The Rusted Sword (5 page)

All Raleigh did was grunt, but then he immediately felt ashamed. Moshe was obviously trying to be conciliatory, clinging on to Raleigh like that and speaking in his most needy of voices—charades he knew Raleigh enjoyed. "I was tired, Moshe," Raleigh said. Before he could think better of it, he tacked on, "And I did not wish to interrupt your reunion with Frederick."

Moshe let out a low sigh. "We will be here for weeks, I will have plenty of time to speak with him." He seemed to hesitate before speaking again. "And you know, he wasn't mocking you before. He genuinely worries for you, Raleigh."

Damn it.
Raleigh shook off Moshe's arm. "And I suppose you know exactly what he's thinking?"

"What?"

Raleigh stopped walking, and turned to glare at Moshe. "You prefer it here, don't you? To be away from my
mountain stronghold.
"

Moshe's eyebrows pinched, his lips parting. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He hadn't denied it. Raleigh felt his stomach twist. With a dry swallow, he turned and continued down the hallway. He heard Moshe come after him. "Raleigh—" Moshe breathed, "—curse you. Stop walking away from me!"

A hand grabbed his wrist, and Moshe jerked him around. Raleigh felt ridiculous looming over Moshe while being the sulking child. Raleigh sighed. "I'm asking you honestly, Moshe. Are you happier here than at Chaylain?"

He saw a flicker in Moshe's expression, the slight downturn of his lips. "What would you do if I said yes?"

Ice washed over Raleigh. He was surprised that he didn't physically falter. What would he do? Would he tell Moshe to get over that, because he was bound to Raleigh, which meant he was bound to Chaylain? Or would he bend … "Moshe," he said slowly, "If you are truly weary of living with me, I would permit you an—" it pained Raleigh to speak, "—extended visit every year." His face twisted, the words sour on his tongue. "But no more than a season," he bit out. He couldn't help it.

He expected to see bold triumph on Moshe's face because he had finally slackened rules he had vowed would always stand. But what he saw was sparking fury in those sharp eyes, and was taken aback.

Moshe dug his fingers into Raleigh's wrist. "You would be fine with that?" he snarled. Before Raleigh could respond, he continued, "And how relieved would you be at my absence, Raleigh? You would have your precious solitude back, of course."

Just the idea of walking Chaylain's halls while knowing Moshe wasn't there already had Raleigh irritated. To consider the idea of being relieved was laughable. He reached forward, cupping the back of Moshe's head to draw their faces close. Moshe's expression turned obstinate as he did so. "Are you mocking my generosity?" Raleigh growled.

He couldn't read the look that passed over Moshe's face. But then he did recognize the smirk. "I just find it hard to believe that you would follow through on such an offer."

"Oh?" Raleigh replied, easing the way his body was tensed, letting a small smile grace his own lips.

Moshe looked downright devious. "What would you do if I decided to never come back, after all?"

It took every ounce of will not to swing back towards rage at that. Raleigh knew Moshe was teasing him, but he had sensed something else there, something honest. Very carefully, he gentled his hold on Moshe, slid his hand down to palm Moshe's neck. "I would have to storm the gate, my beloved."

Moshe relaxed, let out a beleaguered sigh that they both knew was posturing. He leaned in towards Raleigh's touch. "I don't doubt that."

However, to Raleigh's unease, it appeared that he did. But then Moshe smiled at him and took his hand, clearing away Raleigh's thoughts. "Come," Moshe said. "We both need to rest after that journey."

*~*~*

Raleigh was pleased.

His face was flushed, his lips spread in a wide grin.

The steward of Maskatawn, or Moskeown, or whatever it was, was flat on his ass, his palm raised as he admitted defeat. He had gone down quite easily against the force of Raleigh's longsword. Feeling generous, Raleigh reached down and clasped his hand, helping him to his feet, and he nodded his thanks.

"Well done," Frederick said from across the great hall. He was sitting at the main table, chin resting on his knuckles.

