Bee Among the Clover (251 page)

R
OMAN woke early, as was usual for him. He rose andwoke early, as was usual for him. He rose and glanced at the bed
where Aron and the thane were sleeping. His heart was hollow, it ached so. He missed Aron sleeping beside him. He needed Aron’s arms around him at night. It gave him a sense of normalcy. He still hated the fact that
Aron owned him, even though he understood the reasons for it and he tried
not to let it show after he’d seen how much he’d hurt Aron several nights ago. He couldn’t forget it though, except those few rare moments when Aron wrapped his arms around him and held him tight.
Roman dressed and made up the pallet before giving Wulfgar a wary
look and creeping closer to the bed. The thane continued to snore, and Roman paused, brushing a lock of hair back from Aron’s forehead. He’d
expected Wulfgar to punish them by making him sleep in the slave
quarters, but the thane hadn’t done so.
He didn’t trust Osric to leave him alone now that he was no longer being protected by Wulfgar. So for the most part he was stuck inside this
room. It had become his prison, where he was forced to listen to Wulfgar
take Aron in every way it was possible to take a man, and he hated it. He’d almost rather risk being vulnerable than have to witness that.
He went to the door and listened. It was quiet in the main room
except for the women busy by the hearth. He opened the door and slipped
through, shutting it behind him. He needed to see to a few necessary things this morning, and when he came back, he would get some food and hole himself up inside again with his studies.
Roman searched the slumbering forms in the far corner until he
located Osric sprawled out on the rushes with his eyes closed. Reassured
that the battle-lord wasn’t up and wandering the grounds yet, Roman made his way toward the door. He didn’t breathe again until he’d slipped through the main door and felt the faint sun on his face.
Roman took a deep breath of the early morning air. It hadn’t gotten warm yet, so there was a slight crispness to it he savored. His mind turned

as he walked, sighing. Wulfgar hadn’t said much to him since the night of the feast, only to inform them both that Roman would be staying in the room, though he hadn’t said why.

He thought he knew, however. Aron was a thrall, and, as Osric had so kindly pointed out, thralls had no property. Everything they owned belonged to the one who held their bond. This meant that if Roman remained in Wulfgar’s room, the thane saved face with his battle-lords. They’d all assume Aron had gained nothing in asking for Roman because Wulfgar still had rights to him.

In all actuality, Wulfgar was well within his rights to continue to make use of Roman in any way he chose, though Roman knew that the thane’s pride and sense of honor wouldn’t allow it. Wulfgar would, however, use the others’ assumption to soothe his pride. Reputation was paramount in Wulfgar’s eyes.

Roman sighed. He missed Aron terribly. The thane had also, it seemed, decided to punish them by limiting their time together, keeping Aron busy during the day and with him in the bed at night. Roman and Aron had managed stolen moments here and there, but nothing of any significance, and Roman ached with the loss of his presence. He was adrift, a slave with no purpose. He wasn’t being allowed to serve the one who owned him, and it grated his every instinct and his training.

He slipped into the trees and took care of his morning needs. He then drifted back to the tree line and looked down into the little hollow that sheltered the mead hall and other outbuildings. It was beginning to stir, the slaves and thralls going about their business as they needed to. He knew they envied him and his seeming ease of lifestyle, with so few demands made on him. He’d always found it difficult to make friends among them and thus had buried himself in his studies for companionship.

Roman heard a twig snap and froze, his head whipping around to study the trees. He didn’t see anything out of place, but still he was uneasy, the peace of the morning gone. It was past time he got back to the hall. Aron would awaken soon, and they might have a short time before Wulfgar called for him.

He took one last look around, wondering if he was just imagining the furtive movement in the brush. No, that wasn’t Osric’s way. He sought him by force and domination. Unless he wanted to terrorize him first. The thought gave him pause. Yes, Osric would enjoy his fear, and it didn’t take much to bring it out; the battle-lord took pains to foster it, always hovering in the background with his suggestive looks and words, always whispering in Wulfgar’s ear. Roman shuddered abruptly, his pace picking up.

He’d made it several steps when a hand caught his wrist, hauling him back into the trees, and before he could get out more than a sharp sound of surprise, he found himself pinned to a tree trunk. Fear gripped him as a hand clapped over his mouth and Osric’s scarred, sneering face glared darkly down at him. Roman began to tremble and struggle, kicking at him. His muffled screams cut off abruptly as the hand over his mouth slid down to close around his throat, cutting off his air.

