BRAVEHEARTS
Scottish Boys Novella by
Chris Kent
GLB PUBLISHERS® San Francisco
First Edition
Copyright © 2005 by GLB Publishers
All rights reserved. Printed in the U.S.A.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.
Published in the United States by
GLB Publishers
P.O. Box 78212, San Francisco, CA 94107 USA
Cover by W. L. Warner
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Control Number
2004114924
Published May 2005
BRAVEHEARTS
Novella by Chris Kent
An adventure tale of boys coming of age in the Scottish Wars of Independence and finding that not only their race but their love for each other can put them in opposing ranks in the struggle between their nations.
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Bravehearts is set during the beginning
of the Scottish struggle for independence from England. Four sons of Lord
Urqhuart of Dunmore - Jamie, Ewan and twins Duncan and Dugald - come of age
in this time and the impending revolution sets the tone.
But this tale is less a history lesson than a love story.
Fair Jamie meets bonny Sir Robert Fitzallan, the young son of an English
noble visiting the highlands. Instantly, the adolescents recognize new desires
in themselves, desires they have no name for, but on which they act, and
soon they are proclaiming their love. But Jamie's twin brothers view the
Englishman as an enemy of Scotland and plot to rid themselves of Bobbie,
even as they explore their sexual desire for each other. Meanwhile Jamie's
confidant, his brother Ewan, finds love at court with Prince Alphonso, a
relationship that proves key to the future of the Urqhuarts.
The young love and sexual exploration in
Bravehearts is charming and titillating. It's a romanticized
version of history, but a gay one.
---Will Louis, X-Factor
Chapter 1
DUNMORE
The boy stood with his head thrown back, his fair curls floating in the mountain breeze, his blue eyes clear and bright and keen as those of the wild eaglet fixed upon a craggy ridge on the opposite side of the gorge. His left hand was on the collar of the huge wolf-hound who stood beside him, sniffing the wind and showing by every tremulous movement his longing to be off and away were it not for the detaining hand of his young master.
"La-ha-hoo!"
Far down the widening valley and up the wild, crag-filled ravine, rang the strange but not unmusical call. It awoke the slumbering echoes of the still place; a hundred voices seemed to take up the cry and pass it on as from mouth to mouth. But the boy's quick ears were not to be deceived by the mocking voices of the spirits of solitude, and presently the call rang out again with greater clarity than before.
"La-ha-hoo!"
The lad was very simply clad in a tunic of soft, well-dressed leather, upon the breast of which was stamped some device that might have been the badge of his house. His limbs were encased in the same strong yet yielding material that clearly delineated his growing manhood. The only detail about him which indicated rank or birth was abet with a richly-chased gold clasp and a poinard with a jewelled hilt. Yet the noble bearing of the boy was the best proof of the noble name he bore. One of the last of the royal house of Dunmore, he looked every inch a prince as he stood bare-headed in the sunlight amidst the ever-lasting hills of his beloved home, but he was too young to see the clouds which were settling so darkly and so surely upon the bright horizon of his life. He dreamed still—dreams of glory and triumph that culminated in the complete emancipation of his well-loved country from the hated English yoke.
The dog strained and whined against the detaining clasp upon his neck, but the boy held him fast.
"No, Aodh, we are not going hunting," said the boy. "Is that not the sound of a horn? Are they not even now returning? Over yonder fell they come. Let me but hear their hail, and we will be off to meet them. I would they heard the news first frae my lips. My faither bid me warn them. He fears what Dugald and Duncan might say or do if they were to find English guests in our hall and they all unwarned."
Once more the boy raised his bee-stung lips and uttered the wild call which had awakened the echoes before. This time his practised ear distinguished amongst the multitudinous replies an answering call from human lips. Releasing Aodh, who dashed forward with a bay of delight, the lad sprang from rock to rock, up the narrowing gorge until he reached a spot where the dwindling stream could be crossed by a bound. The boy sped onwards with the fleetness and agility of a born Highlander, the hound never far from his side. Voices ahead of them gradually became distinctly audible, and soon a little group was observed approaching, laden with the spoils of the hunt.
