by Lexi Ander
Bear grunted, voicing his unhappiness with Ewen. Bear seemed sure of Roi’s acceptance and wanted Roi to himself. Now. The certainty of Bear’s belief had become stronger the more time they spent with the pagan. It seemed almost as if Bear knew Roi, save that was not possible as Bear's memories were also Ewen’s. He had never met Roi. The other curious matter Ewen noticed with Bear was that his attraction was different than Ewen had imagined it would be. Bear wanted Roi, but not in the way of a lover. Aye, Bear sought Roi for his own, but as if Roi was an object of great value, precious beyond compare. Since Bear refused to speak to him, Ewen could only attempt to read Bear’s emotions. Construing Bear’s needs made Ewen’s head throb.
Though his brother suspected, he declined to admit to Donn that the attraction he had for Roi stirred guilt within him. Ewen knew not if Bear’s pull to the pagan swayed Ewen’s intentions. Roi seemed familiar to Ewen and, yet again, he blamed the odd sense upon Bear. For so long his actions had been unhindered by Bear’s opinions. Now, with Bear active, Ewen had difficulty divining which emotions belonged to Bear and which were his own. In truth, Ewen was overjoyed, and mayhap a little afeard. Bear had come alive, but now it took double the willpower to exert his command over Bear. Ewen was afraid if he eased his grip upon Bear, his mathan would overwhelm Ewen as he did in battle. What Ewen felt for Roi had to come from him, not his mathan, otherwise Ewen could not be happy with Roi as any kind of marrae.
As if understanding Ewen’s concern, Bear withdrew, becoming almost dormant again, yet not all he struggled with and blamed upon Bear’s influence acquitted Ewen when Bear’s influence vanished. As Donn removed Ewen’s beard and shaved the hair from his head, he struggled to admit his rising interest in someone since the death of his good wife. God help me if the arousal I scented upon Roi earlier was for me. If Roi was truly willing, Ewen’s resolve to be chaste would crumble.
Bear watched Ewen struggle, yet his emotions, his opinions, were hidden from Ewen once again. Ought he be concerned by Bear’s smug satisfaction when Ewen silently lamented his absence?
~ : § : ~
HIS SCALP CHILLED AND chapped, Ewen ducked under the tent flap as he ran the palm of his hand over the now smooth skin. Donn’s hand was steady, and his draw of the straight edge clean. Not a hair remained. Ewen felt naked in a way, the coolness of the evening air causing his skin to prickle.
It did not take long for his sight to adjust to the dim confines. Red hot coals glowed in the fire pit in the middle of the floor. Bear rose up and demanded he search out Roi without delay. In the back corner upon the pallet of hides, Roi lay on his stomach, the fur draped over his legs barely covering his hind end. Bear made small grunts of satisfaction at knowing their scent would coat Roi from head to toe.
The low light of the dying fire highlighted dark stripes upon Roi’s back. Ewen moved closer, squatting upon his heels to better see. Bear growled when Ewen recognized the marks of a lash. He gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring as he tested the air for fresh blood. Was this the work of Gillie Ainndreis? Bear bristled, sending visions of finding Gillie Ainndreis’ body and putting the man upon a pike as a warning to any who would dare touch Roi in such a way. Ewen nearly relented, but instead he stamped down upon the fury and searched for the bag of herbs Freya had sent with him.
He would prefer to lick Roi’s wounds afore applying a salve, but Roi mayn’t understand. Ewen fished a rock from the fire and dropped it into a crock of water. Once the water had warmed sufficiently, he worked quickly to make a paste with the ingredients in Freya’s bag. The foul scent of the salve filled the air inside the tent, making his nose twitch and a sneeze threaten even as his nostrils became watery.
When he sat upon the pallet, Roi’s eyes opened. They were rife with wary caution, but he did not move away. “Ye need not bother yerself with me,” Roi murmured.
Ewen narrowed his eyes, allowing a small part of the anger that rolled under his skin to show. Roi blinked, but stank not of fear. Natheless Ewen said, “You be under my care and I shall treat you how I see fit. If I choose to tend your wounds, you shall do naught but remain still and humour me.”
