The Pirate of Fathoms Deep (19 page)

Shemal's mouth twisted and he looked away again, heavy dreads spilling over his shoulders. "I generally have no problem ignoring people when they voice a low opinion of me, but it's harder to ignore when they speak of withdrawing support and friendship and loyalty because they feel they can't trust a man who would take up with someone like me."

"Chances are I never liked any of them anyway," Lesto replied. "Even if I did, if they're so fickle then I'm just as happy to know it and be rid of them. The only thing that has ever bothered me is that you thought I wouldn't come to save you."

"Couldn't," Shemal said. "I thought you
couldn't
come to save me. I couldn't understand everything they said, but it seemed clear they wanted to trade me for Bestowen. There is no choice between a lord with people depending on him, a man of wealth and power who was needed and would be missed, and a penniless, faceless pirate no one would ever notice was missing."

"It occurred to me later that might be your thinking—damn near too late because by the time I was finally able to get away from the damned arguments with Treya Mencee to come see you, it was to be told you'd left. I went to our room hoping you were there…" He sighed. "I nearly set guards to watch you, but I thought you'd be fine in the healing ward, and I would have time to come see you."

Shemal's eyes brightened slightly. "You were going to come see me?"

"Yes, but as seems to be your habit, you'd already run away," Lesto said.

Shemal ducked his head, cheeks darkening. "I didn't mean to the first time, after I broke that man's arm. I panicked, was afraid they'd punish you for my behavior. Later, after I woke up in the healing ward, I figured everyone would be happier if I left without fuss. I didn't
want
to leave."

Some of the remaining knots in Lesto's chest started to loosen. He closed the space between them, spanned his hands across Shemal's stomach, and leaned in to kiss him. That made him feel better than he had since learning Shemal had been kidnapped. More knots loosened and fell away as he kissed Shemal slowly, lapping at his lips, pressing deeper briefly, drawing back to do it all over again, savoring the feel and flavor, sinking into the rightness of having him so close. "I didn't want you to leave either."

"S-so I'm gathering," Shemal said softly, a touch of breathlessness in his voice. "Unless there's a strange tradition of dragging pirates to your estate to use in some arcane ceremony."

Lesto laughed. "No, I have much more interesting reasons to drag you to my estate. But speaking of pirates, that
is
one of the other reasons I brought you here." He brushed another kiss across Shemal's mouth, then drew back and motioned to where the family motto was carved all around the top edge of the walls.
We Will Stop Only When You Bury Us Fathoms Deep.
"Farther back than most historical accounts bother to go, the Harkenos family was not even royalty, only a tattered noble house trying to save what was left of the royal family. When they died, the Harkenos assumed the role, far more reluctantly than anyone likes to recall. They became the fragile new rulers of a kingdom struggling against their many enemies on land, and fighting to keep what little wealth they possessed from pirates.

"There was one pirate in particular they could not defeat, a woman named Stalia Arseni, who was well known for saying that the only way to stop her was to bury her fathoms deep. It's a long story, but the short version is that she and Mattica Harkenos became fast friends and when he asked for her support, she gave it. The kingdom of Harken was saved because of their friendship, and Stalia became the first Duchess of Fathoms Deep. The mercenaries were founded a couple of generations later, when Harken was dragged into war again and a kingdom started to become an empire."

Turning to face Shemal, who gaped at him with mouth open, Lesto added, "The obvious point of all of this being that anyone who says a pirate is not worthy of Fathoms Deep is a fool. You belong here more than anyone else could."

Shemal kissed him, hard and fierce, fingers cupping his face, warm and calloused, so familiar and right it left an ache.

Lesto returned the kiss, until his lips were sore and they were both panting. "Are you done running away now, you stupid pirate?"

"I'm not opposed to a bit more convincing," Shemal replied and kissed him again, pushing Lesto back until he struck the door. "I didn't think I'd get to do this anymore."

Lesto's mouth quirked. "You'll get to do it plenty, believe me. But first, I think we need food and rest, as I'm sure you're even more worn out than me."

Sighing softly, Shemal drew back. "You might have a point, especially with the way my ribs still hurt, but I concede it with ill grace."