Raleigh bowed his head, and the steward did as well. There was a light round of clapping from the audience—the court regulars, as well as the guests who had come especially for the winter games. A fire was roaring in the massive fireplace, and a quartet of minstrels was playing some pleasant, unobtrusive melody. Overall, the mood since the start of the games that evening had been festive.

And this had been Raleigh's second bout, as well as his second win. His chest was squared as he walked back to his place at the main table, next to Frederick.

"Cousin," Frederick said, glancing at Raleigh from the corner of his eye. "It does seem as if you are enjoying yourself."

Raleigh merely curled his lip with amusement as he sat down. His attention was more focused on the match following his.

Frederick seemed to follow his gaze, and then laughed softly. "Of course. Heed no mind to me; there is something far more captivating afoot."

"Yes, indeed," Raleigh rumbled.

Moshe had stepped out into the middle of the room, his thin lips set in a concentrated frown. In front of him was a knight from Frederick's own guard, who was only slightly more bulky than Moshe. They both would be considered too small if brandishing longswords, but they were holding padded rapiers. Raleigh could see how pleased Moshe was with having a near doppelganger as an opponent, even if the man had to be at least ten winters younger.

"Here comes The Whip," Frederick said, settling back in his chair.

Raleigh grinned, placing a curled fist hard on the table as he leaned forward.

The bell clanged, and Moshe struck forward, the knight just barely jumping out of range in time. Raleigh saw a brief flash of shock on Moshe's face. It was definitely the sudden realization that it had been some time since he had sparred with a worthy opponent. Then his expression leveled again.

What came next was a flurry of movements. Raleigh tracked each thrust and dodge, his heart thundering, heat pooling fast in his groin.

Moshe was beautiful. He was vicious.

Raleigh exhaled a heavy breath, shifting in his chair as his arousal started to ache. He wiped at his mouth, half-paranoid that he had started drooling when he was bowled over with the memories of watching Moshe fight, of wanting him and wanting to defeat him, and all the prizes that lay in wait from doing that.

Gazing about the room, Raleigh took note of the way the court was watching Moshe as well, the way that he captivated them with his calculated and measured movements. Pride swelled in his chest, making his exhale with pure pleasure. Sitting back, he said to Frederick, "How are you training your men these days? The poor lad looks like he's been set upon by a hornet's nest."

Frederick chuckled, but it was with a wry edge. "Indeed."

"I mean no insult, of course," Raleigh continued, feeling more impervious with each failed swing the knight took at Moshe.

Frederick merely chuckled. Raleigh knew he was amused by Raleigh's obvious and, frankly, unseemly pride in Moshe, but there was nothing to be done. Or rather, Raleigh could not bring himself to care. Not when Moshe shone like a light in the middle of the great hall, earning his moniker over and over with his whip-like speed. The knight himself appeared in awe, which was not to his advantage but proved to be quite comical.

The knight fell, and the bell clanged.

Moshe looked to Raleigh. His eyes were bright. He was panting, his cheeks flushed. And when Raleigh pounded his fist on the table while roaring his approval—Moshe's lips cracked into the widest grin.

It took a moment, but he finally broke eye contact with Raleigh to help the knight back up to his feet. They bowed together towards the head table, and then stood straight, wiping the sweat from their brows. "I had a feeling my knight would enjoy sparring with him," Frederick said, tilting his head towards Raleigh, "but his eyes nearly rolled to the back of head when I told him he would be doing so."

Raleigh snorted. "That is admirable. Most men would have pissed themselves."

With a laugh Frederick replied, "Yes, most men seemed to have the good sense not to run headlong into his blade as you did, Raleigh."

"As I do now," Raleigh said. The first tendrils of apprehension began to curl through his chest as he realized the time to face Moshe had arrived.

He stood slowly, knowing that the entire court was watching him. Moshe remained at the center, but a servant had come and taken his rapier. When Raleigh went to stand in front of him, he was still grinning—which Raleigh returned with a smile of his own. "You have fought well today, Moshe."

"As have you," Moshe replied.

