Bee Among the Clover (85 page)

And Aron spent his days emulating him and the other battle-lords. Roman sighed as his thoughts strayed back to the other man. Wulfgar was more than pleased with Aron’s passion. Aron didn’t submit. He came to the bed on his own terms, demanding as much as he gave, and it fascinated and enthralled Wulfgar.

He wondered if Aron realized yet how this next year was going to change his path. And it would. Roman could not see Aron returning to his father’s croft and going back to his mundane life after this. Aron had a spirit and a fire in him Roman had seen before, something that was suited to something far more than raising crops. He didn’t know what the future would hold for Aron, but he had little doubt it would be more than he had been before Wulfgar had come to the crofter’s.

Roman stabbed the quill on the page of his journal in irritation, almost breaking the nib and leaving an untidy smear of ink. Despite his best efforts, he could not keep his mind off the young man who had invaded the comfortable world he had made for himself. Roman had no way of knowing that as much as he thought of Aron, the thrall thought of him equally in return. If he had known, he would have run in another direction as quickly as his legs could take him. He detested upheaval, and Aron was the source of all his current turmoil.

He couldn’t explain what was happening, or begin to unravel his own emotions. He was angry, petulant, ashamed, but under all that was something else just as disturbing. He liked it. Liked what Wulfgar did and, even more, liked what he and Roman did. He didn’t want to, the gods knew he didn’t, but it seemed out of his control. It was as if that afternoon a week ago had opened a floodgate and all those feelings he’d been fighting against would never go back again, now that they were free.

Even more than his own pleasures, Aron was twisted up inside over Roman. The slave was a beautiful thing to watch, even more beautiful to touch and taste. At the end of every night they’d return to their pallet, and after a few moments of battling with himself, Aron would reach for him.

They never talked about it, he and Roman; no words were ever spoken there in the darkness when Aron would pull him close and hold him as they fell asleep. What disturbed him most was that it had no sexual basis at all. He didn’t hold Roman because he craved the feel of his sleek, lithe body naked against him, and he didn’t hold him because he enjoyed the sensation of Roman’s tight buttocks against his cock.

What bothered Aron was he didn’t know why he held Roman at all. He’d try to stop himself, convince himself tonight he wasn’t going to reach for him, but before the snores from Wulfgar’s bed could begin, he’d break his resolve and drag Roman into his arms. Aron didn’t even know if the slave wanted him to hold him. He didn’t ask.

Aron watched the men-at-arms with little interest, his mind occupied with thoughts he neither could resolve nor cared to ponder, but unable to help himself. Of everything, the one thing that kept nagging at his mind most was Roman.

At first, he’d resented the slave for many reasons, not the least of which was his easy submission to Wulfgar and his seeming incredulousness at Aron’s defiance. There was also the fact that he thought Roman felt displaced, as if Aron were taking his position. Which was ridiculous, but Roman had a way of making his displeasure known in his quick glances of cool disdain and the way he would hold himself apart, his attitude and stance unwelcoming. The other man wasn’t pleased at all with sharing Wulfgar’s attentions each night.

Oh, Roman enjoyed the sex, he was too well trained not to, but he’d much rather Aron went away, that was clear in Aron’s mind.
How he wished he could. Whatever pleasure could be gained from his own captivity, it did not outweigh the fact that Aron would leave if he could. He wondered if Roman would do the same if it were offered. Somehow he doubted it. He thought Roman had been a slave too long and didn’t see how he would manage to go back to freedom.
Amidst all of these thoughts was the irrational urge to make his way to that copse of trees and find Roman, touch him. Yet another desire that ate at his pride. He wanted the slave, wanted to know the surrender from him that Wulfgar did. Wanted to know what it would be like to have that beautiful, lean body naked beneath him and Roman’s whimpers pleading for more.
Aron was lost in thought, not paying much attention to the activity going on around him, and so didn’t notice Osric’s approach until the battle-lord stood in front of him. Aron met his eyes and straightened, his instincts flaring to life. He didn’t like the man overmuch, and there was something he couldn’t quite place that made Aron distrust him. But for some reason, the battle-lord had taken a keen interest in him.
Osric glanced over his shoulder in the direction Aron had been staring in the direction Roman had gone, and a knowing grin appeared on his scarred, weathered face. “A pretty piece, eh?” His tone was conversational, and he leaned against the fencing beside Aron, watching the other warriors battle back and forth. He nodded toward the stand of trees, arching a brow at Aron.
“Have you had him yet, boy?” He gave Aron a slow smirk, and a dark light entered his beady eyes. “I have. Perhaps if you serve Wulfgar well enough, he’ll share his prize with you as he did with me.”
Aron tensed, eyes narrowing and a furious rage filling him, but before he could react to Osric’s taunts, the man was gone, back to sparring, and even Aron’s temper didn’t make him so foolish as to think of attacking one of the battle-lords.
His eyes darted back toward the trees, and a knot formed in his stomach. He got a similar sensation when he, Roman, and Wulfgar were in bed, when Wulfgar was fucking the slave, but nothing this intense. He wanted to rip Osric in two; at the same time he wanted to stalk to those trees, find Roman, and take him then and there.
It was startling and confusing, and he wasn’t sure what had caused it. Osric had been with Roman, what of it? It wasn’t at all uncommon for slaves to be shared with a thane’s men; in fact, it was more uncommon for them not to be shared. Yet the idea of Roman handed over to these brutish men and used by the likes of Osric made Aron see red.
Jaw set, he pushed away from the fence and began moving toward the trees.

