Bee Among the Clover (160 page)

A
RON stretched out against the wall of the cave. The weather was warming enough that he didn’t need the fire, just his cloak wrapped
around his shoulders. The situation had become ridiculous. He was on the verge of destroying something simply because he didn’t know what else to
do.
He’d tried avoiding Roman, gods knew he had, but avoiding the
slave when they were forced into such close quarters wasn’t easy. He
recalled the last night before they had left the king’s keep. Aron had been
almost healed from the attack, Roman’s marks completely gone, and
Wulfgar had taken them to the feast, even going so far as to make sure
Osric would not be there by placing him on guard duty.
It hadn’t made any difference; neither of them had been able to enjoy
what was so obviously meant to be a treat for them from the thane. And
Aron had actually felt a little guilty about that. As much as he disliked
many of the ways Wulfgar might go about things, at his core, the thane
was neither a bad person nor a cruel lord. He did try to make things
pleasant, within reason, and Aron wasn’t so foolish not to realize that they
were lucky for that at least.
But the tension between him and Roman had been thick, and no
amount of ale or sweets fed from Wulfgar’s fingers could change the fact
that Roman hated Aron. Wished he were gone. Even more, wished he’d
never come at all. The night had been spent with the two of them focusing
on Wulfgar, Roman because the thane was where his heart lay, Aron
because it meant he did not have to focus on Roman. Needless to say, the
thane had not noticed any tension betwixt them, a bit too preoccupied with
the attention lavished on him.
Aron did know that the thane eventually began to pick up on the rift,
though. He wasn’t entirely sure when, but of late Wulfgar had begun
attempting to throw him and Roman together. He suspected it was
Wulfgar’s way of forcing them to repair the breach.
But there was no repairing it. Aron knew it as well as he knew his
own name. His darkling wished him gone, and all Aron wanted to do was
hurry along the next six months until he could grant Roman his wish. They woke in the morning and went their separate ways except for
that one nerve-racking week when Wulfgar had suggested they take up the
sword lessons again. It had been a disaster from the start. The only thing it
had served to do was make the tension between them worse. Roman never
met his eyes anymore, not even by accident, and he found it hard to look
at the slave as well.
Aron didn’t understand his obsession with Roman. Why should he
care that Roman didn’t want him, that he preferred Wulfgar’s touch to his
own? This cave had become his haven despite the memories haunting it.
He’d thought about that afternoon in the cave many times over the last
couple of months and come to the conclusion that Roman laid with him
because he felt he had to and not out of any personal desire to do so. That
realization only served to make him feel worse, a combination of guilt and
despair that threatened to drown him.
At least Wulfgar seemed content nowadays to bring either one of
them to his bed, only rarely inviting them both. That was the most
difficult: kissing Roman, tasting him, feeling him… there were no words
to describe the pain it caused him. He thought he was beginning to
understand why Roman closed his eyes all the time. It was easier to
pretend that way. It hurt less.
Aron knew Wulfgar had picked up on that as well, the tension in his
bed. He remembered the first night back at the hall. Wulfgar had been
randy and dragged them both off to his room before the evening meal was
even finished. It had been the stuff nightmares were made of, the thane
encouraging them to touch and kiss, use their mouths on each other. Aron
had been afraid he wouldn’t be able to do it and had seriously considered
balking.
But in the end, it was Roman, and Aron could not seem to turn him
down, no matter what the circumstances. After, when they’d returned to
their pallet, Aron had not reached for him as he usually did, and had not
any night since.
Gods, he missed holding him, though he knew Roman did not return
that feeling. He was sure Roman was glad to be rid of the unwanted
contact; the intimacy that had provided Aron so much comfort was a good
riddance for Roman. And that hurt as well.
He despised this, this hurt and uncertainty. It was not in his nature,
and he didn’t know how to handle it. It made his captivity that much worse. With the comfort he had found in Roman gone, he had nothing to distract himself from the very long six months he had remaining. He didn’t know how he could go on like this for another half-year.

R
OMAN furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate on translating the scroll before him, but his heart wasn’t into it. His studies used to be a joy to him, the one thing that remained to him of his old life, but now they were only a way of passing the time. He hadn’t felt his captivity this keenly since those first months in Wulfgar’s household. All he wanted to do was escape, keep himself out of Aron’s presence. The guilt he felt whenever Aron was near ate at his soul. It was because of him Aron was here in the first place. He had been the one to draw Wulfgar’s attention to Sverri’s skimping on the tithes. It was because of Roman that Aron was taken and abused. He understood Aron’s rejection. He welcomed it, in fact, because it was likely the only penance he’d ever receive for his sins against him.

Dipping his quill in the ink, Roman tried to bring his concentration back to the task at hand, but it was proving impossible. Aron consumed his waking thoughts from the time he rose in the morning to when he finally fell into a fitful sleep, curled up into a ball on the pallet, trying to stay as far from Aron as possible so as not to anger him with his presence. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Aron never tried to touch him anymore or to entice him with conversation. He had no doubt Aron was counting the hours until he could return home and forget about them and the nightmare they’d made of his life.

