by Megan Derr
Alcor went to make more tea, hoping that Rohese did not manage to lose himself in the short distance to the stable and wishing the bloody idiot had just stayed inside where it was safe. The tea had just finished when the front door banged open. Rohese tripped as he stumbled inside, crashing to the floor. Setting the tea tray on a hall table, Alcor moved, unthinking, to help him, brushing away the mass of snow that covered him.
It was only when Rohese abruptly jerked his head up that Alcor realized he had left the shadows. He started to recoil, but Rohese was still holding fast to one arm for balance.
Rohese stared at him wide-eyed. "My lord…" He let go and rose to his knees, then reached out and gently cupped Alcor's face with his still-gloved hands. "However did you live through such pain?"
Alcor laughed shakily. "I don't remember, honestly."
"Don't remember?" Rohese repeated. "That is a blessing, I would imagine."
Alcor thought of the monks, the painful healings, the rawness of his throat after he'd screamed— He did not remember much, but he did recall enough to know. "Yes, that's probably true. Come, don't sit here in the hallway." He pulled away, missing Rohese's touch, and went to close the door.
When he turned around, Rohese was on his feet, a large leather satchel slung from one shoulder. He smiled and indicated it. "Food aplenty. People have been most kind since the difficulties my father has had, even more so than usual."
"Ah, yes, he said his ships went missing…"
Rohese nodded and followed along as Alcor led the way to the kitchen. Accepting the bag, and murmuring his thanks—even if he had no intention of eating a single bite—he quickly figured out what he could make and what could be started to eat the next day.
A pity he did not dare attempt bread, but it looked as if two loaves had been included, so luckily it would not matter. He unwrapped a neatly tied packet to find lamb and smiled briefly as he moved to heat the stove.
"So what about insurance?" he asked as he began to cook, motioning for Rohese to sit. "Does he not have insurance set up to cover for his losses?"
Rohese shrugged. "He does, but there is some sort of dispute. They insist they will not simply hand over the money until it's proven the ships were lost to storms or some such, so on and so forth." He shrugged again. "I am certain it will be straightened out before long. In the meantime, we have been poor before." He smiled faintly, amused by something. "Not that my sisters would recall it, but I do. We survived then; I think we shall survive now."
Alcor nodded and rifled through his spices, carefully pulling out canisters and smelling before adding this and that to the heavy pan sizzling and spitting on the stove. He winced as he picked up one, dropping the canister as pain got the better of him. Frowning, he bent to retrieve the bastard—and startled as another hand collided with his own.
"Are you certain there is nothing I can do?" Rohese asked.
"I thought you did not want to be here for your healing," Alcor replied, smiling briefly as he accepted the canister and returned it to the little shelves which held his collection. "Anyway, no, there is not. My pain is for bearing, not for easing." He smiled again then returned to his cooking.
Silence fell as he worked, but it was a silence similar to those he'd shared with Meir, comfortable, though he was far more aware of Rohese than he had ever been of Meir.
He set a plate in front of Rohese, then poured himself some tea and sat opposite. "I have not cooked for some time, so it may not be very good. You will have to tell me."
Rohese looked amused. "If it's half as good as it smells, my lord…"
The look on his face after he took the first bite was more than a little gratifying. Even Meir had never looked quite so happy about his cooking. No one had ever looked that pleased about anything he had done. Alcor hid a stupid urge to grin by taking a sip of tea.
"It's wonderful," Rohese said. "No one in my house can cook at all. We had to let the cook go, once money became thin. I'm afraid only the kindness of the villagers has kept us from killing ourselves with our cooking."
Alcor chuckled. "Well, do not ask me to bake anything. I can cook safely enough, but baking is quite beyond me."
Rohese frowned. "Are you not eating?"
"No," Alcor replied. "Food tends not to settle well on my stomach. The tea suits me fine."
Pale gold eyes looked at him, speculative and shrewd. "Left over from the trauma?"
"Yes," Alcor replied. "Tea and broth are what I mostly survive on."