"Noted," Lesto said with a laugh. "Come on." He paused to take a blue velvet bag from a drawer and slide it into a pocket, then opened the door and waited until Shemal was in the hall before extinguishing the lamps and locking the door. "I'll give you a tour of the rest of the place tomorrow. It's mostly the original that was built forever ago, but some parts were destroyed by fire a century ago and had to be rebuilt. And little things are always changing as needs and preferences shift." Back in the main entry, he went up the stairs and down a hall in the east wing, through a door that was mostly red stained glass into his private sitting room.

The room was comprised of two long, deep sofas of black leather, red and gray rugs on the dark wooden floor, other splashes of red, gray, and silver scattered about, including heavy red drapes left open to display the stained glass window of red roses and dark green vines.

"This room looks like you," Shemal said quietly, looking around.

"I hope that's a good thing," Lesto said as he sat on one of the sofas and pulled the covers off the trays of food. Despite his order for something simple, the chef had sent along steaming soup, warmed bread with herb butter, and a platter of cheese and fruit. There was also a pitcher of beer, probably one of those his recently-acquired brewers had been working on. He looked up when Shemal's silence stretched on, saw the sheepish look on his face. "So it is a good thing?"

"I… back when I first woke up in your room at Harkenesten Palace, I admired all your jewelry, wondered if you ever actually wore any of it. You wear teal well, but I always thought you'd look even better in black pearls and rubies." The flush that washed over his skin made it fairly easy to guess what else had been in those thoughts.

Lesto smiled, maybe inwardly preening a bit that Shemal thought about what he'd look good in and clearly wanted to see if he was right. "As it happens, I'm rather fond of black pearls, I have a couple of pieces that include rubies, and I do wear them on occasion—especially when persuaded to by pirates making filthy promises. Come sit down and eat."

Shemal shot him a grin as he trailed around the room instead, touching the drapes, the window, the books on the shelves in one corner. "Is that all it takes? How convenient that I'm a pirate capable of making and fulfilling a good many filthy promises." He paused in front of a painting of Lesto, Nyle, and Rene as little boys. "You look like you were a troublesome child."

"Hardly. Who had time to get into trouble when I was forever trying to get those two out of it? That painting was right before Nyle left to live with some friends of my mother. He was sick for a long time. They thought a different atmosphere would help him. As it turned out, they were right. He returned hale and hearty and wound up marrying Sarrica." Lesto smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry he died," Shemal said and finally came to sit next to him. "That smells amazing."

Lesto's sadness fell back as he laughed. "Yes, I am looking forward to being here more. The food at Harken is nothing to sneer at, but there's something to be said for the food I grew up on."

They lapsed into silence as they ate, and both were yawning by the time they'd finished off every last bite and drop. Shemal sat back with a groan. "I am getting entirely too used to eating like a spoiled lord."

"Oh, so food is the secret to keeping you where I want you, hmm?" Lesto asked, leaning back to rest against Shemal's side, propping one foot on the sofa. If Shemal was troubled by taking all his weight, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he shifted slightly so he could wrap an arm loosely around Lesto. "What foods in particular?"

"Not fish," Shemal muttered. "Just one of many reasons I'm something of a disgrace back home, but I really hate fish."

Lesto laughed hard enough he nearly upset his balance, though he wasn't terribly sorry when it ended with them both on the couch, him using Shemal as a pillow, nestled between those large, heavy thighs. After the past couple of days, it was the best possible improvement. The fingers running over his close-cut hair weren't bad, either. "If this is what my life will be like when I'm no longer High Commander, I may send Sarrica my retirement tomorrow."

"It's never going to stop being disconcerting that you say the High King's name so casually," Shemal said.

"You'll do it, too, eventually," Lesto replied with a laugh. He closed his eye, exhaustion washing back over him in the wake of all that food and the warm comfort of lying against Shemal.

After a few minutes the caressing ceased. "If you're going to fall asleep on me, I'd much rather it be in a bed."

Lesto reluctantly sat up. "I suppose that's a fair point, and I am damned fond of my bed here." He stood and offered a hand. "Come on." Holding fast, he led the way down a couple of hallways to where the family bedrooms were located, including the master suite he'd taken over several months after his parents died. At the time, he'd been content to stay in his old room, but the servants did as they pleased while he was gone, and it had pleased them to put their new lord where they thought he belonged.

