Bee Among the Clover (100 page)

Roman looked over his shoulder at the thane and shook his head. “No, my lord.” He had learned the futility of letting Wulfgar upset him long ago. It would just unsettle him for the rest of the day, disturb the harmony and balance he’d managed to achieve. Aron was doing that well enough on his own. His mind raced as he added another log to the fire, trying to think of a way to broach the subject of training Aron in a way that would get the thane to agree. Sometimes Wulfgar could be manipulated. If Roman had an ounce of self-preservation, he’d abandon the idea. Spending more time with Aron was not likely to be good for his peace of mind, but he knew he was going to ask. He owed Aron that much.

Roman watched the thane out of the corner of his eye as he sat up in the bed, casting a glance at the pallet and then back at Roman. Shaking his head and raking a hand through his mussed hair, Wulfgar rose, dragging on a tunic.

Roman considered the best way to approach him and rose, moving toward the thane, head down respectfully. He looked up at him through long, dark lashes. “My lord.” Roman paused and took a breath. “I wished to ask permission for something.”

Wulfgar looked intrigued, and Roman knew he’d surprised him. It was rare for Roman to ask for anything, and he was counting on Wulfgar feeling guilty for using him the way he did the night before. He’d come to learn that the thane often regretted his actions and would seek to appease him with gifts, though he never apologized. He supposed Wulfgar was even now considering buying him a new scroll or some such.

Roman raised his head, meeting Wulfgar’s gaze. “Aron is interested in learning about battles and swordplay. He wants to better his station when he leaves here.”

Wulfgar didn’t reply at first, merely regarding Roman, his fingers combing through his beard, a slight suspicion in his eyes. “Aye, that he does,” Wulfgar said after a time.

“I’d like to train him, my lord,” Roman said. He couldn’t explain why this was so important to him. He hadn’t been allowed to touch a sword since Osric had taken his, and he was sure his skills were rusty, but it wouldn’t take much to hone them again, just discipline.

“You’re not thinking of turning on me, eh, Roman?” Wulfgar asked, his gray eyes shrewd.
Roman didn’t look away as shame warred with painful hope. “I haven’t before even when given the opportunity to do so, my lord.”
Wulfgar nodded in agreement. “You ran, though, led us on a merry chase as I recall.”
“Aye, my lord.” Roman flushed at the memory. “You didn’t have a hold on me then as you do over Aron.”
“And you would have me believe you choose to stay now?”
Roman shook his head. “No, my lord. I would have you believe I’m not foolish enough to think to deny you what is yours.” Wulfgar’s punishment had more than driven home the futility of running away, and he would not risk another such reprimand. He had lost too much the first time. He didn’t even want to think about what Wulfgar would consider suitable chastisement for a second attempt to flee. It would be harsh, it would be cruel, and no, Roman was not that foolish.
Wulfgar’s arms were crossed over his broad chest, and his eyes were intent on Roman’s as he pondered Roman’s assurance, and then he nodded. “Very well, you may teach him. But you will not flaunt the information about, do you understand me? Nor will you harangue my men to assist you. Find somewhere out of the men’s way to do it.”
Roman breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. He hadn’t expected Wulfgar to agree so readily, but then, he knew Wulfgar well, and the thane was agreeing for selfish reasons more than anything: to ease Roman’s pique and to give Aron something to think about aside from his anger with the thane. Roman did not fool himself into thinking it was a magnanimous gesture on Wulfgar’s part, but he was grateful nonetheless.
“Thank you, my lord.”

A
WEEK later, Roman gathered the practice swords he’d made and set out in search of Aron. The other man had made himself scarce during this time, only surfacing in the evenings to fulfill his duties with Wulfgar. Much to Roman’s dismay, the thane had decided to keep Roman in his bed, and the slave had only returned to the pallet for the first time last evening. He had been both disturbed and relieved when Aron hadn’t made a move to touch him.