“Why do you stare into the fire so sadly, Roman?” Wulfgar asked, his voice gruff.
Roman jumped, eyes darting to the doorway where Wulfgar stood. It seemed it had started raining sometime during the day, and the thane was soaked through. Shame flooded him. He had not even noticed Wulfgar’s arrival, too preoccupied with his own selfish thoughts instead of attending to the thane’s needs.
“My lord,” Roman said, jumping up from the table and gathering a length of dry toweling. “Please, forgive me. I had allowed myself to be distracted.” He urged the thane into the room, where he could dry off and change, trying not to think of Aron still outside somewhere, hoping the stubborn man wasn’t going to make himself sick.
Wulfgar allowed him to remove his sodden clothes and sat down in front of the fire. He stopped Roman when he began to comb through his damp hair, tugging him down onto his lap and tipping his chin up to study him.
“What is it, Roman? You, Aron as well, will you not talk to me?”
Roman’s chest tightened. Wulfgar was a fine lord—the slave knew that he cared for them in his own way and was dismayed by their attitude—but Roman couldn’t tell the thane that he and Aron had overstepped their bounds and it had ruined everything between them. Wulfgar would be furious, and Roman did not want to think about what he would do. Mayhap he could be honest in a discreet manner.
His eyes cast down again. “It was nice to have a friend is all, my lord. I’m sorry I’m being childish. It’s not Aron’s fault he doesn’t like me, and it’s certainly nothing to concern yourself with when there are so many more pressing things for you to concentrate on.”
Wulfgar frowned, and his jaw tightened. “So our arrogant puppy is angry with you? Has he said why?” he asked, running his fingers through Roman’s hair.
He shook his head, squirming inwardly, uncomfortable with the line of questioning. “It’s nothing, I’m sure, my lord. We’ll do better, I promise. I’ll speak to him, perhaps, tell him we’re worrying you.” The last thing he wanted was Wulfgar probing into his relationship with Aron, such as it was. Roman needed to beg Aron to try and act more normal, lest Wulfgar become angry with them.
Roman felt himself begin to panic as Wulfgar continued to watch him in silence. He knew the thane, how perceptive he was, and it wouldn’t take him long to realize their indiscretion if he chose to examine the problem for too long. “Would you like me to order a bath for you?” he asked, desperate for a way to distract Wulfgar from his thoughts. He trailed his fingers down Wulfgar’s throat, touching him daringly. “I could join you, my lord,” he said, his voice husky.
Wulfgar arched an eyebrow in surprise, and Roman knew immediately that he had made a serious tactical error. He never initiated something between them, and now he tried to think of a way to cover up his blunder.
The thane caught his hand, and Roman lowered his eyes. “Look at me, Roman,” Wulfgar said, his voice firm, and lifted the slave’s chin.
Roman’s heart caught in his chest, and he raised his eyes to Wulfgar’s, panic clawing at his insides, trying desperately to maintain his composure. “Yes, my lord?”
“Something happened between you and Aron, didn’t it?” the thane asked, his voice gentle.
Roman flushed, shame and guilt suffusing his face, and he looked down despite Wulfgar’s hand on his chin. He clutched the thane’s bare shoulders, terrified he was going to withdraw his protection. Sweet Jesu, please, anything but that. “Aye, my lord.” His voice was a barely audible whisper. He knew Wulfgar would see through any lie he tried to give him.
Roman’s breath caught when Wulfgar tipped his chin up again, and he had no choice but to meet the thane’s gray eyes, chewing on his upper lip. He made a soft sound of distress. “Please, my lord. I’m sorry… we didn’t intend….”
Wulfgar shook his head. “I know, my pretty one, I know you didn’t do it of your own choice. I’m not angry with you. I’m only sorry you didn’t tell me sooner, so Osric could be punished for that as well, though I understand why you didn’t.”
Roman lowered his eyes again, realizing what Wulfgar was assuming, and didn’t want to give himself away by his expression. If Wulfgar wanted to believe that the battle-lord had forced him and Aron to be intimate while he had him captive, he would not correct him. To do so would be foolish indeed and almost certainly result in being cast aside, if not worse. His mind spun. What if the thane confronted Osric? Then Wulfgar would know Roman was truly hiding something, or else he’d never have allowed the thane make such an assumption without correcting him. No, Wulfgar would let it lie. The attack had happened several months ago, and Osric had already been punished. Wulfgar wouldn’t revisit it. Hopefully he thought they never mentioned it when they were telling him of the beating because they were ashamed. Yes, Wulfgar knew how deep Aron’s pride went. He’d leave it alone. Roman stifled his sigh of relief and only then became aware that the thane had also been deep in thought.
Nodding his head, Wulfgar pressed a kiss to Roman’s temple and set him on his feet, lightly smacking his flank. “Don’t fret anymore, Roman. I’ll see to the matter.”
Roman gnawed harder at his lip. He had half a mind to ask the thane what he intended, but he didn’t know if it would just draw more attention to the problem. What would he see to? Osric, or the tension between Aron and himself? He longed for the rift between him and Aron to be repaired, but he was probably better off without Roman complicating his life. He was filled with a wild hope that Wulfgar could repair things between them, but also terrified he would only cause Aron’s bad feelings to canker, which he wasn’t certain he could bear. And if the thane meant Osric, well then, they were truly in trouble. Roman crossed his arms and walked over to the window, staring out at the driving rain and wishing he could talk to Aron.