Bee Among the Clover (146 page)

T
HE group of warriors and battle-lords involved in the incident with the
slave and the thrall were mostly silent, looking either angry or chagrined.
Or, in the case of Aethlyn, who was the final one of them to receive his
punishment for his involvement, downright murderous. Wulfgar’s expression was stern as Alaric, Aethlyn’s thane, crossed his arms and gave
the battle-lord a withering look.
“You’ve shamed my hall and yourself, Aethlyn.” Alaric waved his hand in dismissal at the battle-lord, who sported a bandage on his neck
where Roman had cut him. “I care not what activities you use to occupy your time, but to be bested by a slave? A Roman slave at that?” The
disgust in the thane’s voice was clear. “I want no part of a warrior who
cannot even subdue a bed slave.” Alaric’s icy blue eyes hardened further. “Be gone from my sight and be gone from my hall, Aethlyn. That is my
final say on this matter.”
It was clear to Wulfgar that Alaric had little care for the damage Aethlyn had caused, only that the battle-lord had embarrassed him by
getting found out and letting himself be caught unawares by a slave. Wulfgar was unsurprised; he had not expected anyone but himself to truly
care about his treasures’ injuries.
So long as those involved were punished and he managed to keep Roman and Aron safe from reprisal, he would be content, though Alaric’s disregard irked him. He cast his eyes to Osric, who was beside him and
who, as of yet, had not been given a punishment. He no doubt was confident in his role as Wulfgar’s right-hand man and assumed he was not
going to receive one beyond the extent of Wulfgar’s reprimand the night
before.
Wulfgar was going to enjoying disabusing him of that notion, but he
intended to do so in private. After all, he was the one who had been wronged; he had no responsibility to inform anyone of what Osric’s fate
would be.
“They’re naught but slaves,” Aethlyn protested, shooting Wulfgar a vicious look. “Lord Wulfgar is addled to put so much emphasis on them. We didn’t….”
The battle-lord ceased as the other thanes in the tent went dangerously still at the verbal attack. Alaric fixed his eyes on him with a furious glare. “Get out of my sight, Aethlyn. Mayhap one of the other thanes will wish to have a warrior as ineffectual as you, but I will not.”
Aethlyn looked around at his compatriots, Osric last, and when no one spoke in his defense, he swore viciously and exited. Once again, silence descended upon those gathered there.
“Now that the matter is settled, I would like to extend an invitation to you all to sit and sup with me at my table this eve,” Wulfgar said, addressing the thanes. That would go far to soothing any irritation they had at having to deal with the matter. While technically equal in rank, the others did not share close kinship with the king as he did. He felt Osric relax beside him, and he savored the conversation he was going to have with him afterwards.
The thane conversed for a while longer to keep from seeming rude. He had no wish to add another quarrel on top of this morning’s unpleasantness, but in truth, he was anxious to get back to his treasures and check on them. Aron had not yet awoken when he’d left that morning, which was worrisome. Some men never woke after having their brains addled. And Roman had sunken in on himself, as he was wont to do when particularly upset. It wasn’t as if they were alone. He’d left guards to watch them, but still….
Finally, he heaved himself to his feet and made his goodbyes, motioning for Osric to precede him. They paused outside the tent, and Wulfgar glanced around, noting that Aethlyn’s tent was already being dismantled. Good riddance. He had no wish to be reminded of where his treasures had been so brutally abused.
“Wulfgar…” Osric started, then trailed off as the thane turned cold eyes upon him.
Wulfgar said nothing, letting his expression speak for him, and then began to walk, knowing that Osric would follow. He had no wish for anyone to witness the scene.
Once they were well away toward Wulfgar’s own camp, he slowed his steps. When he spoke, his voice was conversational, cool. “I do hope the fun you had last eve was worth it, Osric.”
“My lord,” Osric began, but he was yet again cut off when Wulfgar glanced at him.