Roi held his peace, the jump of muscle under Ewen’s fingers the only indication of Roi’s pain. Many of the stripes would scar, as the cuts were deep, and Ewen doubted they had been tended to ere now. He saw no signs of festering and counted Roi fortunate. That the whipping had not been the first, as attested by old scars marring the span of Roi’s back, did not surprise Ewen. Gillie Ainndreis was known well for his cruelty.
“Who be your master ere now? What reason had he to punish you so?” Nary a twitch of the eye or a pull of the mouth betrayed Roi’s emotions. His only tell was the stinging scent of fear rolling off him. He remained quiet for so long Ewen thought he would refuse to answer the question.
“Gillie Ainndreis be angered with me because he thought I should do more to assist the King of the Isles in winning the battle. There be naught I could do to turn the tide, though he believed me not. I cannot change the fate of any man.” The low light made Roi’s blue eyes appear dull and empty as he spoke. Ewen did not know how to lighten Roi’s expression.
“Then it be fortunate the King of the Isles be defeated and Gillie Ainndreis dead. None other shall harm you in such a way again.” Moving the fur down to reach the wounds at the base of Roi’s spine revealed a birthmark as large as the palm of Ewen’s hand in the shape of a crescent moon. Ewen’s hand trembled as he ran his fingertips over the edge of the shape. The mark meant something important, but he recalled not what. Bear surged forward, more excited than he had been thus far, and Ewen wrestled with Bear as he tore at the walls long since erected to keep him from harming others. An odd tingle began where he touched Roi, turning into a sharp bite of pain that caused him to withdraw his hand with haste. The tattoo over Ewen’s right breast burned as if he had just been branded. Bear yowled in pain and withdrew.
Ewen quickly finished applying the salve, barely noticing the enticing swell of Roi’s breach. The question in Roi’s eyes as he packed up the remaining herbs would needs go unanswered for now. Bear had not struggled with him thusly in a very long time. He did not know why the birthmark excited them, but something told him that he ought, a memory buried too deep to remember. Ewen needed a moment to clear his head, and he knew not how to explain his behaviour, so he said naught. Stumbling to his feet, Ewen crossed the tent as if chased by daemons.
“You need to rest,” he snapped, an unbidden anger crushing him. “I shall return on the morn to discuss your duties.” He slapped at the tent flap as he bit out the last word, not daring to glance back at the man who had so upset his calm.
VI
HIS LEIGE RETURNED NOT that eve. Roi lay awake, remembering how it felt to have Lord Ewen touch him, tending to him as if he held some value in Lord Ewen’s sight. He wished it were truth, but Roi knew it to be only hopefulness upon his part. Each tender caress had inflamed him, and though his mind lectured that it was only the ministrations of a man who upheld kindness as a guardian of his ilk ought, Roi’s heart… Well, his heart wanted to believe Lord Ewen’s intentions towards him were of a softer and more familiar nature.
So he lay upon the sleeping pallet, willing his limbs to still and his breathing to remain steadfast, but Roi’s cock followed his heart, swelling with hope. If he had held any doubts that Lord Ewen was a simple man, his ministrations, his questions, and his obvious disdain of Gillie Ainndreis’ actions proved otherwise.
And whatever had happened when he removed the fur from Roi’s lower back? Lord Ewen had stared at the birthmark as if the stamp of Roi’s goddess meant something to him. He had held his breath when Lord Ewen stared at his lower back, an edgy tingle igniting where Lord Ewen touched, as if his body prepared for… Roi was unsure what, only that whatever would come was the thing Roi had been born for.
Then Lord Ewen snatched his hand away as if scalded. Intuition told Roi something ought to have happened. His whole body wanted to reach out and g
rab onto Lord Ewen. A moment longer and… and… he knew not what would happen, only that something should, and that Lord Ewen had pulled away much too soon. Even as he had thought it, Roi could not say how he knew. As a priest of Cerridwen, Roi had long ago learned to heed that inner voice. Yet, instead of grabbing his lord, Roi lay perfectly still. Roi desperately yearned for Lord Ewen to touch him again but dared not ask. Lord Ewen’s countenance was a battle betwixt confusion and anger.
All too soon, Lord Ewen finished his ministrations and repacked his satchel. His liege lord’s anger seemed to have won the battle, pressing upon his visage a murderous guise. Refusing to glance at Roi, Lord Ewen snapped orders afore leaving the tent. Roi listened to his heavy footfalls, willing them to come back, his body humming as if a lover had left him wanting and upon edge, though this new feeling was not sexual in nature.