Rohese shook his head. "That is certainly good, to start, but soft foods should be taken eventually until foods more like this can be handled. I'm certain the pain would ease if the body was properly minded."
Alcor's mouth quirked. "I appreciate the concern, healer, but you need not trouble yourself over me."
"As you like," Rohese said. "How long have you lived in this house?" He frowned, as if puzzled over something. "I knew the family that once lived here—well, I met one member of that family, briefly. They have not lived here for some time, at least three years. Do you know them?"
"Knew them, yes," Alcor said shortly. "The lodge was left to me when they passed away. Under the circumstances," he motioned to his face, "I thought it an ideal location to retire."
Rohese ate a few more bites of food, nodding absently, clearly lost in thought. He smiled when he finally pushed his plate away. "The food was excellent. I thank you again for it. The roses, the books, the food—you are extremely kind."
Alcor shrugged the words off and gathered up the dishes for washing later. "If you want to peruse the books, I shall go make up a room for you.” He finished his own tea then departed, headed slowly up the stairs. He passed by Meir's room, the door still firmly closed. He trailed his hand lightly across it as he moved further down the hallway, past his own room to the room opposite.
It was where he had put up Rohese's father and where he would now put Rohese. Changing the bedding took very little time, and he pulled extra blankets from the foot of the bed as he heard the wind howl beyond the window.
That done, he returned downstairs to find Rohese standing in front of the bookcases, avidly reading what Alcor recognized as one of his local history books. "I would have thought you would know all there is to know around here."
Rohese looked up. "Mm, a lot of this is familiar, but I lack many of the details, you know? The retellings are always vague, leaving out a lot of the details. Anyway, it's my generation that is the first to grow up here. My parents moved here when I was but three, poor and barely able to take a room for let. Then my father had just started working for a merchant, minor tasks here in the village, moving goods in the warehouses, that sort of thing. But, bit by bit, he moved up until, when I was ten and the first of my little sisters was born, we were doing all right. By then, my mother was a well-established healer as well. When I was thirteen, we moved into the house a few miles from yours. My mother passed away about five years ago, and I took up her duties full time."
"My impression is that the money comes mostly from your father. Healing does not pay well?" Alcor asked. "Not that it is my place to ask."
"I don't mind," Rohese replied. "No, it does not really. People give what they can, but the majority of those I help cannot afford to pay much, even if I did charge them." He shrugged and looked again at the book. "Do you know these stories well, my lord?"
Alcor wondered why people insisted upon the honorific. He was no lord, not any longer. "Yes, history is probably my favorite subject. That book I've only read twice, however."
Rohese laughed. "I cannot remember the last time I had the time to read a book once, never mind twice. What do you do, my lord? Not that it is my place to ask."
"I don't mind," Alcor said with a smile. "I'm a businessman, I suppose. I invest in various things." He hesitated then gave a mental shrug. "I am attempting to be a writer, but I've yet to hear the results of my first endeavor."
"Oh?" Rohese asked, looking intrigued. "About what did you write? An his
torical book? Perhaps a novel?"
"Yes, a novel," Alcor said and ran his thumb along the spine of a book bound in dark leather. "A friend of mine was killed a year ago. I wrote a story inspired by his life, though I made it perhaps a bit more… novel-like."
"I'm sorry," Rohese said, fingers clinging lightly to his sleeve, causing Alcor to turn around and face him. "When my mother passed—well, my father has never been the same, nor the rest of us. I am sorry you lost your friend; he must have been special indeed if you wrote a story about it." He smiled. "I shall have to buy it, once the tale is published. Will you sign it for me?"
Alcor laughed. "I doubt it will ever be published. To date, only the village bookshop owner has seen it, and he likely is grateful for the snow which prevents his telling me my attempts are atrocious."
"Well, when it is finally published, I insist you sign my copy."
"If you insist," Alcor agreed and turned to look at his books once more, again fighting an urge to move closer and to Rohese. There was no sense to this behavior, truly. What did he hope to accomplish, in the end? Rohese had made it clear he knew the Alcor he'd known was not worth loving—and who could love the beast he was now? It should be promising that somehow, despite the strictures of the curse, Rohese remembered him. Instead, it just seemed to make everything worse.