He hadn't minded in the end because the master suite was luxurious enough almost to shame the High Palace. His servants, as flawless and wonderful as always, had left lamps burning in the front room, which was decorated in various shades of blue, the ceiling done in blocks of frosted colored glass, lending the whole place a lazy, almost underwater feel. Colorful rugs were scattered on the gold-toned wooden floor, furniture stained the same, all the blue cut with accents of white and sandy gold.

The suite contained the front room, a private sitting room, a private library, the bedroom, and a door that led to the nursery. Lesto turned away from it, headed for the bedroom, and threw the door open. Shemal came up behind him, drew a startled breath, muttered in Farlander before saying in Harken, "Stunning."

"Yes, the architects and designers of long ago outdid themselves." Unlike most beds in Harken, which were freestanding so they could be moved about, his bed was built into the wall. It was bigger than his bed in Harken, and required some effort to climb in and out of—and was well worth the effort. The front was framed by more colored glass depicting ships at sea. There was also a set of steps leading up to the bed as well as a small table where books and tea and such were often left. Curtains could be pulled from the other side, the only light from still more blocks of frosted glass that lined the top of the walls surrounding the bed.

His servants had laid a fire and left plenty of water in two large washbasins. Lesto stripped, leaving his sword belt hanging off the back of a chair at the table near the fire. His clothes he threw in a basket meant for that purpose. Pausing only to grab a rag and soap, he knelt in one of the basins and quickly scrubbed himself clean. A proper bath was in order for the morrow, but right then, a scrub down was more than adequate.

When he was finished, leaving Shemal to his own washing, Lesto strode into the dressing chamber and pulled down two drying cloths and two robes. The robes he left on hooks in the wall off to one side of the bed before returning to Shemal with the drying clothes. He dried himself off with one, watched with impatience and pleasure as Shemal finished washing and stood, water sluicing down his colorful, toned body.

Shemal stepped out of the basin, accepted the cloth Lesto held out, and quickly dried off. When he was done, Lesto reeled him and dropped a firm kiss on his mouth. "As much as I would love to savor every scrap of your naked body, I am far too tired."

"Old man," Shemal said with a chuckle. "Not that I'm any better. I really want to try out that bed."

"Then let's do that," Lesto said and dragged him over and into it, smiling at Shemal's gasp as he saw the inside, where moonlight spilled down from small, staggered squares of clear glass in the peaked roof. "The memory vault is directly below here, part of the large tower in this corner of the manor. There are four in all, and five smaller turrets."

"Can't have a proper manor without showy towers and turrets," Shemal drawled, and laughed when Lesto jabbed him. He finally flopped down on the bed, sprawled out, hair covering most of the pillow, and moaned. "I'm never leaving this bed."

"You'll have to eventually," Lesto said, not without sympathy. "Some foods can't be eaten in bed."

Shemal grumbled in Farlander, but sounded too cheerful to be truly bothered.

Shifting closer, Lesto curled against Shemal's side as had quickly become a habit over their few days together in the palace. Coming home had never felt so much like coming home.

"Is Lord Tara all right?" Shemal asked, voice already growing heavy with sleep. "I kept meaning to ask."

"Thanks to you, he's fine, and being spoiled to death by Rene," Lesto said, not bothering to open his eye. "I'll tell you the whole mess with Treya Mencee tomorrow."

Shemal's fingers trailed lazily along his skin, warm and soothing, and within minutes, Lesto was fast asleep.

*~*~*

He woke to the clatter of dishes, the smell of breakfast, and the murmur of quiet conversation. That definitely wasn't in Harken. Throwing back the blankets, briefly disappointed there was no naked pirate to thoroughly enjoy, Lesto crawled to the entrance and climbed out.

"Good morning, Your Grace!" Leeta, his personal servant, walked over to the dressing robe still hanging on its hook and held it out for him. He shrugged into it, thanked her, and wandered over to where Shemal was already eating breakfast and talking at rapid-fire pace with the servants who'd brought the food. One Farlander, the other half-Farlander, half-Gearthish.