Aleksey's Kingdom (10 page)

He shouted this last, and I wondered what the others would think if they overheard the sudden exclamation of
shit
coming from our tent. I hoped they’d blame Faelan.

I hushed him as best I could. I agreed with him, so what could I say? Why could we not be in love openly? I did not know. Being together had almost killed us, yet here we were, still in love. I pressed my lips to his ear. “If the world wants us to be secret and sly, then let us be so. How quiet can you be?”

He actually chuckled, which pleased me, as I hated to see him upset about something he could not change. Aleksey’s sense of entitlement often led him into furies when he encountered things that would not bend to his will. He very deliberately turned onto his belly and lowered his own breeches. An invitation, if ever I had one. He chuckled again and murmured, “Faelan says he will fart to cover us if we make too much noise.”

I began to laugh and could not stop. I think my previous sadness and shock were still affecting me. He put a hand over my mouth, but I had flagged somewhat now and would make some considerable rustling to harden enough to enter him. He solved this problem by pushing me over, still clamping his hand over my mouth, and taking me very thoroughly and impressively silently, given we were in such a small tent. Fortunately, therefore, Faelan’s assistance was not required.

W
E
WOKE
to another perfect autumn day, with skies so blue that the severe frost lying upon the ground was gone, even beneath the canopy of trees, before we had packed up and set off once more.

Aleksey was giving me penetrating looks as we rode side by side, which I was doing my best to ignore. I knew what he was thinking: he had seen a side of me he did not often see, and it always pleased him whenever this pathetic, driveling creature appeared. For me to have told him so much about my past and to have actually confessed to feeling something and thereby admit to having feelings at all was to him a delightful treat. I wanted to go back to erase the memory of the night from my mind—even the good parts, for I had enough pleasant recollections of Aleksey inside me to surrender just this one time. But it was not to be. Aleksey was not going to let me forget. I forestalled him by declaring in a low voice, “I am not going to discuss this further. Stop it.”

“But—”

“No.”

“I think I would make a very good doctor, do you not agree? Not one of the body, because I cannot abide sick people, as you know, but a healer of the mind. What do you think? I cured you aboard the ship leaving Saxefalia, did I not? And I am working well toward alleviating this new affliction. I could set up in town and be greatly admired for my healing skills upon the mad and sad.”

I pursed my lips, thinking about all this. There was much I could have said. I limited myself to commenting, “Your cures are unusual, though. I think some would prefer being sad to being… sodomized… do you not think?”

“Nikolai!” He glanced behind, but as on the previous day, we were well out of earshot of our fellow travelers. “I meant my listening skill. I listen very well.”

I must have made a small choked sound, and he proved the lie of his last declaration most satisfactorily by completely ignoring me as he ignored most everything else I said, except when I was uncharacteristically weak and spewed forth a pile of womanish woe as I had the previous night. He sighed and looked up. “Is it not a beautiful day? Are we not lucky to be here doing this and not in—I don’t know—some stuffy council room, deciding taxes or something? Poor Stephen. I did not do him a loving service by leaving him to all that.”

This was Aleksey actually admitting wouldn’t this have been a marvelous day for a joust, or a ride out with his army for some training practice, or for the court to go hunting, all resplendent in their beautiful clothes—had he still been king, of course.

“Would you go back, if you could?”

“What?” Aleksey did not like it when I turned the tables and became him, asking questions that cut to the heart of the matter. It was not my way. “We cannot go back.”

“That is not an answer. I asked you if you would—
if
we could.”

“But that is not fair. You might as well ask me if I would like to fly. I would be stupid if I said yes, for it cannot happen.”

“So you would—return.”

“No! Stephen is king. That would be terribly awkward.”

“So, only good manners prevent you?”

He looked directly at me, and I could see real anger in his face, which surprised me. “Do excuse me, I am going to ride with someone else.” And with that, he swung Boudica around and cantered back the way we had come.

When we stopped for lunch, Aleksey sat with the soldiers and the two trappers. He had that rare ability to make himself very popular with everyone. In my experience, soldiers always resented officers, for they always thought officers’ superior rank ill earned and that if the people in charge of armies had any sense
they
would be running everything. Aleksey’s soldiers, however, had adored him. He was so far above them, of course, that they would not look at him and say, as they did with the other officers, that they should be where he was. He was their prince, their general, their king. But every night on our long march to Saxefalia, we did not eat in the officers’ mess tent until he had made sure the soldiers had been fed. He did not come to bed until he had done the rounds of every soldier encampment from the privates to the warrant officers and spoken with them, listened to them, and in many cases shared a drink and played a hand or two of cards with them. He knew most of their names and much of their gossip. And, of course, they had all seen how they would be treated if they were injured—they would be looked after and included still as part of his army, an impractical but very characteristic innovation he had made when he became a general.

I could see him now, passing around a bottle of rum he had liberated from our table.

It did not bother me. He could sit and drink with whomever he liked.

Left without my buffer, however, I was forced to participate more in the conversation around the table. The reverend fortunately did not return to his previous topic of his early acquaintance with me other than to comment obliquely that he was not surprised I did not remember him, for his son, David, did not remember his real father either—although the man had died upon the ship bringing him to the New World. He confirmed what I already knew: he had married the young widow, Mary, only a few weeks ago. This somewhat explained the complete lack of interest the three older sons gave the woman and the child. Indeed, they often seemed to go out of their way to avoid riding with her or sitting with her at mealtimes. They had their tent pitched well away from their father’s in the evening. I had already observed it was not a blest marriage, and the journey had led me to believe they were not a happy family. I wondered whether the fact she had lied about recently arriving in the colony on the supply ship had anything to do with this antipathy. She had not sailed from Southampton—unless Southampton had stolen Plymouth’s lighthouse, of course.