Alcor felt more tired than he had in a long time and nearly turned to retreat, but then Rohese moved closer to him. He was close enough now that Alcor could smell hints of honeysuckle and the faintest trace of sandalwood.
He also noticed that Rohese was exhausted—as he should be, to travel so far in such weather, and then be kept up socializing for no good reason. "You are tired," he said. "You should rest and not let me keep you up."
Rohese waved a hand carelessly. "Please, I am fin—" The word was cut off by a sudden yawn.
Alcor laughed and gently took the book from his hands, returning it with barely a look to its place on the third shelf from the top, fifth from the left. He then reached out and grasped Rohese's shoulder and turned him to the door, giving a gentle push. "To bed, my dear healer. I do not desire to be strung up as the beast that made the healer sick, thank you."
"Oh, pshaw," Rohese said and rolled his eyes, but he yawned again all the same. "Very well, to bed I go, but do not let me sleep all day."
"I will not," Alcor assured and led the way from the study, up the stairs and down the hall to Rohese's room. "I'm sure there must be suitable clothes in the wardrobe. Please, sleep well." He started to close the door, but a sudden burst of giggles—of all things—made him stop and turn around.
Rohese stood gasping for breath, clutching some bit of fabric. Seeing Alcor, he held it out for better viewing, revealing some filmy, flimsy thing that was obviously a woman's nightdress—and not one intended for a quiet night.
He laughed and said, "Perhaps not suitable for you. I did not think to check it."
Still laughing himself, Rohese cast aside the nightgown and foraged again in the wardrobe, this time coming out with an elaborate evening gown of shining amber decorated with glittering jewel beads. "You do not think it my color?"
Alcor snorted. "Indeed, beauty, it is quite your color, but perhaps not your cut."
"Perhaps not," Rohese said with a grin and stuffed the clothes back in the wardrobe.
"I'll go find you something with a better fit," Alcor said and departed, returning to his own room to pull out clothes that seemed suitable. They would be slightly overlarge, but better than the dress. Lips twitching, he returned to Rohese—
To find him dead asleep on the bed. Shaking his head, Alcor set the clothes on the trunk at the foot of the bed, then moved carefully to the bed.
Rohese lay half on the bed, half off, as though he had sat down to wait and the holding still had gotten the better of him. Alcor smiled faintly and sighed at himself. Then he reached out and lifted Rohese's legs onto the bed, chuckling softly when that earned only sleepy mumbling from Rohese.
He wondered if Rohese was the kind to talk in his sleep, or if he was the noisy type, period, in bed. Then he made himself stop thinking about it because such thoughts would always remain questions without answers, and he was not going to add that sort of torture to his life—and damn his libido anyway for deciding now was the time to return to life.
Rolling his eye, he pulled off Rohese's boots then managed to get him out of his jacket with a great deal of slow and careful work. Though, for all the reaction Rohese showed, he may as well have yanked it off.
Pulling the blankets up, Alcor doused the light and closed the door, then wandered down the hall to his own dark room. An hour later, he finally gave up any pretense of trying to sleep. His mind simply would not have it. Without the book to distract him and Rohese only a matter of footsteps away—no, there would be no sleeping. Not that he was eager to find what dreams a proper night's sleep would bring.
Throwing back his bedclothes, he slid into his clothes and pulled back his overlong hair, grimacing only absently at the now-familiar feel of the white strands. Stamping into his boots, he made his way downstairs and fixed a pot of tea. Two bracing cups later, bundled in his oldest outdoor clothes, he began the onerous chore of clearing a path to the stable.
It caused a pang, but also a faint smile, as he thought about the year he'd spent with Meir, learning to do this very thing. Back then, the chore had been just as unpleasant, but not miserable because Meir had harassed and teased and cajoled and encouraged the entire time, somehow managing in his way to get a lesson through Alcor's head.
He hoped Meir was happy, wherever he might be.
