, "We're it." At the bottom of the stairs, Doyle stumbled. One of the soldiers sniggered. Bodie demanded in controlled anger, "Do you have to hurt him? Is that how you get your entertainment?"

"Who are they?" Doyle asked, getting to his feet. He kept his hand on the ornate post at the bottom of the stairs, a security blanket in the darkness that filled his world.

"We're arresting him for being the Night Hawk," Captain Shoemaker replied coolly.

"Him? Will?"

"As if the Night Hawk could be him!" Birdie sniffed.

"If he's innocent, then he'll be released."

"What about these two?" his second in command inquired, nudging Doyle with his toe. The look of rage in the expression Bodie threw him made the soldier tense up for a moment.

"She's too old, and he's blind; neither of them are dangerous. I highly doubt the Hawk here would require their aid in any way, shape or form. This one can't even fasten his own shirt." Half an hour later, their search complete, the soldiers returned to the captain, and they left, taking Bodie with them.

Birdie wept into her hands. She jerked when she felt someone touching her. When she looked up, she gaped in shock. "May God be praised! You can see!" Her hands went up to cover her mouth.

"Is Will the Night Hawk?" Doyle asked, worried, thoughtful. Her closed look irritated him. "Birdie, he needs help, if he's the Night Hawk, I think I can free him. If he isn't...."

"You think?"

"I have a plan, but it depends on your help; now, is Will the Night Hawk?"

It only took her a moment to decide. "He is."

"That's why he goes out at night." Doyle smiled, relieved as the burden he had carried for so long evaporated; Bodie didn't have another lover.

"Aye. What are you going to do?"

"Can you contact his men?"

"Some of them."

"Do you know where he keeps his cape and hood? The horse he rides?"

"Aye, but I fail to see what good they'll do with him in that filthy jail."

"If they see the Night Hawk riding, then it can't be William Bodie, now can it?"

"Nay, but...."

"The Night Hawk is going to torment those soldiers."

"But how can Will.... Nay, you can't! If anything happened to you.... Nay, I won't let you!"

"They'll hang him; is that what you want?"

Her derision sang in her words: "Of course I don't, you daft fool!" She wiped her tears away. "He'll flay me alive if anything happens to you!"

"Birdie, he's the only good thing in my life. How can I live without him? And they'll hang him on the word of that little weasel...."

"Weasel is right," Birdie said harshly. "If I had my way, I'd poke his stick up his arse!" Doyle couldn't hold back his smile, but Bodie's life was topmost in his mind. Sighing, she told him where to find the hood and cape, the horse, three of his men. "I don't know who the others are. He had a system where one man only knew three others; that way, if one was caught, the whole group wouldn't be taken."

Doyle smiled in love. "Will is a very smart man, isn't he?"

Birdie nodded, "The wisest. His father was the same way." Without warning, she hugged him tightly.

"What's that for?" he inquired, not even bothering to hide his pleasure.

"I love you." She was touched by the fragile hope that bloomed on his face.

Flushing, he whispered, "I...love...you too, Birdie." And he hurried away.

---

Part 17

"Stand and deliver!" the hooded man said as his men surrounded Captain Shoemaker and five of his men. When one of the soldiers attempted to fire his weapon, one of Hawk's man shot him, wounding him in the shoulder. "Don't try it again. I'll have that watch of yours, Captain."

"Who are you!?" the captain demanded.

"I am the Night Hawk," came the low, guttural reply.

"But you can't be! I've arrested William Bodie!"

The Night Hawk sneered down at the captain of the area's small patrol. "Aye, I heard you had." He laughed and the tone of it sent shivers through those present. "How could you think that muckraker was I? Some representative of the king you are, Captain Shoemaker!" The wind blew the cape out. It looked like wings, like extensions of the night.

"I had it on good authority!" the man in charge of the local patrol of redcoats said sharply.

"Ah, yes, Silas Belkin. Captain, I would not have that person near me. He has never been a part of my group. He is a weakling, a coward. But I forgive you for your error in judgment; you're new here."

"Very kind of you," the reply came back, sarcastic.

The Hawk laughed low. "Your watch, Captain. And your clothes."

"My...clothes?"

"Aye. All of you, strip." The Hawk's horse pranced but the firm hands of the man on its back quieted him. He pulled out his weapon, pointed at the leader of the soldiers. "Captain, I'm prepared to shoot. Are you prepared to die?" The redcoats disrobed. "You need to lose weight, Captain. Now, all of you, back up to those trees. Go on." They did so. One of the Hawk's men dismounted, picked up the clothing, handed them up to the Night Hawk. "They'll be waiting for you at your barracks."

"You can't!" Shoemaker protested. "We'll be the laughing stock of the whole army!"

"Sir, when they find out you believed a liar like Silas Belkin, you will become more than a laughing stock. It is possible you may very well be transferred." He turned his mount then and the whole group left at a fast pace.

---

Part 18

His house looked good to him. It was dark but welcoming. Bodie removed his clothes, moving quietly into his home. Naked, he went in, moving slowly upstairs. He still didn't believe events in his life. The soldiers had simply released him. All charges had been dropped, they had told him. There had been a half hearted attempt at an apology but Bodie had ignored the captain's hand and had left, totally bewildered.

He ran up the stairs when he was finally inside, entered quietly into his room. Doyle was laying on his stomach, sleeping without a cover. Moonlight caressed the pale, slim buttocks. Bodie was so quiet, Doyle did not arouse. The owner of Gylcone stood there for a moment, admiring the resting man, love and compassion and tenderness overcoming him. Shaken by the emotions raging through him, he grabbed his robe and left the room. He was in the kitchen, drinking tea when Birdie entered.

