Destiny's Bastard

By Hank Edwards

A stranger from another time, heartbreak, and a haunting sense of guilt.

 

Sir Gerard Fogg, knight in the Royal Guard of the kingdom of Algonwick, is sworn to protect members of the Royal family, including his lover, Prince Tristan Fysher. But a tragic encounter with a strange and violent man ends with Gerard thrown into a dungeon to await judgement by the King. When the King's advisor comes to him with a plan for escape and revenge, Gerard's sense of purpose is lit once again. Little does he realize the plan will land him more than 500 years in the future.

 

Jon Calder works among the ruins of Algonwick's castle, cataloging artifacts. He feels comfortable in the castle, moreso than anywhere else he's been. Upon meeting Gerard, Jon feels an instant connection, as if he's known the handsome, polite, and nervous man for years. Or in another lifetime. Drawn into Gerard's story, Jon agrees to help him track down the mysterious stranger and, hopefully, return to rights not only Algonwick, but Gerard's broken heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hank Edwards
• Release date: Jul 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223583547

Hank Edwards

Hank Edwards has been writing gay erotic fiction for more than twenty years. He has written over two dozen novels and even more short stories. His writing crosses many sub-genres, including romance, rom-com, contemporary, paranormal, suspense, mystery, and wacky comedy. Find out more at www.hankedwardsbooks.com.

Book preview

PART I

ALGONWICK, ENGLAND, 1456

CHAPTER 1

The hot, rounded tip of Tristan’s cock parted the slick muscle of Gerard’s threshold and slid deep into his passage. Gerard sat astride Tristan’s hips with his head tipped back, easing himself down onto the hardened shaft and pushing the man farther inside him. In the stables beneath the hayloft, the horses snorted and stamped their feet as if they sensed and envied the pleasure being experienced above.

How is it? Tristan asked, tightening his fingers on Gerard’s thighs.

Gerard looked down, pausing in his impalement to focus on the shape of Tristan’s face, the high cheekbones, the pointed chin with the small dimple, the strong nose offset by cool gray eyes. The man’s wavy blond hair was damp with sweat from the heat of the loft, and Gerard felt a line of sweat run down his back as he sat there. Gerard leaned down and swept his tongue into Tristan’s mouth for a long, slow kiss, then pulled up just enough to be able to see his love’s eyes and smiled. It is perfect.

The amount of lard is enough? Tristan asked, his brow creasing with concern. There is no burn as there was last time?

Gerard kissed him again, keeping his tongue inside Tristan’s mouth a little longer before saying quietly, It is just right. Calm your concern.

Sitting up, Gerard placed his hands on Tristan’s bare chest, sliding his fingers through the blond hair to the man’s nipples and twisting them. Tristan groaned, and his hips rose in response, pressing his yard even deeper.

Oh, Gerard gasped at the sudden surge. His eyes closed and his hips bore down, taking as much of Tristan as possible. Even as he relaxed his inner muscles to allow his lover access, Gerard knew it would not be enough. As much as he could take from Tristan, it would never be enough to satisfy him. He wanted the man -- all of him -- inside him, filling the empty places, completing him as no one else ever could.

Tristan’s thumbs found Gerard’s nipples beneath the sweat-soaked dark hair and flicked them into hard, sensitive points. Below, the horses snorted again, and a trio of doves cooed in the rafters of the hayloft above as Gerard rocked his hips. Tristan’s yard slid in and out of his passage, filling him, then retreating, faster and faster.

I need your mouth, Tristan said, his voice deep with lust. He reached up to put a hand on the back of Gerard’s neck and pulled him down for a hard kiss. Their tongues collided, jousting together as Tristan’s hips worked to push him farther into Gerard with each thrust.

I love you, my knight, Tristan said, pulling back to look Gerard in the eye. More than the fields of Algonwick and all the heavens above, you have claimed my heart.

Aye, love, Gerard said and kissed him again as his loins tightened with the familiar building of his climax. You warm me as the light of dawn warms the fallow fields. He sat up, arching his back as he rode Tristan’s bucking hips. I am close, my love. Take me in hand.

Tristan’s fist closed around the bucking length of Gerard’s member and stroked him hard and fast. Gerard grunted at the familiar clench and rush of his release, and a splash of hot, thick semen landed on Tristan’s sweat-covered torso. Gerard lost all knowledge of time and place, his senses attentive only to the feeling of Tristan’s penetration tucked so tightly behind the swollen focus of his climax. As the flush of sensation faded, Gerard wiped sweat from his brow and looked down into Tristan’s eyes, saw the desire smoldering in their gray depths, and resumed rocking his hips.