Roman skirted around the practice yard to avoid Osric and his men and walked through the gate, sure Aron wasn’t hiding within the compound. The guards made no comment, and he supposed he could ask them which direction Aron had gone to, but he didn’t want to draw attention to his activities.

Roman headed away, studying the various tracks in the snow before scanning the land around him. Aron could be anywhere. A flash of movement in the copse of trees caught his attention, and he made his way up there, worrying his lip, wondering how Aron would receive his intrusion. As he entered the trees, he saw a figure with long red hair disappear into a thicket and frowned, disappointed. It was one of the village women, not Aron.

He looked around, wondering where to try next, when he remembered the tor at the top of the hill. The jumble of rocks and caves would make an ideal place to camp out for several hours. At least there was some shelter from the elements. Roman took a deep breath and began to climb, continuing upward for several minutes before he rounded a scattered pile of rocks and saw Aron a few feet away his back to him, kneeling before a handmade altar. It didn’t seem familiar to him at first, and he searched his memory before recognizing it as an offering to Thunor.

“I’ve never found the gods to be helpful in escaping captivity,” Roman said, and Aron jumped to his feet, spinning around with a fierce expression on his face. “But you may have better luck since your gods actually inhabit these hills.” The slave unwrapped one of the practice swords and tossed it down at Aron’s feet.

Aron gave him a dark look, his voice clipped and harsh. “I am not praying for my freedom, slave.” He didn’t spare the wooden sword on the ground a glance, his angry glare focused on Roman.