She stood in the doorway. "So you're back, are you?"

"They turned me loose."

"Hated your breath, did they?"

Bodie smiled faintly. "Said they made a mistake." He took a deep swallow from his tea.

"For someone who's been freed, you don't look very happy." She moved slowly toward the table, sat down. He shrugged, clanked his cup down into his saucer. "What's wrong?"

"Tired I guess." He rubbed his eyes.

She waited for him to mention the false Night Hawk and when he didn't, she inquired. "Why did they let you go?"

"The captain said he had proof that I wasn't the Night Hawk."

"Oh. Is that all?"

"I heard two men complaining as I was leaving. The Night Hawk stopped them, stripped them, and made them walk back to the barracks."

"I wish I could have seen that. Did you make enough tea for me to have a cup?"

"Aye. It was good of my men to risk themselves to free me. If they had been caught.... Well, many of them have families."

"They do." Birdie went to the sideboard and picked up the teapot. "Have you talked to Master Ray tonight?"

"No." The pain of remembrance struck him sharply. He actually saw me this morning. He rubbed his eyes again. Blind! Ray's blindness has returned. The miracle vanished. "I love you. I'll always be here for you." The truth suddenly shook him. Not if I'm dead. If they had hanged me.... Bodie shuddered.

"Did the soldiers hurt you?" Her hand on his shoulder was warm, loving, comforting.

"Birdie, what would have happened to Ray if they had hanged me?"

"Of all the questions! I'd take care of him."

"How? What if the new owner of Gylcone didn't want an extra mouth to feed? What if they refused to let him stay?"

"There's your small cottage. I would go to him each evening.... Why are you worried about this? Mr. Ray can take care of himself."

"He's good, I'll grant you that, Birdie, but we both know he can't fend for himself, not with him being blind." He closed his eyes against the hurting. He had one brief moment of sight and then God took it away again. Why? WHY?

"But he's not...." Doyle's presence stopped her. He put one finger to his lips.

"What would have happened to him?" He bent his head in worry.

Doyle moved swiftly forward, put his arms around the husky man. "To who?"

"Ray." Bodie pressed gently backwards into the warmth and solace that was Ray Doyle. He squeezed the arms in devotion, tenderness. Doyle kissed the top of his head and Bodie kissed his lover's arms. "They released me."

"Got tired of you, did they?" Doyle teased.

"The Night Hawk made an appearance, upset Captain Shoemaker's plans to pin the crimes on me."

"Oh, I see." He grinned foolishly at the woman by the sideboard who nearly choked on her laughter.

"Are you all right?" Bodie inquired, looking her way.

"Aye, just a bit of life trying to jump out. Would you like a nice cuppa, Master Ray? There's plenty." Birdie didn't wait; she was already taking down another cup and saucer.

"Yes, I would, thank you, Birdie." He moved to a seat, sat down. "What would happen to who, Will?"

Bodie paused, wondering if he should be truthful and then decided the other man deserved that. "You."

"Me?" He looked right at William Bodie--but the owner of the estate was busy peering down into his cup of cooling tea and did not notice the presence of sight. "You were speaking of me?"

"Aye. If they had hanged me...." He couldn't finish, his worry over Doyle's future was so great. He felt his lover's hand on his and took it into his large one, but he still didn't glance up.

"You needn't worry about me," Doyle said softly. "It's not necessary."

Bodie looked up then to protest and the words died on his tongue as the reality of the situation stared at him. "Ray?"

"I was hiding the truth from the soldiers. Something told me...." He squawked when Bodie pulled him out of his chair and onto his lap. The life roughened hands investigated his eyes.

"Let him drink his tea, Will; it's getting cold." Birdie sat down at the table.

"William!"

"He can see!" The joy was so strong, so vibrant, it choked the breath out of him.

Doyle understood. "Yes," he whispered.

"You can see." Tears filled the blue eyes. He crushed the slim man against him. "You can see."

"A lot of good that will do him if you kill him, William Bodie," Birdie said, a bit sarcastically.

Bodie continued to hold the man against him though he didn't grip him quite so hard. His hand continually touched the other man's temples. "You can see," he whispered.

"Aye, and he has to look at that homely face of yours! Where's the justice in that, I ask you?!" Birdie glared at them.

"Birdie!" Bodie exclaimed in irritation. "He can see!"

"Aye, I know and does that take that worry off your shoulders?"

"Aye."

"Then drink your tea."

Bodie laughed in delight. "That I will." Still he caressed the slim face of the man in his arms and repeated in wonder, "You can see."

"Yes."

"I give up." Birdie left them in mock aggravation. "But I'll not have you engaging in any encounters here in my kitchen!"

Doyle blushed and hid his face in Bodie's neck. He lifted his head only when the woman was gone. "You're not homely," Doyle murmured, "I think you're beautiful." The passion between them rose. They kissed and it deepened immediately. Death had almost claimed William Bodie and that gave them both an urgency that nearly overcame them there and then. Only the knowledge that Birdie would smack them both made them hurry upstairs to complete what they had started.

There was something erotic about Doyle watching him remove his robe. Bodie was already hardening. "See how you affect me?" he asked in a husky voice. The robe fell to the floor, forgotten.

"I see, Will." Doyle replied in the same tone: "I see."

-- THE END --

Originally published in the letterzine If Their Mothers Only Knew, New Leaf Productions