Tristan ran his fingers through the slick of Gerard’s seed and rubbed it into his skin. I want to smell you on my skin the rest of the day, Tristan said. I want to remember this moment as if it were a painting.

Gerard trailed his fingertips through his own semen, then pinched Tristan’s nipples, coating them with his essence. He increased the speed of his rocking motion, the thick length of Tristan’s yard driving into him in ever-faster thrusts until the man gasped.

I-I am going to -- Tristan cried out, closing his eyes and lifting his hips. Moments later, Tristan’s eyes flickered open, his face relaxed and glowing in the waning afternoon sun. He smiled and placed a palm along Gerard’s bearded cheek.

My knight, Tristan sighed. Each time we are together, my heart fills afresh with love for you.

Gerard leaned down to kiss Tristan softly on the mouth, his tongue gently brushing the man’s lips. My prince, he said between kisses. I shall always belong to you.

With a slight grimace, Gerard eased himself off Tristan’s softening yard and stretched out alongside him. His back passage felt slick and wet, and he tightened the muscle to hold Tristan’s seed within him as long as he could. Tristan put an arm around his shoulders to pull him close, and Gerard ran his fingers through the sticky patch of seed drying on Tristan’s chest as they caught their breath. The hayloft was hot beneath the late afternoon sun, but an occasional breeze found its way in through the open door at the far end.

Gerard sighed as Tristan kissed the top of his head; then he placed a kiss in the center of Tristan’s chest and turned his head to look up at his face. We play a dangerous game, my prince.

Aye, that we do, Tristan replied. But this love I feel for you is true, my knight. I cannot imagine lying this way with any other, be they woman or man. Tristan propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at Gerard with such intensity, it caused Gerard to sit up as well.

I understand the church’s teachings and the threat of eternal damnation for lying with a man, Tristan said, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. But the feelings I have when you and I are together raise doubts about these teachings. How can this thing that brings us such joy be wrong in the eyes of God? It feels so natural to be with you, to be inside you. I do not believe this to be a sin.

Gerard kissed him quickly. My prince, your father -- the king -- would have both our heads if he knew of our relationship. Does that earthly threat not give you pause?

Tristan let out a breath and looked up at the doves shifting and cooing above them. My father does not begin to understand the man within me. He sees me still as a child, his only son who must be protected at all costs so that I may rule his kingdom once he is gone.

I understand you, Gerard said and reached up to touch Tristan’s cheek. These last few months getting to know you have been the most joyous of my life.

Before Tristan could reply, voices rose below them as the stable master stomped into the stables, shouting at someone they could hear shuffling alongside him. Hidden from view in the hayloft, they held their positions, sitting nude side-by-side and staring into each other’s eyes. If they were discovered, it would most likely mean their executions -- Gerard’s for certain, Tristan’s quite possibly. As they sat still and silent, the wind died down, and the still air in the loft became stifling hot. Sweat coursed down their naked torsos and beaded on the skin of their arms and legs. They would need to climb down soon and try to leave the stable unseen or fall under the deadly spell of the unbearable heat.

The stable master berated what Gerard assumed was a young stable hand for several minutes, shouting and cursing at the boy for the slovenly appearance of the stables. Finally, just as Gerard feared he might faint from the heat, the stable master stomped away, leaving the stable hand sniffling below. The boy soon began to sweep and shovel, making enough noise so as to effectively mask the sounds of their movements as they dressed.

Tristan leaned over for a final kiss, his tongue making a slow circle inside Gerard’s mouth, then pressed his lips to Gerard’s ear and whispered, I will handle the stable boy, my knight. You steal away when I have him distracted.

Gerard smiled and nodded. As you wish, my prince.

Tristan stood and brushed hay from his clothes before loudly clearing his throat.

Wh-who’s there? the stable boy asked in a quivering voice.

Tristan met Gerard’s gaze and held his palm over his heart, their sign of devotion at times when they could not speak the words. Gerard returned the gesture and watched Tristan climb down the ladder to stand before the young lad. Gerard crouched by the ladder, sweat soaking into his linen shirt and breeches as he listened to the conversation below.

Is that any way to greet your prince? Tristan asked as he stepped off the ladder.

Ah, Your Highness, sir, the stable boy said, his voice rising in pitch with his surprise. I didn’t know you was up top there.

More like bottom to top, Gerard thought with a smirk, and the muscles of his back passage tightened with the memory of Tristan’s penetration.