Nodding, Raleigh waited for the swords to be brought out. When he saw that it was the longswords, he glanced at Moshe. "I see luck is on my side."

Moshe snorted. "Perhaps."

They each took a sword, and then stepped back from each other several paces. Raleigh was conscious of how silent the hall had become, and he could feel every gaze on him. Drawing in a long breath, he told himself to let all of that fall away until all that was left was Moshe.

Indeed, all he could see was Moshe.

The bell clanged. Moshe darted forward. Raleigh easily parried the attack. "Too slow," he laughed.

The delight that flashed in Moshe's eyes made Raleigh's heart skip a beat.

"It is good to see you smile," Moshe said.

Raleigh's lips parted. But then Moshe shot forward again, like a snake striking, and Raleigh moved to block him. He stumbled forward when Moshe merely ducked under his arm and swerved behind him. "Shit," Raleigh muttered, turning, bracing against Moshe's next strike just in time. Their swords slammed together with a dull thud from the padding. They strained against each other, Moshe's face tilted up and Raleigh bowed down, their hot, panted breaths mingling between them.

"You are quite the silvertongue, aren't you?" Raleigh said.

Moshe let out a tight chuckle. It was clear he was having trouble struggling against Raleigh's superior brute strength, his arms trembling. "Only someone as dull-witted as you would think so."

Grinning at that, Raleigh shoved forward with all his strength, intending to knock Moshe on his ass, but Moshe rolled with the blow, and then slid back around behind Raleigh again.

He heard the audience gasp, but once again he was able to turn in time and block Moshe's sword. Blood pumping, a loud roar in his ears, Raleigh narrowed his eyes on Moshe—on his prey—seeing all at once the young boy who snubbed him continuously, the teenage brat who would flirt with knights just to pique Raleigh's ire, and the man who smiled at Raleigh after having been defeated for the thousandth time, and finally said
yes.

The man who had finally admitted, late in the night, that he shivered whenever Raleigh was near, had watched him endlessly. When everyone else expected Moshe to be brutal and fearsome, he had yearned for the pleasure of obedience in Raleigh's arms.

Fueled by memories, Raleigh slammed forward viciously—he had to
defeat
Moshe, he had to prove—

Sharp pain. Raleigh gasped.

Moshe must have seen the way Raleigh's face froze as he was taking his swing. Raleigh's knee buckled just as he tried to block the blow, but he had no strength left. He crashed down onto his knees, losing his grip on the sword.

The bell clanged, almost covering up Moshe's distressed "Raleigh!"

Raleigh kept his eyes closed, his teeth clenched. His fingers were digging into his palms as he tried to ride through the pain.

Suddenly, he felt hands grip his shoulders, and he jerked. But then thumbs started to slowly rub against tense muscles, and he opened his eyes to look up at Moshe's face, the sharp concern in those brilliant green eyes. When Moshe reached up to brush at Raleigh's cheek, he realized he was crying.

"Raleigh …" Moshe said so softly, too quietly for the court to hear.

"I love you," Raleigh replied. Moshe opened his mouth, but then Raleigh let out a tight, pained breath, his chest constricting. He dropped his head. "I couldn't save us."

The grip on his shoulders froze. Moshe's fingers dug in painfully. Raleigh looked up with a jerk to see Moshe glaring at him with pure fury. "You—" Moshe choked out, swallowed, and then said, "Damn you, you fucking bastard."

With that, he shoved at Raleigh, backing away from him before turning and kicking the sword stand—all the blades clattering to the floor—as he strode out of the main hall.

*~*~*

"We had a good harvest, you see—that's why I felt content leaving the peasants to handle themselves. Of course, I do worry, if something to go wrong while I was gone and the roads were blocked …"

Raleigh, sunk low in his chair, murmured in reply to the baron he was seated next to. Rather than rejoining Frederick at the head table, he had slunk off to a far corner of the hall. The duels had ended for the night, and the feasting had begun. But all Raleigh could do was poke lethargically at the meats and cheeses laid out in front of him.