The thane shook his head. “I like not being made a fool of, Osric, and even less so by one of my own men.” He wanted to beat the battlelord senseless for what he’d done, but he could not, not over an injured thrall and a frightened slave. He could, however, demand recompense, and he would, one that would show Osric just how wrong his decision to single out Aron and Roman had been. The battle-lord’s issues with the slave were long in the past, and it was time for Osric to get over his personal vendetta.
Wulfgar halted at the edge of his camp and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go to the weapons tent, fetch Roman’s sword, and wait there for me. I’ll be there anon.”
Osric frowned. “My lord, I don’t understand. ’Twas just a bit of sport.”
Wulfgar’s nostrils flared, and the corners of his eyes tightened. “No, you don’t, but you will. Go, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be waiting as I directed.”
Osric’s lips thinned, but he nodded and went off. Wulfgar watched him until he disappeared. It had been a mistake to give him Roman for that month’s time. Not for the first time, the thane regretted how he’d responded when they’d recaptured the slave. He had been so furious he had lashed out without thought.
Aye, Roman had betrayed him, and he was not a man that took such things well. He had been aware of Osric’s appetite for causing pain, and the battle-lord had been humiliated when Roman had defeated him. Still, it had been excessive to give the slave to Osric. He should’ve just sent him to the slave hall if he had not wanted to look upon his face. Roman would still have learned his lesson, and the thane would still have reaped the benefits of the slave’s new submission. Then there wouldn’t be those shadows that still haunted Roman’s eyes, nor would his most skilled man be laid low with his unreasoning obsession.
Wulfgar sighed and shook his head, making his way back to his tent. By the gods, Aron had better be awake and glaring.

I
T WAS the pain that woke Aron up out of his uneasy slumber. He groaned and shifted, every muscle stiff and crying out from the movement. He tried opening his eyes and found that he was only able to open one, and that no more than a mere slit. He tried speaking, searching the tent for Wulfgar and Roman, but only a croak came out. His throat was as raw and painful as the rest of his body. Whimpering, he struggled to sit up. What if he had slept too long? What if even now Roman was on trial for his attack on the warrior last eve?

“Don’t try to move.” Roman knelt down next to Aron on the furs, his dark eyes concerned as he took Aron’s shoulders in a gentle grip, pressing him back.

By the gods, he was finding it difficult to speak
“He’s speaking with some
checking some of the bandages,
thoughtful, worried frown. Aron glanced down at the bruises and cuts,
seeing the way Roman drew in his lip when he examined the deep
lacerations around his wrists and ankles. The slave rose and gathered some
pouches and bowls together.
“Would you like some more tea to help the pain?” Roman asked,
kneeling back down next to Aron and helping him sit up. Aron pressed his
lips together against the pain that racked his body, telling himself that
moving would ease some of the stiffness.
“No, I wish to be clear-headed today.” Aron tried to catch Roman’s
eyes, but he kept his head down, grinding some herbs together with a
mortar and pestle.
Aron tried to ignore the stab of hurt that had nothing to do with his
battered body as Roman avoided his gaze, instead concentrating on
checking bandages and applying fresh salve to his wrists and ankles. He
didn’t blame Roman; he had every right to be furious with him, though it
didn’t stop him from wishing Roman would just look at him. He felt the
absence of his gaze like a physical loss.
“I’m sorry, darkling. I didn’t intend for this,” he said, his voice quiet. Roman’s dark eyes flew up to clash with Aron’s, giving Aron a clear
view of the stark bruises which marred his cheeks and how swollen his
lips were. Roman shook his head. “No, Aron you did nothing to be sorry
for.”
Aron winced as Roman looked away again and probed one of the
deeper lacerations on his wrist gently. “I did,” Aron insisted. “I left you
here in the tent alone, and I shouldn’t have. I vowed to take care of you.”
And had failed. By the gods, how he had failed. Wulfgar had been
Roman’s hero, not him. He had always wondered what Roman wrote
about in his journal, and now he knew. It was of the thane. He shouldn’t
be surprised or hurt, but he was, bitterly so.