In the van of the little party were three lads, one of whom bore so striking a resemblance to the youth who now hastened to meet them that the relationship could not for a moment be doubted.
As a matter of fact, the four were brothers. They followed two distinct types—Jamie and Ewan being fair and bright-haired, whilst Dugald and Duncan (who were twins) had something of the night about them: dour, crabbit craiturs, with black hair and brows, swarthy skins, and something of the wildness of aspect which often accompanies such traits.
Jamie, a well-formed youth of fourteen, walked slightly in advance of his brothers. He greeted Ewan's approach with a bright smile.
"Ha, Ewan, you should have been with us today! We have had rare sport. The guid fellows behind can scarcely carry the booty home. You maun see the noble stag my arrow brought down. His head will adorn the hall; his antlers are something to see, I warrant you. But what brings you out so far frae home? And why did you hail us as if we were wanted?"
"You are wanted," said Ewan, raising his light voice so that all might hear his words. "Faither himself bid me go in search of you, and it is well you come home laden with fresh meat, for we shall need to make merry tonight. There are guests come to the castle today. Ruaraidh was fingering his chanter even as I came away, to entertain our guests tonight. They are to be lodged for as long as they will bide; but the manner of their errand I know not."
"Guests! Why, that is guid hearing. Now we may learn some news. Come these strangers frae Edinburgh? With luck we shall hear somewhat of the noble Wallace, who is standing so boldly for the rights of our nation. Oh, I would that this were the summons to take up arms against the English tyrant who bestrides our country! Would I not fly to his standard, stripling though I be! And would I not shed the last drop of my blood in the glorious cause of liberty!"
Dugald was the speaker. His black eyes glowed fiercely under their straight dark brows. His face was the least boyish of the four. His supple, sinewy frame bore the emergent muscle of manhood. The free, open-air life that all these lads loved and the training they received in all martial and hardy exercises had given them strength and confidence beyond their years. Though he was but sixteen, it was no idle boast on the part of Dugald to speak of his readiness to fight. He would have marched against the De'il himself when it came to a matter of honour, and doubtless would have acquitted himself well as any, for what the lads lacked in strength, they made up for in their agility and quickness.
Ewan's face was unresponsive, even a little downcast. He gave a quick glance into the fierce, glowing face of his elder brither, and then turned his eyes upon Jamie.
"There is no such news," he said slowly. "The guests who have come to Dunmore are English."
"English!" echoed Dugald fiercely, at first staring and then turning away with a smothered imprecation upon all who hailed from perfidious Albion.
Duncan asked with quick indignation, "What right have English guests at Dunmore? Why were they received? Why did not our guid fellows fall upon them with the claymore or drive them back the way they came? Oh, if we had but been there…"
"Calm yourself, brither," said young Ewan quickly. "Is not our faither lord of Dunmore? Do you think that you can usurp his authority? And when did ever gallus Scotsmen fall upon unarmed strangers? Are we to observe the laws of hospitality, or do we make war upon harmless travelers, women and children? It were a base thought. Let not our parents hear us speak such words."
Duncan looked a little discomfited by his youngest brother's rebuke, though he read nocht but sympathy and approbation in his twin's sullen face and gloomy eyes. He dropped a pace or so behind and joined him whilst Jamie and Ewan led the way home.
"The young lad is right enough," said Dugald, "but I know how your blood boils. Who is this proud Edward that he should lay claims to our lands, our homage, our submission? But let us talk no more of this till we are safely home. We have hunted hard and long today, and I would share a hot tub with you before we meet these English strangers who have come to our hearth." He slung an arm around his twin's neck and brushed his cheek with his fingers, an action which often soothed the savage breast that beat beneath Duncan's tunic. The lad accepted the caress with a sigh.