Roi wished for one of his mentors, to ask them what had happened with Cerridwen’s mark, but they were no more. Their lives had been snuffed out the night Gillie Ainndreis and his raiding party discovered the hidden temple. Everything had been burned in the name of the Greco-Roman God. Gillie Ainndreis had ordered the priests be run through with the sword, accusing them of consorting with the devil. The rhetoric would have been laughable if the raiders had not believed every word.
“Seer! Help us!” Alric, Roi’s mentor, knew very well he could not save them, and yet Alric made his plea as he died, pierced upon the tip of a blade. The fervent light in Gillie Ainndreis’ gaze changed when it landed upon Roi, and not for the better. Roi wished then that the soldiers had killed him first, for the promise in Gillie Ainndreis’ countenance had not boded well for his welfare.
He missed the guidance of his fellow priests, more so now than ever afore. Only they could go back and look at the vision Roi had of his death and tell him whence the interpretation went wrong. They could also have counselled him upon how to read what had happened betwixt Lord Ewen and himself, for he felt desperately lost. Eventually, Roi drifted to sleep, promising himself he would be bold and speak to Lord Ewen about the severed connection. Mayhap Lord Ewen knew what he did not.
But Lord Ewen returned not to the tent the following morn, leaving Roi bereft of the answers he needed.
~ : § : ~
WHEN ROI ROSE the next morn, he searched Lord Ewen’s belongings until he found what he desired. He brushed out his crimson robe the best he could afore dressing. Then, having combed and braided his hair, he awaited orders on how to begin his day. When no one arrived and there had been steady activity outside the tent for more than half an hour, Roi took matters into his own hands.
Not one to be idle, he bundled up the mound of Lord Ewen’s soiled clothing. His liege had claimed he would make Roi a manservant in his household, and Roi had learned some of the duties of a noble’s manservant in the King of the Isles’ court. By the state of Lord Ewen’s tent, it appeared he lacked a body servant. Roi made a hasty list of chores to accomplish in hopes his forethought would please Lord Ewen, taking yestereve’s anger from his master’s visage.
Ducking through the tent flap, Roi glanced around in an attempt to orient himself in the camp. If the set-up was the same as the King of the Isles’ war party, the laundresses would be located nearest the water. The air buzzed, the men-at-arms gathered in groups of three and four, speaking in hushed voices. Many were upset, but he could not discern why. Curious, and keeping a tight hold upon Lord Ewen’s clothing, Roi wove his way through the people to whence the crowd grew and thickened.
Upon reaching the edge of the milling mass, Roi was unsure what his eyes were telling him. What appeared to be a spire rose in the middle of the distant field of battle, but no building sat in that direction. Yestereve, some of the clean-up had begun as the dead were gathered; for merely leaving them whence they fell would invite disease into Renfrewshire. Aught of worth would be gleaned afore the bodies were buried, of course.
Roi needed to see, to know what had affrighted these battle-hardened men, so he crossed the reeking ground. The ravens hopped about, watching Roi with keen eyes, their caws seemingly too loud for the hour of the morn.
His heart beat hard in his chest as he made out the details of what had been erected. Four men had been stripped of all clothing and their bodies impaled upon fifteen-foot pikes, arranged in a circle. The strange construction was not something the gleaners would do. If Roi had not known better, he would have believed that the corpses’ empty eye sockets were wide with the horror of having their mouths stuffed with their own cocks and stones. Roi knew those men: Gillie Ainndreis and his closest advisers.
“That be a fit of temper if ever I did see one.”
Roi startled. Overcome by dread as he was, he had not heard Lord Donn’s approach. Halting at Roi’s right, his liege’s kin gazed up at the spectacle with a discerning eye.
“No, Donn, it be no fit, but a warning.” Lord Arailt halted to Roi’s left.
He glanced back up at the grisly sight, the hair on his arms pricking with his unease. “I do not understand the message. Who would tempt the gods with such defilement?”
He caught Lord Arailt from the corner of his eye. His visage was pinched. “It means touch not what be mine.” Curiously, Lord Arailt said not who issued the warning.