R
OMAN looked up from his book, hearing the crunch of snow, and saw Aron enter the copse. Tensing, he wiped the nib of his quill on a spare cloth he had brought and slipped it back into his pocket, stopping the inkwell tightly as he watched Aron’s progress. The young thrall was looking around, and Roman knew he could only be searching for him. Maybe he would go away when he couldn’t find him.

He sighed when Aron looked at the ground and made straight for him. He should’ve taken the time to wipe out his tracks. Roman lifted his journal and blew on it to dry the glistening ink before tucking it away again in his cloak as Aron stopped in front of the tree and looked up.

Their eyes met, and Roman noted the angry, unsettled look on the other man’s face, wondering what had happened. Maybe Wulfgar felt the need to have them in his presence early. A snide remark leapt to his tongue, but he held it in. The truth was, this young man was not his enemy, and he wasn’t in the mood for one of their verbal battles.

Roman snickered, and Aron’s eyes narrowed further as he frowned up at him. Roman shook his head and gave him a mocking glance. “No, Aron, I did not get ‘run up the tree’. I was writing.” He saw Aron’s incredulousness and sighed. These barbarians and their lack of education at its basest levels.

Aron glanced around, and then back up at him, his voice impatient when he spoke. “Will you come down? I don’t like standing here appearing to talk to a tree.”

Roman bit back another sigh and obeyed, swinging down and landing lightly on his feet in front of Aron, brushing the snow and bits of tree bark from his tunic and breeches. He tilted his head and frowned himself. “Did Wulfgar send you?”

Aron’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “No, he didn’t. I….” He hesitated, and Roman wondered what Aron had been about to say. For some reason he couldn’t comprehend, Aron seemed irritated every time he mentioned the thane, but it didn’t seem to be in connection with his own indenture. Roman waited, curious, until finally Aron shrugged and exhaled in frustration. “You said the first night you were unwilling, so why is it you’re angry with me for taking your place in Wulfgar’s bed? It’s not as if I asked to be there.”

Roman straightened, sudden fury lashing through him, though Aron did not seem cowed in the least by his scathing expression. Instead he stared back at him unwaveringly, demanding an answer Roman wasn’t willing to divulge. After a moment, Roman flushed and looked away. “It isn’t any of your concern.”

He attempted to brush past Aron, intent on making for the hall and hiding himself away in Wulfgar’s chambers, but Aron caught his arm. “Aye, it is my concern. You’ve made it that way with your half-truths and ill will. Speak plainly for once.”

Roman looked down at the hand holding him. He could break away easily, yet he could not. He had no right to tell the other man not to touch him, but the hard stare he gave Aron spoke volumes and, after hesitation, Aron released him.

He took a steadying breath. “It isn’t something that can be answered simply.” He had no wish to reveal his innermost thoughts and feelings to Aron. Why couldn’t he just go away and pester the warriors again? All he had wanted was a little peace, was that too much to ask for?

Roman said nothing, but it soon became apparent Aron had no qualms about standing there until he got the answers he was after. The slave didn’t intend on giving them to him, but he had to give him something, that much was clear.

