Bee Among the Clover (153 page)

O
NCE the thane had left, Roman found things to occupy his attention. The
silence in the tent was even more strained than it had been before the attacks, and he hadn’t believed that it could get any worse. Aron lay on his back, staring up at the top of the tent. He was unusually silent and
withdrawn, which hurt Roman even more. This was unlike him. He
thought he’d come to an understanding of Aron’s moods. Roman could handle his anger, but this was new, and it saddened him beyond anything he’d ever known. Aron was suffering because of him. If only his sword
had taken the battle-lord’s life instead of the others’ that day three years
ago. If only he hadn’t run in the first place and had just accepted the fate
handed out to him. Then none of this would have happened.
Roman wanted to do something to help the time pass for Aron. He
knew how much Aron hated being cooped up, and the pain must be
unbearable. Aron wasn’t pestering him with questions as usual, and he
doubted Aron wanted to hear one of his stories or even the sound of his
voice. But still, he had to try something, offer what measure of comfort
that he could. Maybe it would be enough.
“Would you like me to get you anything, Aron?” Roman asked, his
voice hesitant, wringing the hem of his tunic in his hands. He lifted his
eyes to Aron’s lips before dropping them again. “I could read to you,
or….” He wasn’t quite sure what he had that Aron would be interested in. Aron turned his head slowly at the sound of Roman’s voice. His
insides clenched, and his chest tightened at the nervous way he toyed with
his tunic. He shook his head. He did not want Roman to read to him and
listen to that sweet, melodic voice he remembered so vividly crying out
his name and laughing with him other times.
What he wanted was to go home. What he wanted was never to have
come to be in this situation, as Wulfgar’s thrall, in the first place. What he
wanted was never to lay eyes on Roman, so then maybe he wouldn’t feel
this deplorable hollowness inside.
Aron gingerly lay back, not even flinching, though the pressure on
his torn and bruised back was agonizing. It hurt far less than the gaping
hole inside from knowing Roman despised him so much he did not want
to be anywhere near him. How much it hurt startled Aron. He was
beginning to wonder if he’d gone mad. Or was it some strange occurrence
of being a captive, this feeling of latching on and clinging to Roman? He
didn’t know, only knew that it made him feel wretched inside. Aron rolled
carefully onto his side, his back to Roman, exhaling softly and closing his
eyes. This was going to be a very long winter.
Roman swallowed hard at the silent rebuff, sucking his upper lip into
his mouth and nodding. He would leave him be, then, try very hard to stay
out of Aron’s way and keep from imposing his presence as much as he
could in the confined quarters. Trying to ignore or at least push down the
pain as he turned, he moved to a far corner of the tent and curled himself
on the covered ground with a book, praying he would be able to immerse
himself in it and forget about the young man across the room who
obviously despised him.
Sunlight crept across the tent floor, marking the time as it passed.
Roman sat silent, forgetting his book and staring at Aron’s back, chewing
hard on his upper lip in the effort to distract himself from the aching pain
in his chest. His eyes flew up at the sound of the tent flap being pulled
back, and he rose to his feet as Wulfgar stepped inside, followed by a
young slave girl.
Wulfgar gestured to Roman. “Come, Roman, there’s one more bit
left unfinished.”
The slave glanced back to where Aron lay on the furs, but he hadn’t
moved, and Wulfgar assured him the slave girl would tend to Aron if he
awoke while they were gone. Roman drew a breath and nodded, picking
up his cloak and following the thane.
Once outside, Wulfgar paused. Roman met the thane’s eyes when he
tilted his face up. “I know there is strength in you most men do not have,
Roman. I ask you to find it now.” The thane’s voice was quiet. Roman’s brows furrowed, uncertain what the thane meant, but he
nodded, ducking his head again as soon as his chin was released. He
followed behind Wulfgar, casting a glance back over his shoulder to make
sure the guards did not move from their spot, very much not liking leaving
Aron in his condition. The slave Wulfgar had brought would be able to get
Aron anything he might need, but the thought did not soothe Roman as
much as it ought to have.
He hurried his steps to stay close behind Wulfgar, eyes darting
about, half-sure Osric would pop from the shadows at any time and snatch
him from Wulfgar. Roman knew he was being foolish, he was safe with
the thane, but still he was unable to help the nervousness. He very much
wanted to just curl up and pretend the world did not exist.
Anything to stop the ache in his heart. When Aron had turned his
back on him in the tent, it had almost been more than he could bear.
Roman hadn’t wanted Aron’s attention, and now that it was gone, he
missed it. He didn’t want this breach between them, not in this way. All in
all, though, mayhap it was better this way. Aron would heal and move on
without him, and there would be nothing to look back on when he left the
thane’s hall.
Roman lifted his head when Wulfgar stopped, looking in confusion
at the weapons tent. He hadn’t been sure what to expect when Wulfgar had
asked him to come with him. This, however, made no sense. The thane
sent him a significant glance, which did nothing to settle his stomach, and
then ducked through the opening. Roman drew his upper lip into his
mouth and followed, the thane’s cryptic words running through his mind. As he straightened, he noticed Osric standing in the shadows, a
murderous expression on his face. The force of the battle-lord’s presence
struck him in the gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His hands
tightened in his cloak, and somehow Roman steeled himself from taking a
step back, though he couldn’t help but look to Wulfgar for reassurance. He
knew he was to blame for what had happened, and he knew he had
stepped far beyond the bounds allotted him by attacking the battle-lord,
but surely Wulfgar wouldn’t hand him over in repayment?