“Come, Roi, it is not safe for ye to be out alone.” Lord Donn touched his elbow, urging Roi to follow him. “Ye need be escorted at all times.” At Roi’s scowl, Lord Donn hurried on to add, “It be naught to do with trust. The sight has made many afeard, and they be guessing wildly who be the culprits that piked the nobles. Ye be a stranger amongst us. Lord Ewen’s kin knew ye were with them, and any man in his right mind would know that it would take a dozen men to erect those pikes, but the camp be uneasy, and uneasy men do not think, but act rashly.” He paused, plucking at Roi’s sleeve. “These damned red robes draw the eye too quickly. Arailt, I thought Ewen told ye to find proper clothing for Roi?”
Roi was well acquainted with the superstitions of men, and had no wish to be upon the receiving end of a restless mob. Thus he issued nary a protest when he was ushered back to Lord Ewen’s tent posthaste, men quickly stepping back at the way Lord Donn and Lord Arailt bristled. Though he was by no means a small man, almost the same height as the two men he followed, there were always those, mostly women and smaller men, who shied away from Roi, claiming the tattoos and the scarring upon his face caused him to be terrifying. But never had Roi’s visage cleared a pathway in a crowd as swiftly as Lord Donn and Lord Arailt’s dark scowls. Even the men-at-arms whose auras spoke of deadly danger stepped speedily out of the way. The two men before him prowled like angry bears looking to chew some poor soul’s limb off.
Lord Donn awaited inside with Roi as Lord Arailt rushed to grab the garments he had left in his own tent. “Did Ewen come here last night?” Lord Donn asked.
“Aye, but only for a short while.” Roi swallowed hard as he pushed down the memory of his liege’s caring touch. “He tended my wounds and left shortly thereafter. I have not seen him since. This morn I planned to wash his laundry.” At Lord Donn’s questioning look, Roi added, “I cannot simply lay about.”
Roi’s mind kept returning to the display upon the field of battle, wondering who hated Gillie Ainndreis and his allies enough to befoul their bodies with such a glaring lack of respect. If he were in the King of the Isles’ court, Roi would have had a good list of culprits, for Gillie Ainndreis had been ruthless and sly, stepping upon many people to become an advisor to the King of the Isles. As a foreigner in Renfrewshire, Roi knew of none who held a grudge against the man. Yet the way Lord Donn and Lord Arailt had reacted made Roi wonder if he should be wary of a similar fate. He was no friend to Gillie Ainndreis, nor was he someone Gillie Ainndreis confided in, but Roi had been seen in his company. Would that be enough in some men’s minds to make of him a target?
Lord Arailt returned with two sets of garments. The first, one of finery Roi did not imagine he would have the chance to wear, and the other a simple tu
nic and trouse, the weave finer and softer than he was accustomed to.
Flustered over the unwavering gazes from Lord Donn and Lord Arailt, he turned his back and pulled the robe over his head. At the sound of quick, indrawn hisses he quickly donned the fancy trouse, shoving down fear as he laced and tied them.
“What goes on here?” Lord Ewen’s voice rumbled deep and gruff. Roi glanced over his shoulder, his arms caught up in the sleeves of the tunic.
Lord Donn and Lord Arailt stood to the side, cheeks pinked as if abashed, the scowls marring their features out of place.
“Roi went out in his robes this morn to tend to yer garments,” snapped Lord Donn. “We found him at the spectacle made of Gillie Ainndreis and thought it best he change clothes afore somebody got it in their mind that a single man could accomplish such a feat upon his own and charged the pagan in their midst with witchery or some such foolishness.”
Lord Ewen’s skin turned the colour of milk, and Lord Donn’s eyes narrowed afore all expression was wiped from his face. When they glanced at Roi, he hastily faced the back of the tent again and finished pulling the tunic over his head. Surely, they did not believe he had aught to do with the sacrilege done to the corpses. His rising fear caused Roi’s fingers to fumble upon the leather laces. At the lengthy growl behind him, Roi caught his breath and gripped the strings tightly in his fists, squeezing his eyes shut.
Warm, rough fingers gripped his, staying them until Roi opened his eyes. Lord Ewen stood afore him, and instead of appearing angry or suspicious, his expression was soft. “No harm shall come to you.” Waiting until Roi gave a shaky nod of assent, Lord Ewen took the laces from him and tied the front of the tunic.