It was not difficult work for the brothers to traverse the rocky pathway. Dangerous as the descent looked to others, they are were as sure-footed as Highland goats and sprang from boulder to boulder with utmost confidence. The long summer sunlight came streaming up the valley in level rays of shimmering gold, bathing the loftier peaks in lambent fire and filling the low lands with layers of soft shadow flecked with gold. A sudden turn in the narrow glen, through which ran a brawling tributary, brought the brothers full in sight of their ancestral home; for a few seconds they paused breathless, gazing with ardent love upon the scene before them.
The majestic pile stood out boldly from the mountain side and was approached by a winding road from the valley. A mere glance showed how strong was the position the castle, or fortified house, occupied, and how difficult such a place would be to capture. On two sides the rock fell away almost sheer from the castle walls, whilst on the other two, a deep moat had been dug which was fed by small mountain rivulets that never ran dry. The entrance was commanded by a drawbridge whose frowning portcullis was kept by a grim warder looking fully equal to the office allotted him. Lovely views were commanded from the narrow windows, and from the battlements and the terraced walk that ran along two sides of the building.
Rough and rude as were the manners and customs of the age, and partially civilised as the country was in those far-off days, there was a strong vein of poetry lying latent in its sons and an ardent love for the rugged beauty of the country who called their own.
An impalpable sense of the troubles to come hung over the fair landscape, and Jamie's eyes grew dreamy as he stood gazing on the familiar scene, so much so that Ewan had to touch his arm and hurry him down to the castle. Ewan gave his brither a look, and then his eyes too travelled lovingly over mountain and glen, over the purple shadows and the curling mists, the dark mysterious woods, the sparkling sunlight on the mountaiy tops, and the serried battlements of their home. There was something of mute wistfulness in his own gaze as he did so.
"Brither," Ewan said thoughtfully, "I think I know what those feelings are which bring tears to the eyes of men, tears of which they need feel no shame. Never fear to share with me all thy inmost thoughts. Forever we are brothers in all things." Jamie returned his brother's smile; no further words were needed.
The boys quickly crossed the drawbridge and passed through the entrance, finding themselves in a narrow vaulted passage, very dark, which led, with many twists and turns and several ascending stairs to the great hall where the members of the inner household were accustomed to assemble. The hall was a huge place, large enough to contain a muster of armed men. There was little furniture to be seen, and that was of a rude kind, though not lacking in a certain massive grace. The walls were adorned with trophies of all sorts, some composed of arms, others the spoil of glen and forest. The skins of many savage beasts lay upon the stone flooring of the place, imparting warmth and harmony by the rich tints of the furs. Light was admitted through a row of narrow windows, but the vast place would have been dim and dark had it not been that the huge double doors with their rude massive bolts stood wide open to the summer air and the dying beams of the westering sun.
Auld Ruaraidh, the player of pipes and singer of songs, was a study in himself, his flowing hair, fiery eyes and picturesque garb giving him a weird individuality. But it was not upon him that the eyes of the brothers fell, nor even upon the handsome figure of their father who stood leaning against the chimney-piece with folded arms, eyes shining with the patriotic fervour of his race.
No! The attention of the lads was enchained by another more sumptuous figure, that of a fine-looking man, approaching to middle life, who was seated at a little distance from the piper, smiling with pleasure and appreciation at the wild sweetness of the stream of melody that auld Ruaraidh conjured from the chanter beneath his fingertips. One glance at the dress of the stranger was enough to tell the brothers his nationality; the make and set of his garments and the jewelled and plumed cap held upon his knee alike proclaimed him to be English, a Sassenach. Yet, as the brothers gazed upon his handsome, noble face and looked into the clear depths of the calm and fearless eyes that met their own, they felt no hostility towards this representative of the Auld Enemy, but rather a reluctant admiration.