“Quit yer scrabbling, whore, I only wish to speak with you. Don’t be such an uppity bitch.”
Roman gasped for breath and stared up at him with huge eyes, relieved when Osric’s grip eased and allowed him to breathe easier, though it didn’t diminish the fear. Flashes of memory swamped him as he shook. “Let me go.” Even to himself, the demand lacked authority.
Osric’s laugh was derisive. “Now why would I do that, whore? You’re public property now, aren’t you?” His chuckle was wicked as he leaned in. The battle-lord’s breath was hot against his face and made Roman’s skin crawl. “I have a gift for you, Roman.”
Osric reached under his tunic and pulled out a handful of parchment and ruined leather.
Roman froze, eyes widening as he recognized it as the remnants of his journal, the same one Osric had forced him to read from at the king’s. He must have stolen it from Wulfgar’s room or bribed one of the hearth women to do it while they cleaned. Osric released his grip on Roman’s throat and sneered at him, waving the pages under his nose.
“I see you recognize it. ’Tis a shame Wulfgar cannot read your scribblings. He’d be interested in knowing all your secrets, I think.” The battle-lord threw the ruined journal at Roman, his beady eyes cold and hard.
Roman drew a steadying breath, heart pounding. The crushing blow of the journal’s loss weighed on him, but he kept it from his eyes as he lifted them to meet Osric’s gaze steadily. Fury grew in him, impotent, helpless fury, and suddenly he was too angry to be frightened.
His eyes narrowed, and he gave the battle-lord a superior smile. “’Tis a shame you are too stupid to read them, Osric. Else you’d have realized that what you just destroyed was your thane’s records. Why do you think I had this with me at the king’s? You were right, Osric, I made up what I read aloud that day, because this”—he gestured to the scattered sheaves of parchment littering the ground—“is merely a record of Wulfgar’s rulings. I am sure he’ll thank you for destroying them.”
Osric had the sense to look horrified, and before he could regain his equilibrium, Roman struck out, one long leg flying up to connect hard between the battle-lord’s tree-trunk-like legs. Osric let out a howl of pain, and Roman spun, bolting for the hall, panting hard and not daring to look behind him for fear Osric would catch him. He skidded to a halt inside the hall and tried very hard to appear as normal as possible as he walked quickly to Wulfgar’s room and slipped inside, leaning against the door and shaking.
Wulfgar and Aron hadn’t stirred, for which he was grateful. Aron would know something was wrong, and he wouldn’t be able to deny Aron if he demanded an answer. Roman pushed himself away from the door and went to his table to try and compose himself. He wanted to go back and gather up the remains of his journal—perhaps he could salvage it—but he dared not. Osric wasn’t going to respect Aron’s authority over him, and Aron would hate not being able to protect him. He was terrified Aron would get hurt if he tried to confront Osric over it. It was best to just keep his mouth shut and avoid Osric at all costs. His heart broke, though, for months of his writings, memories, and thoughts he was unable to share with anyone had been in those pages, and now they were lost forever.
There’d been a time when his studies and this room had been a refuge during the day, but more and more the walls were closing in on him. It would have been different if he had a reason, a purpose, instead of having all this idle time on his hands. He glanced to the bed and Aron, wishing that he would wake up so they might talk, but the thane had kept him up late, and he was sure Aron was exhausted. He bent his head, trying to busy himself with his ledgers.
In the bed, Aron stirred, turning to examine Wulfgar’s face before exhaling a sigh of relief when it appeared he was asleep still. His gaze then sought out Roman, who was stationed at his desk with his papers and books. Aron sat up slowly, easing from the bed with the intention of going to Roman, but he was disappointed when Wulfgar sat up as well. Would he never have a moment’s peace alone with his darkling?
Roman must have heard them, because his head lifted, and Aron inwardly crowed when, instead of immediately going to Wulfgar, he instead made his way to Aron’s side. Aron longed to reach out and draw him close, but he didn’t dare. Wulfgar was still far too bitter over the loss of his slave.
Wulfgar grumbled under his breath as he rose, and Aron and Roman both cut him a wary look. The thane scratched his chest and threw on some trews and a tunic, glaring at the two of them.
“Oh, cease with your tiptoeing about, both of you. Aron, you’re relieved of your duties until the midday meal. There, will you stop pouting now?” Shaking his head, the thane stalked from the room, leaving the both of them staring after him as if he’d grown a second head.