Well, I was, Tristan said, and Gerard could hear the regal tone in his voice. It was the I-am-the-prince-and-there-will-be-no-question-about-it tone Gerard liked to tease Tristan about when they were alone. It came from having been raised in a castle, surrounded by servants and luxury and wanting for nothing. It was a life that Gerard knew Tristan sometimes wished he could abandon, and it was also a life Gerard could only understand through his conversations with Tristan.

Stinging sweat ran into his eye, and he realized the heat was making him dizzy. He needed to quickly remove himself from the hayloft or risk losing consciousness. He listened to Tristan berate the stable boy about the condition of the horses, a bit more gently than the stable master, and then Tristan’s voice faded as he led the boy to the back of the stable and away from the ladder. Gerard descended the ladder, the cooler air caressing his sweaty brow with each downward step. The horses whickered in recognition at his appearance, and he stroked the wide, soft nose of the nearest horse to calm him. Standing a moment at the bottom of the ladder, the sweat starting to cool on his skin, Gerard stroked the animal’s nose and watched Tristan at the other end of the stable, pointing out piles of manure and dirty straw to the unfortunate stable boy. Tristan had made sure to position himself to facing the ladder, thereby forcing the stable boy to stand with his back to Gerard.

As Gerard watched the young boy listening to Tristan’s direction, it brought to mind his days on the farm where he had been born and raised. His father had taught him the ways of their farm: the care of horses, cows, and chickens, as well as how to sow and reap a variety of crops. During the winter months, he had helped his mother in the kitchen and listened to his father’s stories as they sat before the roaring hearth. And both his parents had taught him how to be a good man before that tragic afternoon that had changed his and his sister’s lives forever.

Gerard’s mind flicked back over the years to that time on the farm on the outskirts of the village. As usual, the memory of that one horrific afternoon skewered all other thoughts of home. He had been seven years old and working in the fields with his parents and younger sister, Eleanor, tending to the corn and squash as his back burned beneath the unforgiving sun and his young hands grew hard with calluses. The farm lay on the outer edge of the king’s lands, and because of this, they were vulnerable to roaming thieves and bandits. It was a pair of thieves, daring and drunk, who had ridden into the field that afternoon and cut down his father before he could react. The men had clumsily dismounted and grabbed his mother, forcing her to the ground freshly stained with her husband’s blood. As the men attacked her, she screamed at Gerard to take his sister and run to the house. Gerard had grabbed Eleanor’s hand and run from his mother’s screams, dragging his sobbing sister behind him through the corn. One of the men followed them through the field back to the small house, his heavy tread and cursing as he crashed through the tall plants behind them urging Gerard to run fast. Sometimes, even now, Gerard awoke at night in a cold sweat, the sounds of that pursuit still echoing in his mind.

They had made it to the house with moments to spare. Gerard bolted the door and pushed his sobbing sister beneath the bed shared by his entire family, then armed himself with his father’s dagger. The thief broke down the door and came at him, swinging his sword. But the run had tired the man, and the drink Gerard could smell on his breath made his movements loose and sloppy. Gerard easily dodged the man’s attack, darting close to drive the dagger into his belly. The man fell bleeding to the floor, and Gerard stepped up and cut the man’s throat as he did to their spring lambs. He then picked up the thief’s heavy sword and stood behind the door to patiently await the dead man’s partner to arrive.

Sometime later, a knight rode up to investigate reports of his mother’s screams and discovered Gerard and his sister cowering in a corner, both thieves dead on the floor, and the bloody sword still clutched in Gerard’s fist. Out in the field, their parents lay dead among the bloodstained crop. Taking pity on the orphans and impressed with Gerard’s killing instinct, the knight, Sir Henry Fenton, made him a page in the castle, where Gerard was given an education and trained to become a knight. His sister became a servant girl in the castle and currently worked in the kitchens, preparing the royal meals.

And now here he was, Sir Gerard Fogg, one of the few knights chosen to protect the royal family. He was the youngest member of the Royal Guard: strong, determined, loyal, and in love with the king’s only son. With one more longing look at Tristan standing at the other end of the stable, still berating the stable hand, Gerard strode from the building, the cheeks of his arse slick with lard from the prince’s member.

It was not far from the stables to the kitchen entrance, and Gerard stepped close to the wall of cool gray stone to take shelter in the castle’s shadow. He made his way along the wall of the east tower, trailing his fingers over the rough surface of the wall and nodding to the servants and staff he passed. The chambermaids and kitchen wenches smiled at him, some shyly, others in a more bawdy manner. He returned each smile with a nod and a wink before stepping through the kitchen entrance. The heat of three roaring fires took his breath away, and he paused just inside the door, near a large stone used as a counter for meal preparations. The kitchen was hotter than the hayloft he had just abandoned.

