Chapter 6

“R ight. We saw you eyeing our sister. Get up.”

With those gruff yet oddly cheerful words, Gordon was unceremoniously hauled out of his bed into the cold morning air, and it was indeed a cold morning in the castle. One expected a castle to be cold.

After all, the beautiful windows and stone walls had a price. Luckily, there were very thick curtains, which masked some of the frigid air sliding in through the panes. Bright tapestries along the wood paneling also did their bit to keep the icy air back.

Still, when he was starkers as he was, cold air was…well, cold.

He had not expected to be met with three large men upon waking. Nor had he expected to be yanked from slumber. He enjoyed his sleep. A great deal. There was something to be said for the comfort of blankets and down feathers and a crackling fire across the way. Who didn’t enjoy nestling down into a massive four-poster bed with its own curtains, spending hours there feeling at one with the world?

It was perhaps one of the only places he felt as if the world wasn’t a terrible place. He felt safe there, as if in a cocoon. But perhaps no longer because of the three large men who now stood about him, arms crossed over their massive, well-clad chests.

They all started to laugh.

One with blond hair gave him a smirk. “Good God, man, you are brave to face the morning air like this.”

He was, of course, without clothing. He liked to sleep that way. It didn’t matter the cold, or any weather, actually. When in a night shirt, he felt completely constricted. He also hated how the fabric could tangle about the limbs.

So, he enjoyed the freedom of going without clothes. Even in the winter. Perhaps even because of the winter. It did make him feel completely alive. And given how grim he felt about the world, longing to retire from it, feeling fully alive was a damned good thing.

Still, it was a challenge. Especially at a moment like this. He wasn’t embarrassed to be naked in front of them. English boys were thrust into all-boys schools at a very young age and naked swimming, bathing, and getting ready for sports and school were simply a part of life.

That said… He didn’t usually face men who were clearly on the offense about their sister.

He swung his gaze to each of the Briarwoods.

Two were blond and one had dark hair.

They were all massive in their own way. Imposing. Madcap.

None of them looked as if they were going to do murder imminently, which was a relief through and through. Yet, undeniably, there was a certain diabolical look to the three of them.

“I say we throw him out the window,” the dark-haired one drawled with a cheery disposition as he stroked his chin in consideration.

Perhaps Gordon was mistaken. They were here to do murder, after all. The English nobility were notorious for such acts.

People had disappeared all through the annals of English history. Perhaps the Briarwoods were still engaging in such things. They were certainly powerful enough to get away with it. And the estate was vast. Someone could easily vanish, never to be seen again.

And the duke owned all of the local magistrates. Loyalty was a given when one’s livelihood depended on the Duke of Westleigh.

One of the blond ones flashed a grin. “I say we throw him in the lake, and then it will freeze over, and no one will know that he’s missing until spring.”

The other blond grimaced. “Yes, but the body will be in a terrible state then. Can’t have one of the nephews or nieces finding that. Bad form. I say we feed him to the pigs on the farm down the road.”

Gordon cleared his throat, interrupting the consultation regarding his potential demise. “I beg your pardon,” he growled. “You all seem particularly offended. But I assure you, I’ve done nothing to give offense.”

The dark-haired brother rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh before he thumbed at Gordon. “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why we’re upset.”

“Are we upset?” one of the blond brothers asked.

The dark-haired brother snorted. “Of course, we are.”

He had a vague idea that he was facing Hector, Zephyr, and Ajax Briarwood. He’d seen the men the night before but had not spoken to them. They were three notorious men of the time, two of which had wed, making them far less notorious, but still. The Briarwoods were notorious for a banquet of various reasons, and the three of them had a penchant for violence, even if it was controlled.

Gordon wondered if he was about to lose a limb or at least be beaten black and blue. Inwardly, he cringed, kicking himself. He never should have looked at their sister. It was as simple as that.

Clearly, they were not in favor of their sister launching herself into a sensual escapade. The duke had given him permission, but clearly these three brothers were not impressed.

“Get him dressed,” said the tallest of the brothers.

The dark-haired one pursed his lips. “Shall we call his man?”

“I will be my own man,” Gordon gritted.

The three brothers threw their heads back and laughed.

“I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself, thank you,” he drawled. “I don’t bring a man with me to such events.”

The dark-haired one grimaced. “Good God. Who takes care of your things?”

“I do,” he replied honestly.

One of the blonds blinked. “That’s not very aristocratic of you.”