Roman arched a slim brow. “Then what do you pray for, Aron?” Aron’s expression was withering. “That Wulfgar and his pet meet a fitting, preferably bloody, end.” He kicked the wooden sword aside and turned his back on Roman, going back to his knees before the altar, sprinkling some of the herbs he’d gathered onto the flat stone in the center.
Roman winced at the pet comment, but he couldn’t deny the truth of the observation. It was obvious he’d been wrong about Aron’s anger abating. It seemed he could hold onto his fury longer than Wulfgar. Roman didn’t know why Aron was angry with him unless he believed Roman had been in on Wulfgar’s plan. If that was the case, it was an insulting assumption, and he was not about to explain himself.
“Why would the gods aid you in something you aren’t willing to do yourself?” Roman asked, keeping his face impassive as Aron turned cold blue eyes on him. He realized that the other man was more than capable at this time of slaying him without remorse. He did not understand Aron’s unbridled fury. Yes, Wulfgar had stung his pride, but that didn’t warrant this extreme reaction.
Aron started to speak, and Roman cut him off. “We had a deal,
child
.” He put all the scorn he could into that word. “You wish to throw away your training for the sake of pride? You wish to remain the way you are, always at the mercy of someone stronger?” His let his contempt show, hoping to goad the young man into attacking him. Maybe that at least would work out some of his aggression so he could reason with him.
Aron’s eyes narrowed as the taunts struck home. “What’s in it for you, slave? What does your master think he’ll gain from having me trained?” Aron sneered, disgust crossing his face. “Another of your games, no doubt. I want no part of it.”
Roman’s brows snapped together. “Wulfgar has nothing to do with this. He simply agreed to allow it.” He shook his head. “I understand your ire, Aron; Wulfgar stung your pride, he has a talent for doing so. But don’t take it out on me. I don’t like being a pawn in your power struggle with him.”
Aron scowled, his voice hard and his eyes snapping cold, blue fire. “Pawn, partner, pet, whatever title you wish to give yourself today, Roman, I care not. You both made your point exceedingly well. There’s no need to harp on it.” His smirk was disdainful and self-deprecating. “You belong to him, I’m a temporary toy for you both, it’s understood. Be content with that and don’t push me any further.”
Roman’s eyes widened, fury boiling up in him until he thought he would choke on it. The thrall was daring to accuse him of the crime that Aron himself was committing. “You’re right. I am Wulfgar’s whether I will it or no. My body is his to keep or hand out to whomever he pleases. You didn’t care about what
I
wanted when Wulfgar offered me to you. All you could see was your own selfish pleasures. You’re no better than he is,” he snapped.
Roman forced himself to stop, realizing that he was shaking with the force of his rage. He hadn’t lost control like that in a long time. What was it about Aron that disturbed his balance so? Ten minutes in his presence and already the walls he’d spent the last week shoring up were falling apart. He gathered himself together with an effort, determined not to let the other man under his skin any further.
Aron rose and stalked toward him. Roman set himself, waiting for Aron to strike him, but no blow came. “Do not compare me to him, to you,” Aron snarled. “How much did you two laugh later on about you lying there, pretending to like my attentions when the entire time you were thinking of him?”
Roman’s cheeks burned, shame wrenching inside him. “Is this a sop to your pride? Do you want me tell you my body enjoyed what you did? Did you enjoy hearing me beg you for my release?” He turned away, sickened with the conversation. If Aron wanted to be trained, then he could come to Roman and ask. He was done here.
Roman managed a few strides before his arm was caught and he was spun around. A startled look appeared in the Aron’s eyes, and Roman realized his anger and hurt must have been showing on his expression. He controlled himself through a sheer force of will, not wanting give Aron further leverage to wound him. Inside he was a tangle of emotions, but he’d be damned if he allowed Aron to see it.
“I gave you what I could. It wasn’t enough, you wanted
him
.” Aron said, his voice rough.
“You don’t know what I wanted, nor do you care. And in that respect, whether you like it or not, you are just like Wulfgar,” Roman retorted. The two of them made him want to scream. What
he
wanted didn’t matter. It never had and never would. Not to Wulfgar and certainly not to Aron. He was more than used to it.
Aron shook his head sharply. “I told you to not compare me to him, Roman. If I hadn’t taken his offer, do you think he wouldn’t have simply ordered me to take you?” He growled, the sound frustrated, and raked a hand through his mussed hair. “It matters not, claim you enjoyed it all you wish, I saw with my own eyes the truth. It was a lesson, then? You and he deciding to put me in my place, make the foolish thrall think he had any chance of giving you pleasure when all along you were waiting for your master to give you what you wanted. Well congratulations, slave, the lesson was firmly learned. And in one year I will walk away from this place and never look back. You two deserve each other.”
Roman’s control snapped, and he shoved Aron’s chest hard and backed away. “Damn you! You don’t understand
anything
! Pay attention, Aron, because here is a lesson for you. What I want means
nothing
! What I enjoy means
nothing
! What I feel means
nothing
! Every single thing my body feels is what
he