Women crowded the room, talking and joking among themselves as they went about preparing the meal: plucking ducks, boiling vegetables, chopping or grinding seasonings, and rolling out dough for breads and pies.

Aye, and here he is now, the oldest woman croaked as Gerard stepped into the room. And we thought this would be the day you wouldn’t show for a preview of dinner. She cackled and turned back to her task, her red, gnarled fingers furiously plucking feathers from the plump duck before her. I knew you’d be on time, though. You’re one to depend on, you are, Sir Gerard. Especially when there is food involved.

The other women in the kitchen paused just long enough to laugh before returning to their work. A few, Gerard noticed, cast him shy, longing looks as he crossed the stifling room to a thin brunette who stood with her back to him, rolling out dough. He grabbed her around the waist and leaned down to kiss her neck, and she shrieked and tossed a pinch of flour in his face, both of them laughing as he backed away, wiping the flour from his sweaty skin.

Are you breading me for cooking? Gerard said.

If I were to do that, I certainly would not serve you to the royal family, Eleanor replied with a smile that exposed her crooked teeth. I have chamber-pot duty later, and I don’t want to deal with what messes eating the likes of you would cause them.

The women in the kitchen laughed, and Gerard grinned at her.

You’ve always been an evil little sprite, Eleanor, he said. I don’t know why Nicholas married you.

He didn’t grow up with me, Brother, Eleanor said. And besides, he likes it when I’m bad. She smirked and leaned into him a moment, then stepped back with a scowl. Gah, you smell of hay and horse. What stables have you been lying in?

The women laughed again, and Gerard blushed, dropping his eyes to the straw- and flour-covered stone floor.

You’re a crass woman, he said through a smile.

And you, elder brother, are a rogue.

One has to be around a group such as this, Gerard replied, loud enough for the rest of the women to hear him. They all shouted back comments of varying vulgarity, and he laughed before turning back to his sister. What stomach ailment are you cooking up for the royal family today?

Eleanor shot a dirty look over her shoulder as she kneaded a massive pile of dough. Biscuits with honey and cream. And there’s none for tasting yet, so off with you. I’ve work to do.

They grinned at one another, and then an older male servant bustled in to announce the king was asking about dinner. The activity in the kitchen doubled, and Gerard took his leave, breathing deep of the cooler air outside the kitchen as he headed back to the knights’ quarters.

CHAPTER 2

Following a hearty dinner shared with the other members of the Royal Guard, Gerard and several of his brother knights donned cloaks against the chill night air and walked to the alehouse in the village outside the castle walls. The low-ceilinged room was heavy with smoke from the fire in the hearth and a number of pipes enjoyed by the men laughing and shouting for more ale. The knights pushed a number of men off the benches of a long table by the fire and gulped tankards of ale, their voices growing louder with each round.

A large knight, Bartholomew, the eldest of the Royal Guard and the leader of the select group of knights, banged his empty tankard on the tabletop and said in a booming voice, Brother knights!

Gerard and the rest of the knights quieted down and looked to Bartholomew, some sipping ale, others gnawing on bread.

We have a problem on the road out of town, Bartholomew said, stifling a belch. A band of thieves has taken to robbing travelers.

Thieves, growled Phillip, a short, squat knight packed with muscle that sat across the table from Gerard. As if the Scots aren’t bad enough, now we’ve got to deal with English bastards too.

Therein lies the rub, brother Phillip, Bartholomew said. There is talk that the leader of this band of thieves does not look or talk like an Englishman.

It’s the Scots! Phillip cried and raised his ale. Death to the bloody Scots!

Gerard cheered along with the other knights and gulped down ale, but Bartholomew quieted them down again. This man does not appear to be a Scot either.

Phillip looked at Gerard and screwed up his face before looking back at Bartholomew. French?

Bartholomew shrugged. Who’s to know? He has no hair upon his head and strange markings upon his body.

Markings? Gerard asked with a frown. What sort of markings?

Odd symbols etched upon the skin of his neck and arms, Bartholomew explained. For now, we ride in pairs when we manage the village and outlying areas. These thieves are very organized, and if you cannot get the leader, try to get at least one of them alive to be questioned, and maybe he will lead us to the leader.

Aw, no killing? Phillip said. He looked down into his ale and mumbled, Where’s the fun in that?

These thieves have killed a man and his servant already, Bartholomew said. If allowed to continue, the surrounding towns and cities may quit trading with Algonwick, and we cannot allow that to happen. Understood?