"In faith he looks born to command," whispered Duncan to Dugald. Their whispered conversation, held just below the level of the music, continued whilst Ewan, one eye on the stranger, listened intently to his brother's musings.
Jamie's attentions were elsewhere, for his glance had fallen upon a young boy who sat off to the left of the chimney-piece, apparently listening attentively to the Highland melodies, but yawning now and again rather more openly than politeness allowed. He was a bonny little chap, perhaps a year or two younger than Jamie. Golden-haired, green-eyed, with a creamy skin not often seen in the harsher climes of North Britain. He was slim yet sturdy, his tightly-drawn pantaloons showing off shapely legs, above which jutted forth a tightly-muscled rounded bottom that lifted his tunic at the rear.
As Jamie gazed at the young visitor, he felt a new sensation enter his life, a sensation to which he could not give a name, but which he felt shiver down his back, flutter his stomach, and tingle his groin. To his acute embarrassment, he felt the beginning of a ‘stiffie', the name his brothers gave to that phenomenon of Nature associated with the duties of procreation. As the gallus Dugald would say, Jamie was springing a ‘michty hard-on' about which he could do little or nothing. Surreptitiously, he adjusted his cock so that, in gaining full erection, it might point straight up his belly rather than straight out at its cause.
Other bold eyes, with their fringe of dark lashes, were looking straight at him. As Jamie gazed, the boy suddenly rose and darted towards the brothers as if he had wings on his feet.
"Oh, you've come back!" he said, looking from one to the other, seemingly puzzled for a moment by the likeness; "And, why, there are two of you!" and the boy broke into the merriest and silveriest of laughs. "Oh, I am so glad that I have company at last. I do like boys so much, and I never have any to play with at home. I am so tired of this old man and his thingy. Please show me the castle, please do," and he took Jamie's hand, looking up saucily into his face, and added, "You are the most handsome; I choose you."
Jamie's face glowed, but on the whole he was flattered by the attention and the preference of the gallus young fellow. He understood his soft English speech perfectly, for all the Dunmore brothers had been instructed in the English tongue by an English monk who had long lived at the castle. Their father, Lord Urqhuart, foresaw, and had foreseen many years, the gradual usurpation of the English, and had considered that a knowledge of that tongue would be an advantage to those who were likely to be involved in the coming struggle.
The boys all possessed the quick musical ear of their race and found no difficulty in mastering the language, which was not so distant from that of Laeland Scots, though unbridgeable miles from their own beloved Gaelic.
So as Jamie looked into the bright upturned face, he was able to reply readily and smilingly, "Where would you like to go, lad, and what would you like me to show you?"
"I want to go and see the sun," said the boy. "I am tired of this gloomy hall."
Jamie led the boy out upon the great terrace which overlooked the steep descent to the valley and away to the glowing west. Jamie lifted the boy up in his strong arms to peer over the wide stone balustrade. As he stood behind the boy, holding him under the arms, he felt the heat of the boy's bottom press into his own heat. His semi-engorged cock swelled again and pressed into the boy's crack, the heat as fierce as the flush which coursed across his face.
"It's wonderful, wonderful," cried the boy. "I should like to stay here forever, or at least until the sun goes down. I should like to live here sometimes if it was always summer. Tell me your name, big boy. I hope it is not very hard. Some people here have names I cannot speak right."
From the corner of his eye, Jamie observed Ewan approach. Both disappointed and relieved, he lowered his precious burden. "They call me Jamie," he said. "And here comes Ewan, my youngest brither. These are not hard names, are they?"
"No, not very. And how old are you, Jamie?"
"I am fourteen."
"Oh, how big you are!" cried the boy, opening his eyes wide. "I thought you must be a little older than that. I am twelve, and you can hold me up in your arms. But then I was always so little; they all say so."
"Yet you travel with your faither," said Ewan joining the conversation.
"I never did before, but this time I begged, and he took me. Sometimes he says he will have to give me to the monks because he has nobody to take care of me when he has to travel about. But I don't think I should like that; I would rather stay here!"