wants it to feel!” He barked a humorless laugh, shaking his head and backing up another step. “I cannot even achieve release without his permission. So go! I don’t care, walk away when your time is done and forget all about what happened here. At least you have that option.” He looked away, his entire body trembling, eyes closing tightly against the roiling tumult of emotions inside him.
Aron seized his arms, pulling him close, and Roman’s eyes flew open as Aron pinned him with his gaze. “He isn’t here now. Feel this,” Aron rasped and claimed Roman’s mouth in a heated kiss.
Roman froze, fear slamming into his gut, followed by confusion so intense his mind spun from it. Aron consumed his senses, terrified him. The other man wanted too much from him, things Roman could never give. At the same time, his body burned, and he found himself wrapping his hands around Aron’s hips and kissing him back, just as demanding. He shuddered, a deep moan coming from his throat as his training took over, and he submitted, molding his body to Aron’s.
Aron growled at Roman’s moan of capitulation. The thane was not here. He had not ordered Roman to his bed. Roman was in his arms, kissing him back, his body supple. Desire, hot and more intense than before, rushed through him; he wanted Roman. He wanted him here and now, when it was just the two of them. He didn’t want there to be anything else between them. He didn’t know why it mattered so much, why he cared that Roman thought of him and not Wulfgar. Gods, why did it matter so much?
Roman moaned again and then broke the kiss, looking down at the snow, his cheeks dark red. “Please don’t,” he whispered.
Aron disliked the sound of Roman’s voice, small and with a desperate edge to it. One hand slid down between their bodies to cup the slave’s cock through his breeches. It was so hard against his palm, and Roman whimpered at the touch, whimpered even more when Aron gave a light squeeze.
“Why? He isn’t here, darkling. He didn’t order you to feel this. You chose to.”
Roman shook his head in quick denial. “No.”
Aron moved his hand around to cup Roman’s buttocks, lifting him and then bearing him to the ground, desire thrumming so strong in him he couldn’t breathe. He wanted the other man with a vengeance. “Yes, darkling, I have no power over you. All you have to do is scream. Someone would hear. We aren’t that far away.” It was far enough that he didn’t think anyone would stumble upon them, but even if somebody did, he was too far gone with the burning need for the slave to care.
Roman trembled, his dark eyes huge on Aron. He whimpered as Aron’s mouth came down on his throat and the thrall rocked his hips so their cocks rubbed together hard and hot through their breeches.
Aron could taste the desperation in Roman’s body, the desperation to mate, which equaled his own. He sensed it in the way Roman arched against him and the way his hands clung to him. Roman moaned, baring his throat for Aron’s lips. He lifted his mouth, seeing how Roman had closed his eyes, and once again his face was mysterious and shuttered from him. No. He wasn’t going to play that game again. “Darkling, no. Open your eyes.”
He made a soft sound of distress but opened his eyes, and Aron’s breath caught at what he saw in those dark depths—desire, despair, and terror—before Roman managed to control his expression. Aron sat up slowly, the spell of lust broken at Roman’s obvious fear. He wasn’t afraid of him, was he?
“Roman, what is it?” Aron asked, running his fingers through the ends of Roman’s black hair as the slave sat up. His eyes were fixed on the snow, and he wrapped his cloak around himself.
“You ask too much of me. Even more than Wulfgar. What gives you the right to demand this of me?” Roman’s voice was shaking, and he didn’t meet Aron’s eyes.
Aron blinked, confused. “I don’t understand.”
Roman lifted his eyes. “Don’t you? You want me to risk everything for you, for the sake of this passion between us. Why? You’ll be gone at harvest time… and I have nothing left in me to give, Aron Sverrison.”
Aron shook his head, sitting back on his heels, tamping down his raging need. He would not rape him, and the terror he’d seen in Roman’s eyes told him that was what it would be if he pressed him now. “I don’t want you to do anything you wouldn’t choose, darkling. But make no mistake, you have much to give, don’t think otherwise.”
Roman gave a derisive snort, tugging his cloak tighter around him as he fumbled to his feet, still trembling. “My body, perhaps, but that isn’t mine to give, Aron.” He met Aron’s eyes and shook his head. “Perhaps Wulfgar will give it to you again some other day.”
Aron flinched, watching silently as Roman backed away several steps, turned on his heel, and hurried deeper into the woods, presumably to find another tree to climb so that he could scribble on his parchment as he was so fond of doing, leaving Aron to his own thoughts, which were tumultuous and scattered. Roman confused, intrigued, and angered him. The spectrum of emotions he felt every time he was in Roman’s presence was overwhelming and hard to unravel. Shaking his head as he raked a hand through his hair, Aron rose to his feet, brushing the snow from his clothing. His eyes fell on the wooden sword lying in the snow in front of his altar.
Crossing to it, Aron bent and lifted it, running his fingertips down the fashioned “blade.” The slave had made this himself, he was sure of it. The craftsmanship was fine and detailed. Aron did not understand why Roman had done so, why he cared to train him at all. Then he remembered the responses the other man had given him when he’d held him, kissed him, touched him, and a small smile curved his lips.
Roman might say he had nothing to give, that he did not want this thing that was between them, but Aron suspected differently. And he meant to prove it.