The knights nodded, and Bartholomew raised his ale. A toast, then, to all of us within the Royal Guard, brothers to each and each to his brother.

The knights raised their tankards and drank, and then some told stories of past skirmishes with thieves and the occasional battle with the Scots. As the ale flowed, the tales became more bloody and outrageous, and Gerard, the youngest knight of the guard, who had never been in battle, listened and laughed.

At one point, a timid young lad tugged on Gerard’s sleeve to get his attention.

Well, hello there, young one, Gerard said with a grin and bent down. What is it you need?

Begging your pardon, sir, the boy shouted above the raucous noise of the other knights. But there’s someone outside wants to see you.

Gerard thanked him and handed over a large chunk of bread, watching as the lad scurried to the door, the food clutched tight to his scrawny chest. Gulping down the last of his ale, Gerard pushed back from the table and made his way through the crowd to step outside. The night air was cool and sweet after the heat and smoke inside the crowded building, and he paused to take a deep breath before squinting into the darkness.

Hello, he called. Who is it that wishes to see me?

A hand fell over his mouth, and Gerard reacted from instinct. He twisted out of the man’s grip, grasped the offending wrist, and spun the attacker around to pull the man’s back against his chest with an arm around his throat.

Who is it that accosts me? Gerard hissed in the assailant’s ear.

Easy, love, Tristan said through clenched teeth. ’Tis I, your faithful prince.

Gerard released Tristan’s wrist and grabbed his hand to pull him around the corner to the deep shadows behind the alehouse. Pressing Tristan’s back against the wall, Gerard placed his hands on either side of the man’s face and kissed him hard.

Did I hurt you, my love? Gerard asked. Tristan shook his head, and Gerard leaned in again, whispering between kisses, How did you know I needed to see you again tonight? His heart pounded in his chest, and his yard already throbbed, hard as bone inside his breeches.

Because I too needed to see you, Tristan replied. This afternoon we were not allowed to linger as we like.

Aye, Gerard breathed and moved his lips to the soft skin of Tristan’s neck, gently kissing him as the prince sighed. And I have been thinking of that yard of yours all evening.

Tristan placed his hands on Gerard’s shoulders and pushed him to his knees. Have you? I do not feel you have thought of it enough. Study it closer so that later you will be able to more clearly remember its size and form when you are alone.

Gerard spread the dark, hooded cloak Tristan wore and lowered the man’s breeches. The thick length of Tristan’s cock stood proud beneath linen undergarments, and Gerard pressed his mouth against the shaft through the material. Tristan moaned softly, placing a hand on the back of Gerard’s head and pushing his hips forward.

Carefully pulling the material out and down, Gerard freed Tristan’s staff and took it in his mouth, savoring the taste of rose water and sweat. He dragged his mouth up the length and gently pulled the foreskin back from the rounded head to plant a soft, loving kiss on the slick tip. Then Gerard swallowed Tristan to the root of his manhood, gagging slightly before pumping his mouth up and down the stone-hard pole.

Ah, my knight, Tristan sighed. Your skills with a sword are formidable.

Gerard stroked the spit-slick shaft in time with his sucking as Tristan’s fingers tangled in his hair. He did not think he could ever get enough of the man inside him at once, and when the prince reached his release, Gerard eagerly swallowed each sweet, thick drop.

You act as if you have not eaten for days, Tristan whispered between gasps for breath. And just this afternoon we lay with one another.

Gerard stood and kissed him, slipping his tongue between Tristan’s soft lips. These stolen moments conducted under the cover of darkness or in hiding are not enough, Gerard said. Nay, even if we were free to be together always, day and night, in front of any and all to witness, for all the days of our lives, it still would not satisfy me.

Gerard could see Tristan’s smile even in the shadows as the prince said, I feel the same for you, my love. Perhaps someday the world will be ready to embrace us, but for now we must satisfy ourselves with these stolen moments.

Gerard nodded as his mood darkened at the truth of the situation. I will accept what time we have.

Tristan turned Gerard around and leaned him against the wall, then pressed against him for a kiss.

Then let us take a few more moments to ourselves while we can, Tristan said in a hushed voice and knelt before him.

Through the wall behind him, Gerard could hear another round of drunken singing and calls for more ale. And then Tristan’s soft lips touched the tip of his manhood, and Gerard sucked in his breath with a hiss. The prince’s lips moved steadily lower as he delivered gentle kisses to the full length of Gerard’s hardened condition.

After all that ale, I am surprised to see you so emboldened, Tristan said.

No amount of ale could keep me down when you are present, Gerard replied.

Tristan pulled the swollen shaft