“You see things in absolutes, Aron, and the world doesn’t work in that manner. You obey, don’t you? Does that mean you are willing?”
Aron’s brows furrowed, and he glowered. “It’s not the same.” But even he knew that was untrue. It was the same. He sighed and looked away from Roman’s implacable stare. “Very well, perhaps it’s similar, but it doesn’t explain why you’re angry with me. Do you think I can’t see it? You might fool others, but it’s clear to me that you see my presence here as an intrusion. If you’re only obeying, why aren’t you grateful?”
The slave’s eyes were unreadable, and for a moment Aron was sure he didn’t intend to answer him. When Roman did speak, his voice was emotionless. “What’s my purpose then, Aron?”
Aron had no answer. As far as he was concerned, Roman was welcome to the thane’s attentions, and he wouldn’t care in the least. It was clear that Roman, however, did not feel the same. He shifted uncomfortably and looked away, shaking his head. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” He turned on his heel, cursing himself for being a fool. They had nothing to say to each other. “My apologies for interrupting you, whatever you were doing up there,” he tossed back over his shoulder.
Roman caught up with Aron and fell in beside him. “No, I should apologize, I was being rude.”
Aron paused, looking over at Roman to see if he was mocking him, but he didn’t seem to be this time. How could he explain what had driven him to speak when he didn’t understand it himself? “How long have you been here?” The question surprised him. It hadn’t been what he’d intended on saying, yet he was curious about Roman. How had he come to be here?
“Four years,” Roman said, his voice so soft that Aron almost hadn’t heard him. He looked away, his shoulders tensing.
Aron’s eyes widened. The way that Roman acted, one would think he’d been a slave all of his life. Four years wasn’t that long, though every time he thought about his own year of service it seemed like an eternity.
Aron leaned back against the trunk of one of the trees, arms crossed over his chest, studying Roman, more questions piling up. “Where are you from? Not from this land or north of here either, that much is obvious.”
Roman’s smile was tight. “I’m from Rome.” A condescending look crossed his face as Aron’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “Roman… Rome? Wulfgar found it amusing at first and then it became habit.”
Aron was startled. Roman wasn’t his name. He felt foolish for not having figured that out before. It didn’t seem fair that Wulfgar had changed his name. What would’ve been the harm in keeping it? The way the slave accepted Wulfgar’s edicts irritated him anew. He would never allow the thane to change his name. Then he remembered how Wulfgar kept referring to him as “boy” and flushed. “What’s your name then?”
Roman hesitated, chewing on his upper lip, and then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m Roman now.” He equated it to any pet that had formerly been someone else’s. Wulfgar had renamed him, and any rekindling of his old identity the thane would see as Roman pining for his former life. Wulfgar did not like to know Roman pined.
Aron frowned. “I won’t tell him, I swear.” Roman tightened his lips, tired of Aron’s prodding, and Aron shrugged. “I was merely curious. If you don’t wish to tell me, you need not.”
Roman refused even to think the name. It was like reopening an old wound that had not quite healed over. It hurt too much and would sound strange to his ears after all this time, like it belonged to somebody else instead. He looked down, unable to meet Aron’s eyes, becoming more uncomfortable with the questions. If Wulfgar caught them talking about this, he would be very angry, though the silent hope that Aron was done prying into his past was short lived.
“How did you come to be here?” Aron asked.
Roman walked a few feet away, his eyes piercing the growing gloom. He looked southward, his heart aching so hard that at first he couldn’t speak past the bands around his throat. “I was young and foolish, Aron. The how doesn’t matter, I am here now.” And here was where he’d remain unless things changed in the foreseeable future, though he’d almost given up dreaming of going home. He wished he had Aron’s courage. He remembered Aron’s vow that he’d rather choose death than enslavement, but he wondered if that were true. Would Aron really choose to die and lose any chance that he might return home one day?
Aron cocked his head, watching Roman, who seemed lost in thought. Curiosity still nagged him, but it was obvious the slave didn’t care to discuss this further.
Another topic had him curious, in a morbid sort of way, though Roman wasn’t likely to want to discuss that either. Still, he approached him, hesitant. Roman had an intensity about him that made him wary, yet drew him in at the same time. It made Aron wonder what was beneath the mild exterior, at the core of the man.
“You said once that it was in your nature to submit. I will admit I don’t understand, but….” He was unsure how to phrase it without angering Roman or sounding callous. It had only been a month or so, and Wulfgar, to a certain degree, shared Roman with him. He was uncertain why what Osric had implied bothered him so much. One night, would Roman not join the other two in the bed because Wulfgar had sent him to service his men? “Does he share you often?”
Roman turned, and there was an utter stillness in his dark eyes that made Aron ashamed he’d broached the topic. “Not usually,” Roman replied. He glanced down toward the yard. “I take it you’ve talked to Osric.” There was a bitter twist to his lips.