Roman opened his mouth to speak as the tent flap lifted and, as if
conjured by Aron’s thoughts, Wulfgar ducked inside. Aron’s eyes flew to of the thanes,” Roman responded, his brows drawing together in a the thane, apprehension hitting his stomach so hard he thought he was going to be sick. Roman had to be found not at fault. By the gods, they couldn’t punish him for protecting himself, not after Osric had given him permission. He wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but Roman’s tense
bearing and his own guilt prevented him from doing so.
Wulfgar sat down on the furs next them and smiled, which eased
Aron’s fears somewhat. “First I want to say that no one is seeking to lay
charges against either of you for what’s happened.”
Aron sagged in relief and glanced over at Roman, frowning at the
stricken look in his dark eyes before he dropped his head. Why was he not
happy? Uneasiness stirred in his gut.
“The three who were uninjured are being fined for damaging my
property. As for Aethlyn, his master ruled that he doesn’t wish to have
anyone in his household who can be bested by a slave.” There was pride in
the thane’s voice.
Roman’s head ducked further, and he seemed to put all of his
attention on re-bandaging Aron’s wrist. He couldn’t understand why Aron
wasn’t relieved. Roman wouldn’t be executed. It had been his idea in the
first place for him to fight back, and the thought that Roman might pay for
it had haunted him. “Osric?” Aron asked, his voice terse.
“First tell me everything that happened. Leave nothing out,” Wulfgar
ordered. “How did this start?”
Aron spoke first, telling how it had been near nightfall when he’d
been intercepted by Osric and the others, how Osric had taunted him with
veiled threats to Roman and then grabbed him and dragged him back to
the other camp.
“And then he left the others to tie me up. When he came back, he
had Roman.” He remembered vividly the horror of the moment, his
darkling terrified and with his dark eyes so huge in his face.
Wulfgar listened as Roman picked up the tale, and his eyes narrowed
on Aron when the slave told how Aron challenged Osric to allow Roman
to fight back. Aron returned his look, expecting the thane to say
something, but he did not. Wulfgar raised his hand as they finished their
stories and sighed heavily.
“Osric has laid other claims. Suffice to say that while I believe yours
to be the more believable of the two, I cannot take your word over his.”
Aron straightened as much as he was able, glaring at Wulfgar, who
continued before he could protest. “Like it or no, I cannot, and well you
both know it, so cease your glowering, Aron.” He cut a sharp glance at the
angry thrall.
Aron bit back his words. He wanted to be furious with the thane, but
in truth, he was more furious with the entire situation and just wished for it
to go away.
“However, I can punish Osric for not approaching me first and for
taking matters into his own hands. If you two had behaved as he claims
you have, he should have approached me and let me handle it. Since he
didn’t and both of you were hurt, he’ll have to forfeit one of his own
possessions to me in payment for his behavior.”
That’s it? Aron wanted to rage. That was all Roman’s terror and their
beatings were worth to the thane? Before he could argue, the slave spoke
up.
“When are we going to be heading home, my lord?” Roman asked,
his voice softer than normal. Aron glanced over at him, and his heart
caught at the way Roman seemed to have sunk in on himself. Wulfgar sighed. “Another fortnight, I believe. That will give both of
you a chance to heal, and Gaeric still has a few things to see to before his
release.”
Aron couldn’t miss the look of abject misery on Roman’s face, his
own face falling and nodding. For once he was not interested in defiance
in the slightest; he just wanted to curl up and sleep away the next nine
months or so until his term was up and he could go away and not have to
see Roman avoiding him as much as he could. He didn’t blame Roman for
how he felt; Aron knew it had been his own impetuous behavior, despite
Roman’s warnings, that had caused the entire situation. Of course the
slave wished him gone.
Wulfgar checked Aron’s wounds himself and eased him back on the
furs before leaving, assuring them he would return soon. Roman rose,
taking his supplies and retreating to another corner of the tent, curling his
knees close to his body.
To get as far away from me as possible.
Aron
hated the thought, but it stayed in his mind, eating at him.