How much the family knew of her deceptions was debatable. Perhaps the reverend’s sons just disliked the new wife and her child on principle. Even now, it was the young lieutenant who was engaging the child’s interest: making him a bow and fashioning some arrows for it. When it was ready, the boy seized it gleefully and ran off into the trees. His mother seemed to relax a fraction and closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair. I glanced slightly anxiously at the tree line. This was not an English wood—a place where, in this day and age, little harm could come to a child. But this sort of thing was Aleksey’s job. He would by now have sensed my concerns and voiced them as his own, and he would be listened to. Eventually, however, I murmured to the boy’s father that it were better the child stay in sight. Mary Wright smiled, her eyes still closed, and said very boldly for a modest, godly wife, “No harm can come to him. Leave him be.”

The stepfather gave a weak smile and helped himself to some more cheese.

I
DID
not allow the normal two hours for this midday break. I had lost my pleasure in the day for some reason and wanted to be moving on. I took my position in the front and rode some way ahead—there was no reason the cart could not make this journey, but it did necessitate some more careful planning of the route on my part. When we were on our own, Aleksey and I swam the horses across the large river we were now approaching. This time we would have to wind our way down the bank until we came to a shallower place and then pick up the route once more on the other side. It gave me something to think about.

I turned around and rode back to Major Parkinson and told him to stay with the river on his right hand until they came across me again—that I was going ahead to scout for a suitable fording point. I swung Xavier away and let him have his head for a while. We both needed the exercise. I heard hoofbeats and increased my speed but mindful of injuring our horses, slowed again. He soon caught up. He was silent for a while, as was I. I then noticed Freedom was not with him, and he said, as if I had asked out loud, “I tied him to the wagon. He is very cross with me too.”

“I was not the one who angered and flounced off, if you remember.”

“If you use that word again, I will do it again.”

I said nothing. It seemed to me that given all the disadvantages of my position—that I could not love openly, that I was in constant danger of losing my life or liberty—I should have the advantage of not having to be nagged as if I were married. I was tempted to point this out but decided discretion was the better part of valor.

Finally he turned to me and snapped with some very genuine annoyance, “Did you mean what you said?”

This was tricky. I tried to work out which of my various pronouncements had angered him this time, but he must have seen my expression and added, exasperated, “I cannot believe that you think the only reason I do not return to Hesse-Davia is because I am afraid of hurting Stephen’s feelings. Are you really so stupid, Niko?” He hit me. “Niko? Are you?” His questions were always rhetorical; I had not realized I was actually supposed to answer this one.

“What? No. Yes? Sorry, what was the question?”

“Oh, you are—I could return to Hesse-Davia whenever I want, Nikolai. My uncles are dead. Stephen would release the throne to me willingly. I do not return because of you! Hesse-Davia is no longer my life—you are. Is this really news to you? Seriously, tell me that you had worked this out by now, being the great doctor and man of science and reasoning I once thought you were.”

“Once thought?”

“Niko!”

“Yes! I know that!” I paused and added in a low voice, “You would make it clearer, of course, by occasionally sitting with me at mealtimes.”

“Oh, did my poor colonel have to open his mouth and join in some conversation?”

“Yes.”

“I had a better idea how I was going to show you—I have joined you on this… spying mission… have I not?”

I was about to point out it was a recce and not a spying mission but then got it. I grinned and headed Xavier off into the tree line. Boudica followed.

A
LEKSEY
PUSHED
me against a tree, possessing my mouth—possibly to prevent me speaking more. It seemed like forever since I had enjoyed him close like this in the sunlight that filtered down from the heavy canopy above us. The horses cropped contentedly close by. Faelan slinked off into the gloom on one of his patrols, and all seemed very right in our kingdom again. Aleksey nuzzled into the skin beneath my ear, which always made me laugh. “One day I will take you seriously, Nikolai, and then you will be sorry for the way you treat me.”

I held him off a little. “I was being serious. Johan has hinted you could return if you—”

He thumped me back against the tree. “Stop it! What would I have there that I do not have here?”

“Friends?”

“Well, all right, besides friends.”

“Luxury in a palace?”

“This is one of those conversations where you actually can list a huge number of things I do not have, isn’t it? Oh, Niko, I call you stupid all the time, but I do not really mean it, for you are oddly wise for someone who looks as you do. But now I have to say that you are a complete simpleton and be entirely truthful. I don’t need friends. I have you. I have everything I need—is that not the very definition of luxury? Now, turn around, for your backside is the main indulgence I enjoy in my new kingdom. Ah”—he thrust in hard and deep—“is that not the very manifestation of the riches of our new life here together? Would I trade this tree for a throne? That sunlight upon the gold of your hair for a coin of real gold? Would I trade you for all the friends or subjects I had there? You do not have to answer that, by the way.” I do not think I could have. Standing up like this was always so good for me. He had now brought me to a place where I could think of nothing except the overwhelming sensation growing in my body. It was like rushing along held in a current, waiting for a great plunge, perhaps a great lifting—and there it was. I used my hand to spill against the tree as Aleksey released inside me, his teeth fastened to the back of my neck as if I were his hunting prize. Perhaps I was.

He slid his arms around me when we were done, still both leaning against the tree, our clothes spilled around us. He was still in me. Neither of us wanted to move. I could smell the sharp, evocative scent of the conifer against my cheek, the even more evocative essence of our passion, musky, salty. It made my mouth water. He was playing idly with my cock, his body heavy and warm against my back as his fingers stroked me, then wandered onto the hard warmth of my belly, and combed down, twisting hair into little curls.

Eventually, knowing our time was nearly up, he eased out with a grimace, and we dressed reluctantly. We could both hear the sound of voices coming to us from the track.