Roman was the first to recover. He turned back to Aron and reached a hand out to touch his arm. “Are you all right?”
Aron caught Roman’s hand and tugged him into his arms. “Aye, darkling, I’m fine.” All of the minor aches in his body seemed to disappear in light of the reprieve they’d been given. He stroked his hand through Roman’s hair, loving the way his darkling burrowed into him. He could hardly believe the luck: a whole morning to spend with Roman. “I’ve missed you.”
Roman laid his head on Aron’s shoulder and turned his face into his neck. It’d been an unbelievable torture to be so close to him but have him so inaccessible. It hadn’t taken him long to get over his resentment over the way things had gone. He was still uncertain over many things, but not how he felt about his lover.
“I missed you too.” It’d been a hole, gnawing at him. He smiled at his lover, looking forward to spending the morning however Aron wished. They could make love and hold each other and talk… anything, just as long as they were together.
Aron smiled, cupping his face and kissing him before pulling back with a light in his blue eyes that Roman had not seen in quite some time. “Come, darkling. I’ll wash and dress and we can go for a walk, find somewhere quiet and secluded just the two of us.” He turned to search for fresh trews and a tunic to wear, not seeing the look of worry and hesitation on Roman’s face.
Roman bit his upper lip as Aron hurried to wash and dress. He turned away and closed his eyes. Osric was out there, watching and, it seemed, following him. Aron being with him would not be a deterrent to the battle-lord. It’d just give him another victim to toy with.
He cleared his throat, trying very hard to sound casual and unconcerned. “Perhaps we should stay here. Wulfgar might change his mind and want you after all.”
Aron snorted and chuckled. “Well that’s simply too bad for him, isn’t it? We, my darkling, are taking this slight reprieve and not giving him a chance to change his mind. Besides, I don’t think he will; that’s not really like him.”
Aron was right, Wulfgar wouldn’t change his mind. Roman prayed Wulfgar was keeping the battle-lord busy or Osric was off taking care of some task so he wouldn’t notice them slipping away.
Roman smiled at Aron’s attempts to tame his hair. “I like it the way it is. It suits you.” He itched to run a hand through its thickness but hesitated, his training warring with his instincts before reminding himself this was Aron, and he liked it when Roman touched him without being asked first. Almost shyly, he reached out, twining one heavy lock through his fingertips.
“Let’s go to the glade.” It was in the opposite direction of the tor, which Roman suspected was the first place Osric would look. “I don’t wish to take the chance we might be disturbed.”
Aron nodded. He wanted that too: undisturbed time with his darkling. He wished it was more, but they’d take what they could get and savor every second. At least he would. He was still unsure how Roman was taking the entire situation. He’d said he understood the night of the feast, but Aron didn’t know how much Roman still believed this changed things between them.
Aron didn’t understand that at all. If anything, he thought it would’ve improved things. No longer was there the fear of being on the run when Aron’s time with Wulfgar was done. He’d be free to take Roman with him without a fight or subterfuge of any kind. He’d been sure Roman would be glad of that.
Well, they’d talk. They’d go to the glade and lie in the sun and listen to the bees among the clover. They’d talk, and Aron hoped things would again be clear between them. He despised Roman hurting, especially when he was the cause of it, however inadvertently.
Aron smiled, leaning in to kiss him, his fingers brushing Roman’s soft cheek as he pulled back. “Come then, darkling.” He took his hand and led him out of the room into the main hall.
Roman couldn’t help but search the hall worriedly as they left, but there was no sign of the battle-lord there, nor was he in the immediate vicinity of the yard. He remained quiet as they slipped into the trees south of the hall. He strained his ears and looked back over his shoulder from time to time, but neither heard nor saw anything.
He noticed Aron’s eyes watching him, and he tried to be less conspicuous, but he knew his lover could tell he was skittish. Aron was probably waiting for him to say what was bothering him. Occasionally, Aron looked back as well, but the path behind them remained empty, much to Roman’s relief.
“Darkling, what is it?” Aron demanded, pausing in the path just before they reached the glade and meeting Roman’s eyes.
Roman smiled and squeezed his hand. “I don’t wish to be followed today.” The birds were out and singing in a way they wouldn’t if something was stalking about in the woods. He was letting his fears run away with him. Osric had better things to do with his time than to spend all of it seeking him out to torment.