His heart pounded wildly as the shadows encroached upon his mind.
Something in Wulfgar’s bearing reassured him, however, and Roman
dropped his eyes to the ground, making sure to keep Osric’s legs in view
in case he made a threatening move. He wished he had Aron’s courage to
glare at his tormentor, but right now, he was content with keeping on his
feet without unmanning himself entirely.
When the thane spoke, Roman forced himself to listen past the
roaring in his ears.
“I do not care to have my property abused by anyone, especially
those who should know better. Roman and Aron belong to me and me
alone, Osric Cearlson. You seem to not only have forgotten that fact, but
also assume you’re above being reprimanded for such. That is a personal
insult toward me, and one I will not ignore. Therefore, you will return
Roman’s sword to him.”
Roman’s head snapped up, eyes wide. He saw Osric’s face darken
further and his piggish eyes narrow in fury, but he was too occupied
wondering what the thane was about to care.
The battle-lord protested. “Wulfgar, you cannot be serious. He’s a
slave.” Osric gestured toward Roman with a glare. “He’s a whore. And
last time he had this blade he used it against you. Remember that? I won
this blade from him. It’s mine….”
“No, Osric. I gifted you with it after he ran away and defeated you in
combat when we went to reclaim him. Roman won’t raise his sword
against me again. He wouldn’t think of such a thing.” The thane looked
down at Roman, who could only stare back, incredulous. “Would you
pledge your loyalty to me, Roman?”
For a long moment, Roman was speechless. He looked toward the
battle-lord and the sword in his hand, for once not even seeing Osric. His
father had gifted him with that blade when they’d arrived in Londinium. It
had been commissioned for him in Rome, and the loss of it had been an
open wound that wouldn’t heal.
He met Wulfgar’s eyes again and dropped to his knees. When he
spoke, his voice was fervent, with no trace of the tremulousness he’d been
feeling earlier. “My lord. I give you my word now that I will never raise
my sword against you or yours.”
Wulfgar gave a short nod, and Roman rose to his feet, still unable to
believe he was truly going to get his sword back. He had been sure it was
lost to him forever. He cast a glance at Osric and noted how his face had
flushed even deeper in anger, but the battle-lord apparently had some selfpreservation instinct left and said nothing.
Wulfgar gestured to Osric. “Give him the blade, Osric.” Osric scowled, stepping closer to Roman, and the slave tensed,
though he did not tremble, and he met the battle-lord’s gaze unflinchingly.
He made himself take the sword with steady hands, and then, his courage
spent, his eyes lowered, and he took a step back.
Roman’s mind spun as Wulfgar nodded and took a step forward,
pinning Osric with his hard gaze. “This is the last time you disrespect me
in this way, Osric. Should it ever happen again, should you lay a finger on
or in any way orchestrate harm toward what belongs to me, including
Roman and Aron, you’ll find yourself in Aethlyn’s shoes: without a home
or a position in my hall. Do you understand?”
Roman’s eyes widened again, staring incredulously at the ground,
and he did not have to look to know Osric was nearly purple with anger
and disbelief. Roman could not blame him in this instance. He never would have suspected Wulfgar would make such a threat. And the thane
did not make idle threats.
“It is understood, my lord,” Osric said, sounding as if he was
speaking through clenched teeth.
Roman tensed even more, positive that Osric was going to strike him
regardless of Wulfgar’s vow to cast him from the hall if he did. Roman’s
hand tightened on the unfamiliar weight of the sword, and he looked up
with narrowed eyes, just enough so he could see Osric plainly. Surely
Wulfgar wouldn’t fault him for defending himself.
It was unnecessary though, for the battle-lord simply growled
underneath his breath and stalked out of the tent in a fury. Roman felt
almost limp with relief, and he met Wulfgar’s eyes, offering him a smile.
“Thank you, my lord. You don’t know how much this means….” His
words trailed off as the thane waved his hand.
“Cease, Roman. I know, that is enough. Now get you gone. I’m sure
Aron would prefer your presence to that slave girl.”
Roman flushed slightly but nodded. He knew how much the thane
hated emotional displays. It was almost amusing how they made Wulfgar
uncomfortable. He hefted the blade in his hand as he ducked out of the
tent, his heart pounding. He couldn’t wait to show Aron and tell him what
had happened. They could practice with live blades now, and mayhap he
would get some of his old skill back.
Sudden realization stopped him in his tracks and muted the joy he
felt upon recovering his sword. Aron was not likely to look upon this turn
of events with any favor. Why should he be rewarded when Aron had been
beaten near to death on his behalf? No, Aron would not regard this as
good news, and he shouldn’t gloat in his presence. That would be cruel. Roman continued toward the tent, his spirits flagging. Mayhap
someday Aron would forgive him. He looked forward to that time more
than was good for his peace of mind.