The dark-haired one cocked his head to the side. “But we like it. Indeed we do. Being able to take care of oneself is a hallmark of a Briarwood.”

“Perhaps we don’t need to murder him,” one of the blonds allowed.

The bigger of the blonds, with shoulders like Atlas, let out a disappointed sound. “Perhaps we could just wound him a trifle. A limp? That never did a gentleman any real harm. Actually, it might make him look all the more valiant.”

“An eye patch,” exclaimed the more slender, though still Herculean, of the blonds.

“An eye patch would be just the thing,” the dark-haired brother enthused.

Gordon had no intention of having a limp or an eye patch, but it was clear the three of them were making merry and having far too much fun with him.

“Look here. I want to put your minds at ease. Nothing has happened between myself and your sister, and I don’t think it will.”

“Why?” the dark-haired brother snapped. “Is something wrong with her?”

“You don’t think she’s attractive?” the massive blond accused, narrowing his eyes.

The other blond shook his head, tsking. “Bloody hell, he has no taste in women.”

Gordon arched a brow, his temple beginning to pound. “Excuse me. I feel most confused. One moment, you’re going to murder me because I looked at her. The next moment, you are going to take offense at the fact that I am willing to respect her as a lady of virtue.”

“Well, she is a lady of virtue,” the dark-haired brother said.

The Atlas of the three examined his nails. “But really, virtue is such a taxing thing for a young woman. The better you ruin her, the better she’ll be. And then we won’t have to murder you.”

Gordon closed his eyes for a moment, trying to follow. And then, he threw his hands up. “Wait,” he bit out. “Cease this utter madness. Also, I need to put something on.”

The dark one jerked his head back to the bed. “Use the blanket. It’ll do you good.”

He couldn’t argue with that. So, he went to the bed and pulled off the top covering, wrapping it about him like an elaborate toga.

What else could he do, standing in the face of three such large brothers who were clearly addled?

“I feel very confused,” Gordon reiterated.

The dark-haired brother nodded. “It’s a typical reaction.”

“Being drawn into our company,” said the more Apollonian blond. “We’re quite used to it. Take a moment if you need it.”

He did take a moment. He sucked in a long breath, then he groaned, “Explain it to me. You are offended. Not because I looked at her, but because I am not pursuing her?”

Applause followed from the dark-haired brother. “Bravo. That’s right, old boy. That’s right.”

The broad-shouldered blond grinned again. “You are catching on now. Well done. Well done yourself.”

“What’s taken you so long?” the other blond asked.

“You’re not keen on the ladies?” the dark one asked.

Gordon’s head began to pound as he tried to follow the mad logic of the three men before him. “I am perfectly keen on the ladies. But I generally do not partake in the seduction of young ladies when I’m a guest in her family’s home.”

All three of the brothers exchanged a series of inexplicable glances.

“Good show. Good show. We like to hear that,” the biggest brother said. “But as far as we understand, you now know why you are here.”

“So,” the dark one began with frustration, “why aren’t you fulfilling your purpose?”

Gordon choked. “I beg your pardon?”

The dark-haired brother rolled his eyes. “Our brother, the duke, has made it clear to you. He brought you here for our sister. And if you do not like her, we must take offense. You should ruin her, and then marry her, and all will be brilliant. The chapel is waiting. We have an excellent bishop nearby.”

Gordon was not the sort of man who usually felt like he needed a drink in the morning. Bloody hell, the day was hard enough sometimes without having a sore head.

And what was a sore head? Just the feeling that one wanted to die. At best, one felt as if their head was going to implode.

He had no desire to stumble about with no sense of balance. He was a rather large man. Falling over hurt, and running into things was not an attractive look. Bruises also were an issue.

He didn’t mind getting a bruise from a good boxing match, but a bruise from having a war with a table? It was an unfortunate thing for a man of his standing and sense of self to collide with furniture.

But being face-to-face with three Briarwood brothers, taking offense because he had not ruined their sister, was quite a lot to take in.

Brandy seemed like an excellent suggestion. He eyed the decanter. “This is getting bloody confusing. I don’t even know your names.”

The three laughed.

The dark-haired brother gave a bow. “How remiss of us. You should know the names of your judges and jury. Lord Hector.”

The Atlas blond gave a merry yet slightly mad smile. “Lord Ajax.”

“Lord Zephyr,” the last brother said, with a devil-may-care grin.

Gordon nodded, his gaze swinging back to the brandy. Perhaps he could brain one of them with the decanter and make his escape. He doubted it.

