Always There
Page 19
The monks obeyed, turning as one to lead him down the corridor, rambling on about the medicine and how much to administer, how it worked. He made note of it all, but only by habit, and every step grew harder to make as they drew closer to the door of Yvain's room. The monks left him at the door, turning away to tend to other matters as they all too happily left Yvain to Corentin's care.
Still scowling, Corentin pushed the door open and shut it quietly behind before striding across the room to the bed. 'Twas large, as was his own, rich accommodations intended for visiting noblemen who did not share the simplistic needs of the monks. The bed curtains had been tied back and in the center of the bed Yvain rested. He looked to be in some pain, but more pleased and no small part smug as he looked upon Corentin.
"'Tis foolish indeed to refuse the healing draughts the monks offer," Corentin snapped. "You are not yet healed; 'twould be best not to tempt the heavens to take you after all."
Yvain laughed, although 'twas clear it pained him to do so, and smiled. "Nay, I fear not the heavens, for they would have to answer to you ere they were permitted to take me, and you have already made quite clear you will not tolerate such impertinence."
Corentin jerked his gaze away, eyes landing upon the bowl that held the medicine to ease Yvain's pain and speed healing. He moved to fetch it, when Yvain spoke again.
"You have been avoiding me."
"I thought to let you heal," Corentin said, but even to his own ears the excuse sounded weak.
Yvain snorted. "I am sufficiently healed, Corentin. Seeing you, I feel nearly as good as new."
Corentin's gaze snapped back to him. "That is absurd—"
"You do not like to look upon me," Yvain said, cutting him off. "Why? What do you fear?"
He looked away again, not certain what to say. What did he fear? Everything.
A hand reached out to lightly grasp his wrist, Yvain tugging weakly but with insistence. "Corentin, is it … do you regret all you said? If 'twould make you happy to have it forgotten, then forget it I shall, but I think 'twould be more than I could bear to be made to forget that you said you would love me. All my life I have wanted nothing more; do not be so cruel as to take it away from me."
"Nay," Corentin said, dismayed. "I would ne'er do so cruel a thing as that … " He shook his head. "Nay, nay, 'twas not my intent at all."
He watched in silence as Yvain's fingers slid free of his wrist, shifting to curl against his own, and he was helpless to do aught but surrender to the impulse to hold fast to Yvain's hand.
"Then why do you avoid me, Corentin?"
Yvain had been so forthright with him, the pain of his words tangible on the air even now, and Corentin could do naught but be as honest, although 'twas difficult. "What right have I to anything?" Corentin said, the words barely above a whisper, his eyes still fastened to their clasped hands. "I who hated you unfairly all these years, I who killed your men, I who never knew my lover as I thought and am so fickle as to want to love another barely a year and a half since he killed himself for me. I have right to naught, am worth nothing, and should not have spoken as I did."
His hand was given a sharp tug and he went obediently despite himself, falling down clumsily to sit upon the edge of the bed.
"Worthy … what makes you think you are not worthy? If those things make you unworthy, then how unfit a knave am I for being unable to save the man you loved? How dare you trust my words, knowing how I feel, that truly did I attempt to save him? How do you know I did not kill him, as first you thought?"
"Foolishness!" Corentin snapped, although pain ripped through him. "No longer am I so blind and I will regret to the end of my days that I was so willfully ignorant for so long, for how would matters have transpired had I seen clearly?"
"Regrets, worthiness, rights … " Yvain sighed softly, and stroked a thumb over the back of Corentin's hand. "We burden ourselves with such unchangeable things, such heavy thoughts. Mayhap if we both had done less brooding, less accepting, and taken more action … aye, things may have transpired differently. However, 'tis not possible to go back; we can do naught but go forward. So why can we not, Corentin? I love you and you have said you would feel the same—why can that not be enough? Does that not in and of itself make us worthy?"
Corentin stared at their hands, and then slowly dragged his eyes up to look at Yvain. A denial lingered on his tongue, for 'twas impossible for things to be concluded so simply … yet he could not voice it, only nod and hold fast to the hand in his own.
They sat in silence for some minutes, until the pain in Yvain's face began to consume it. Pulling away from his grasp, Corentin stood and strode to the table, fetching the small bowl. Sitting down again at the edge of the bed, he helped Yvain sit up and gave him the medicine to drink.
"Foul brew, that," Yvain groused, licking remnants of it from his lips.
"Aye," Corentin agreed, returning the bowl to the table and slowly wandering back to the bed, suddenly reluctant to leave, although he could see that Yvain would shortly drop into slumber. "Most medicines taste like brews gone afoul." Slowly he reclaimed his seat at the edge of the bed, watching as Yvain fought a losing battle against the drugging sleep of the healing draught.
Yvain's hand once more found his own, tugging gently. "Rest with me."
Corentin startled. "Absurd. You need rest proper; I would do naught but likely cause further injury … and it is absurd an idea beyond that."
"Nay," Yvain argued. "The wound is on my right side. You can lie against my left and be as a shield between me and those infernal monks." He grinned. "Lie with me or I shall refuse all future draughts of that foul potion and set the monks upon you for it. Come, you look as though you could use the rest as much as I. 'Tis too cold to do aught but stay warmly abed, for a certainty."
Corentin struggled to summon some argument, for truly he should let Yvain rest proper … but they refused to form or be given voice, and he conceded defeat with a sigh, although he felt foolish indeed.
Bending, he removed his boots and set them alongside Yvain's at the foot of the bed, then draped his cloak over a chair, his sword belt hung over that. He returned to the bed with no small amount of trepidation, but refused to give surrender to it when Yvain watched him so intently, so anxiously. Lifting the covers, he slid carefully beneath them, wary of causing further injury to Yvain—but barely had he settled when Yvain tugged him close, and suddenly that mouth he had ne'er forgotten covered his, warm and pliant, Even the lingering taste of the vile potion could not banish the pleasure of the kiss, that he was being permitted the kiss … and would be permitted many more.
"Forgive my impertinence," Yvain murmured softly when at last they broke apart.
Corentin smiled faintly, some of the tension holding him tight easing, and settled down with his head upon Yvain's shoulder. "Sleep, knave."
"Aye," Yvain replied, fingers squeezing briefly where his arm was draped across Corentin, and in mere moments his breathing had evened out into deep sleep, and Corentin finally permitted himself to rest as well.
Fin
About the Author
Megan grew up a military brat and traveled extensively with her family. She is now firmly settled in Ohio, with two roommates and their four cats. She has always been book obsessed, and writing obsessed since she first gave it a whirl in college. Romance and fantasy are her primary obsessions, but she’s game to write just about anything and enjoys a challenge. She is a sucker for stories of enemies becoming lovers. When not writing, Megan is drinking too much coffee, reading still more books, and harassing family and friends, or otherwise doing whatever possible to avoid editing.
She loves to hear from her readers, and can be found on Livejournal, Twitter, Tumblr, and her website. Check out more of her work at LT3 Press!
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