“He spoke with me.” Aron studied Roman’s face. He gathered that it had not been an enjoyable experience. He wondered under what circumstances Wulfgar did decide to share the slave and if he would ever try the same with him. He dared the thane to try;
that
was a command he would fight to the death.
“Osric was the price I paid for running away,” Roman said, his voice without emotion, and Aron gave him sharp look, wishing he could see inside Roman’s head. It was impossible to know what he was thinking and almost as difficult to read his emotions. “I told you he could be harsh when he chose.”
The longer Aron spent in Roman’s company, the more uneasy he became. The slave stirred feelings in him he’d never experienced before. Roman stood before him, a quiet dignity in his bearing and a sense of self about him that was at odds with his status. Aron thought he might be getting a glimpse of the real man beneath the pose Roman maintained. And there was still the undeniable fact that he wanted the slave, wanted him badly, and that shook him. “I wouldn’t let that happen to me,” Aron replied, harsher than he’d intended.
Roman threw back his head and laughed, the sound mocking. “How would you stop it, thrall?” Roman asked, derision heavy in his voice. Jesu, he was afraid though, with a desperate bitterness. If Wulfgar was willing to share him with Aron, how much longer until… no, he had to trust in the thane’s promise.
Aron tilted his chin, eyes narrowing in anger. “I would kill him, kill whoever he tried to give me to. Or they would have to kill me. I think they wouldn’t enjoy me very much were I dead,
slave
.”
Roman’s temper cooled. He’d deserved that, and he had no wish to be at constant odds with the young man for the next year. There had to be a way to coexist without taking hurtful jabs at each other. The few times the both of them had set aside their antagonism, they’d had pleasant conversations. “I shouldn’t have pricked your pride,” he offered.
Aron scowled, glaring down at the sparring men, then his anger seemed to leave as well. He cocked his head and gave Roman an assessing look. “I don’t understand you.”
“In truth, I don’t understand you either, Aron,” Roman replied. Why did he ask these things? Why did he even want to know? And he had not missed the small light in Aron’s eyes when he looked at him as of late. It made him nervous. He wondered how long it would be before Wulfgar gave Aron what he obviously wanted and turned Roman over to him for a night. Wulfgar would enjoy watching them.
On the heels of that worry was the paralyzing fear that haunted him at night and in the quiet times when his studies couldn’t soothe him. Once Wulfgar started sharing him, would he break his promise and allow Osric to have him again? He shuddered at the thought. While Roman had learned to enjoy his duties with Wulfgar, and Aron as well, there had been no pleasure in his time with Osric. The battle-lord had been far more interested in pain and humiliation than sex.
Aron was watching him, and Roman smoothed his expression. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. It’s none of my affair,” he said.
Roman shrugged. “It matters not, Aron. It’s common knowledge.” Many had thought he’d gotten off lightly. After all, he’d cost the thane two of his men and disrespected him. It had been three years, but the people here had long memories. “Someone else would have regaled you with the tale, I’m sure.” He imagined Osric had gloated over the details but couldn’t bring himself to ask Aron what had been said.
It was a struggle to maintain the composure he’d worked so hard to build. Somehow Aron had put creepers in the wall he had surrounded himself with. The more time Roman spent with him, the more raw and vulnerable he became.
“You wish to learn the art of war making?” Roman asked, determined to change the subject. “I see how you’re always watching the battle-lords at their games of skill.” Roman remembered how Aron had stood up to Wulfgar and his men that day outside of his croft hall. It wouldn’t take him long to pick up some of the techniques. He had quick wits and feet.
Aron tossed him a scornful glance. “Of course, who doesn’t?”
Roman smiled and studied Aron. He should’ve expected that answer. Aron was intelligent. He could make him a force to be reckoned with after he returned home. He drew his upper lip into his mouth, gnawing on it thoughtfully. Aron’s greatest problems were his temper and his pride. If he could learn to temper them….
“I can teach you swordplay if you wish,” Roman offered finally, steeling himself against the pain of old wounds. Even if Roman had lost his own sword to Osric and had no hope of ever recovering it again. He didn’t think Wulfgar would object if they used practice weapons. Wulfgar knew neither of them was going to turn on him, and the other battle-lords would think it beneath them to teach a thrall, no matter how much of an asset he might become.
Aron gave him an incredulous look. “You?”
Roman straightened, the stab to his pride raising his indignation, but before he could retort, Aron shook his head. “I meant no offense, Roman, but you’re a slave.”
Roman made an impatient sound. “I told you, Aron, I wasn’t always a slave.” He shrugged. “But if you don’t wish to learn….”
Aron sighed. “Of course I do.” He paused, his expression assessing. “How?”
Roman could see the desire to be something more in Aron’s clear blue eyes, a sentiment he understood. He knew what it was like to feel trapped by your status and wish to change it, change yourself, into something better, something different. Jesu, did he.