Shaking his head, he bent to his task with a vengeance, eager to have it over with so that he might find more pleasant things to do—and wanting to make certain his horse, as well as Rohese's, had weathered the snowstorm well. It was arduous work, and his body would hate him for it later, but it was better than lying in his bed brooding about things he would never have. If there was one thing of which he was truly tired, it was brooding.
A couple of hours later, he reached the stables, and slouched against the nearest wall to catch his breath and let the aches and pains begin to register. Moving again would not be pleasant, but move he did, as the horses stirred at his presence. His own whickered, obviously happy to see him, and that thought warmed Alcor through. People could not stand him, but animals seemed to have no problem.
He moved as quickly as he could to see the horses fed, feeding them the lumps of sugar he had thought to bring from the kitchen. Rohese's horse was a fine, gentle but sturdy mare. He stroked her until his own horse became jealous, then moved back to his stallion and reassured him of his standing.
The sound of Mutt's barking drew his attention, for he was fairly certain he had left the daft dog locked up in the house Turning, he barely caught an enthusiastic Mutt in time to avoid them both crashing to the ground. Petting him until he calmed, he then looked up and saw Rohese standing just inside the door, smiling sleepily.
"I came to see if you needed help," Rohese said with a yawn. "I can see you do not. I told you not to let me sleep overlong."
Alcor laughed. "It cannot be later than seven, and I think it more like six. I have hardly let you sleep, and if excessive snow is not good reason to linger in a warm bed, then what is the point of it?"
"Indeed, my lord," Rohese said, looking amused. "If that is the reason for snow, why are you already awake and working hard, instead of staying in bed?"
Because if he stayed in bed, he would give into a temptation to think of Rohese in ways he should not, Alcor thought but did not say. "I never slept," he said instead and gave his stallion a last pet before moving toward Rohese. "I do not sleep much."
"You do not eat, you do not sleep. It seems to me if you did both those things more often, you would be in less pain, and you obviously suffer a great deal of it."
Alcor shrugged. "It is not as bad as it has been in the past, and anyone would hurt after shoveling so much snow."
&nb
sp; "If you had woken me, I gladly would have helped."
"I do not make guests do work, and I would certainly not stir them from rest to work," Alcor said, laughing. "You are my guest, healer—enjoy it." He made to move past Rohese, to lead him back to the house, but hissed in sudden surprise and pain as the morning's exertions momentarily got the best of him.
Rohese immediately moved to him, and Alcor drew a sharp, startled breath as Rohese's hand landed on his chest, the fingers splayed. They seemed heavy upon him, though not unpleasant, and warm enough almost to be hot.
Then Rohese let out a sharp gasp, shuddering hard. Alcor fought two simultaneous reactions: to step away, as he was obviously the source of Rohese's discomfort, and to reach out to touch in his turn, as if he stood a chance of comforting.
The two reactions seemed to cancel each other out, and he only stood still, feeling stupid and awkward and very much like a beast.
"How do you bear it?" Rohese asked softly, looking at him with a sadness Alcor could not recall anyone ever turning in his direction. "Are you always in such pain?"
"Yes," Alcor said calmly, trying to shrug to show his indifference. "I promise you, it is nothing by far. How do you know my pain?"
"This isn't nothing," Rohese said, voice still quiet, but there was steel in it. "I can feel what those I help feel when I need to. This—I do not know how you bear it."
"I deserve it," Alcor said softly, biting his tongue against saying everything that wanted to spill out. What would it accomplish, but more pain? He did not think he could take more, especially in the form of total rejection from this man he had cast away and so would never have.
Rohese said nothing, merely shook his head and closed his eyes. "No one deserves this," he said after a moment. "Hush," he added, when Alcor drew breath to speak.
Bemused, Alcor remained silent.
The silence stretched on until it was broken by Rohese's muttering, soft, almost musical sounds that Alcor actually recognized from their brief meeting at the waterfall so many years ago. It was surer now, with years of experience backing it, rather than the shy and fumbling attempts of a scared-to-death but stubborn boy.