“Oh dear,” Lord Hector sighed. “You’re not a drunkard, are you? We can’t have that.”

“We could always drag you out and reform you, but that’s a great deal of work,” mused Lord Zephyr. “Though it’s very unlikely our brother would’ve chosen you if you—”

“No,” Gordon growled. “It’s just that the three of you are quite cracked.”

“I say, that’s rude,” tsked Lord Ajax.

“Yes, no need for name-calling,” drawled Lord Zephyr.

“Have you no manners?” demanded Lord Hector.

The three of them stared at Gordon, and he began to apologize, but then the three of them erupted into laughter.

“We hear that all the time,” said Lord Zephyr.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll become accustomed to us,” added Lord Ajax.

“One can get used to anything, can’t one?” asked Lord Hector.

Gordon laughed, but it was a half groan. It was not a lie. People did become used to any sort of circumstances, but he had trouble imagining becoming used to the Briarwood clan. They were all absolute bedlamites, and yet there was a part of him that seemed to whisper that he liked it.

“Come along. Come along,” Lord Zephyr said, clapping his hands together.

“Let’s go for a walk,” enthused Lord Ajax.

He snapped his gaze to the window, which still showed the falling snow. “In the snow?” he exclaimed.

“No, in the bloody Sahara,” stated Lord Zephyr.

“Of course, in the snow,” said Lord Hector.

Lord Zephyr narrowed his eyes as if Gordon had uttered blasphemy. “You don’t like a walk in the snow?”

“Should I?” Gordon asked.

“Dear God, man, how old are you? A toddler afraid to get cold?”

Hector blinked as if he was still trying to believe Gordon’s attitude. “You don’t go for walks in the snow?”

Gordon suddenly felt a bit defensive. “Not generally speaking. I confess that I like the indoors quite a bit. There are many places I can get my exercise that don’t require me trudging out into the snow and getting ice in my shoes.”

Lord Ajax arched a brow. “You clearly don’t have good enough boots. Who is your tailor? We shall find you someone, and then all shall be well. You just need proper clothes to survive such a thing.”

He supposed this was also true, but he spent so much time poring over new works and speeches to be brought before the House of Lords. He had very little time to go out of doors.

In truth, he always had people come to him. He exercised every day by working very hard for about an hour and a half with his boxing instructor. He did ride, of course, and he played indoor tennis, which was the fashion in the winter.

These gentlemen seemed to think that dragging him out of doors and throwing him into the snow was an excellent option. Were they absolutely mad? Quite possibly. Actually, he was beginning to think that there was nothing sane about them. Or perhaps they were the only sane ones in the world, and everybody else had lost their wits.

It was certainly something to think on.

“Let’s go,” Ajax said brightly, thrusting him towards the large armoire in the corner. “Put warm things on.”

And he did so with surprising alacrity. After all, with three men staring at you and telling you that they might do you murder, it really did motivate a fellow to get dressed quickly.

The moment he had all his clothes on, he said, “Ready.”

The gentlemen had been kind enough to fold their arms across their chests and look towards the windows.

“Good,” drawled Lord Zephyr. “Now, let’s head out and discover what you are made of. And if we think that you’ll be able to enjoy being one of us.”

“I haven’t agreed or asked to be one of you,” he gritted.

Lord Zephyr threw back his head and laughed. “It doesn’t matter.”

Ajax waggled his brows. “You already are. If the duke has decided—”

“Excuse me,” Gordon broke in.

Lord Zephyr gave a shake of his head. “Don’t resist. It’ll only make you frustrated.”

Again, a truth was spoken. He certainly was frustrated.

“Look,” said Ajax, “I know this is a bit difficult to handle, but most humans seldom know what is best for them. So it’s quite good to take the advice of friends or people that we admire. And you admire our brother, don’t you?”

Gordon ground his teeth, feeling as if he was walking a quite a tricky road. “Yes,” he granted.

Lord Hector began with a surprising glare, “And our mother. You think she’s lovely, don’t you?”

“I do,” Gordon stated.

Zephyr clapped him on the back. “There you have it. You’re going to be fine. But first a test.”

And the next thing Gordon knew, they were marching down through the castle, his great coat on his shoulders, the tails flapping behind him, and outside into a winter wonderland of magic.

Except there were no mischievous sprites or fairies, just three large men who looked as if they had every intention of making things go as they wished.

Much to his chagrin, it did seem as if any sort of resistance would prove futile, but, by God, he wasn’t simply going to marry a girl because the family had decided he would. Was he?