Jamie and Ewan laughed, but the boy was not at all disconcerted. He was remarkably self-possessed for his years, even if he was small of stature and somewhat juvenile in appearance.
"What is your name?" asked Jamie; and the boy answered with becoming gravity and importance: "I am called Sir Robert Fitzallan, but you may call me Robbie if you like."
"Well then, Robbie," said Ewan, "you are to lodge with Jamie and me while you are at Dunmore." He turned to his brither. "Show Robbie our room. I will be with you soon. I missed the hunt today, and I want to be sure I can go hunting tomorrow. I will speak to our brothers, then return to help you look after our guest."
"Let us stay here for a while," Robbie asked Jamie. "I want to watch the sun going down, and if you hold me up again, all will be perfect again." Jamie grunted yes, glad to see that Ewan had turned away and did not see the blushes sweeping across his brother's cheeks.
Ewan walked away quickly. He turned down a winding staircase, then slipped into a narrow opening. This was one of the many passages which criss-crossed the castle. Though few of them were secret, few people knew every twist and turn the way the brothers Urqhuart did. So many hours of hide-and-seek had been played in these dark passages that the boys could have navigated them blind-folded if necessary.
Three left, two right, and Ewan had reached the narrow slit that led into his elder brothers' chamber. The slit was screened by a tapestry of rough plaid which Ewan, about to enter the room, edged aside. He paused sufficiently to glance into the chamber, stopped, held his breath and let the heavy hanging slide almost closed, hardly able to believe his eyes.
Across the room, his brothers, naked, stood in a large tub of steaming water. This in itself was nothing new; he often shared a hot tub with Jamie, and the boys knew each other's bodies almost as well as they knew their own. But what Jamie saw now, he had never seen before.
Dugald and Duncan stood in the wooden tub which was large enough to reach their knees. Dugald stood behind his twin, his arms wrapped around Duncan's shoulders, his face nuzzling his wet corbie hair. Ewan saw the muscles of Dugald's arse ripple as he ground himself against his twin's hurdies. Ewan saw Dugald's right arm jerk up and down in a rhythm that he recognised immediately. He did not have to see where Dugald's hand was; he knew it was wrapped around Duncan's thick dark cock; knew that the black silky hairs of Duncan's crotch were wetly wrapped around the lower fingers;that Duncan's balls would soon rise high into his scrotum; knew that his brither would soon spit out the hot seed that he himself had spit only half a dozen times in his lifetime.
Ewan felt his erection burn against the soft leather inside his tunic, felt his fingers slip around the shaft and begin those rubbings that would bring him to a copious spending.
Suddenly the boy, with willpower of the Urqhuart clan, pulled his hand away from himself, let the tapestry slip close, and turned the way he had come. He was breathing heavily. He needed time to gather his wits. He would not return to the terrace immediately, but find a dark shady nook where he could sit solitary and examine what he felt about his brothers'…his brothers'…what? As yet he had no name for what he had seen.
Time passed. Time passed for Jamie and Robert on the great terrace. Time passed for Dugald and Duncan locked in their wet warm embrace. Time passed for Ewan in his solitary hideaway. Time passed and the sun set over Dunmore.
"Have you any sisters?" the boy was asking as they watched dying rays of the setting sun.
"No, only two more brothers."
"More brothers! and what are their names?"
"Dugald and Duncan."
"Dugald and Duncan," echoed the boy. "They looked rather fierce, but then many Scots soldiers look like that—at least until they come into the presence of the great King Edward." The boy's smile was so mischievous, it was clear he meant no real harm.
Jamie's cheek burned ruby red, but he made no reply, for at that moment a head suddenly appeared round an angle of the wall and a heavy grip was laid upon the shoulder of the boy. A wild face and pair of flashing black eyes were brought into close proximity with his, and a smothered voice spoke in fierce, low accents.