Aron frowned, glancing behind them then back at Roman. “Who follows you? Osric?”
Roman sighed. He hadn’t wanted to say anything, but Aron was too perceptive. He chewed on his upper lip. “It’s nothing. He cornered me earlier, said some things. It’s fine, Aron, really. Leave it be.”
Aron’s expression became fierce, and Roman knew he wanted to stalk back to the hall and search Osric out, but he couldn’t. Even if he stood a chance of overpowering the huge warrior, the fact was Aron was but a thrall, and to attack a battle-lord meant death.
Roman smiled and shook his head, not wanting it to taint the short time they had together. “Don’t think on it, Aron, he’s far away right now, and it’s only you and I.” Giving him a slow, seductive smile, Roman began tugging him toward their glade. “Think on me instead.”
That was no hardship. Aron thought of Roman all the time. It frustrated him to no end that Roman felt threatened. He shouldn’t have to face that anymore. But he recognized what his darkling was trying to do and smiled back, letting Roman tug him into the glade. “You’re oft on my mind, as you well know,” he said, finding a nice sunny patch in the clover and tugging Roman down with him.
There was nothing for him to do now, but he vowed his darkling wouldn’t be alone. Aron sighed, suddenly even happier he’d suggesting getting out today. “That room must seem terribly confining to you, darkling,” Aron said, touching the side of Roman’s face.
Roman shrugged, shadows darkening his eyes before he seemed to shake it off and bestowed a sweet smile on Aron that stole his breath. “I love you, Aron.”
It was obvious that there was much on his darkling’s mind. Aron was becoming more adept at reading the nuances on Roman’s face, and though he was hesitant to bring up anything that could ruin the short time they had alone, he wanted to know Roman’s thoughts.
“What are you thinking, love?” His voice was soft as he threaded his fingers through his silky hair, savoring the feel of his slim, lean form pressed so warm against his side.
Roman tilted his head back, worrying his upper lip before deciding Aron really did want to know and pressed close against him. “I’m not really sure. It’s such a jumble. I’m lonely, I miss you….”
He missed Wulfgar, too, but he didn’t think telling Aron that was the best idea. He didn’t miss the thane in the same way he did Aron, but for years, Wulfgar had been his entire world. He’d known little outside of him and supposed it was natural to miss that. “I worry about what will happen when our time here is done. I worry….” He hesitated and then looked up at his lover. “I worry I won’t remember how to be free.”
“I don’t understand, darkling,” Aron said softly. “You were free far longer than you were a slave.”
“I’m afraid….” Roman trailed off, then looked up at Aron, his gaze earnest. “I do want to be free, I do. Do not think I don’t, Aron. I want to be with you. I want to be away from here.”
Roman’s heart ached with love and uncertainty as Aron nodded and merely picked up his hand and kissed his knuckles, waiting for him to continue.
“I’ve changed, so much that the boy who came here, I no longer know him.” And sweet Jesu, that hurt. “I only know Roman. What if I leave and I cannot be who I’m supposed to be?”
Roman wanted to sit up and wrap his arms around his legs and curl in on himself, but instead he moved closer to Aron, not wanting to shut him out now. “When I said things changed between us, I didn’t mean how I felt about you. I know not how to explain it. I wish I could, but in the minds of everyone, you’re my owner. I know that isn’t how you see it, but that’s the way it is, and because of that, all of my training rebels against me being your Marcus. I’m supposed to be your Roman.” He bit his lip in frustration, not knowing how to explain it better.
Aron’s brows furrowed. He was unsure what Roman meant. He hesitated before speaking again. “Do you want me to be your owner? Is that what you want? If it is, I could… try.” He didn’t like the idea. He wanted Roman to belong to him, the gods knew he did, but to own him and have the authority of life and death and everything in between? He didn’t think he wanted that power, but if it was what Roman needed, perhaps he truly had been a slave too long to be happy or comfortable with anything else.
Roman sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I want, that’s the problem. I’m not used to having choices, Aron, do you see? I went from my father’s house where, while not a slave, I was still under strict authority; to Wulfgar, where I was trained and schooled in the ways of a slave; and now there’s you. Who asks me to be something else, and I don’t know how.”
Aron had not considered that. Yes, there was something very intriguing and tempting about Roman submitting to him. Yet the quandary was, he wanted that submission to be willing. He wanted his darkling to surrender to him because his heart told him to, not because Aron told him to.