Bee Among the Clover (167 page)

R
OMAN was still in shock from Wulfgar’s pronouncement. The thane had
waited until this morning before giving his decision, and he’d told them separately, so Roman had no idea what Aron thought about it, though he
suspected his reaction hadn’t been good. How could it, given Aron’s personal feelings toward him? Any desire Aron once had for him had long since gone.

Only the thane would think a pagan ceremony like the Wild Hunt
would repair Roman and Aron’s relationship. But Wulfgar insisted that a
sacrifice worthy skeptical, to say everything out, right down to his and Aron’s costumes. When the sun set,
Roman would be released into the forest as the mythical prey for the Forest Lord, but when he was caught—if he was caught—no amount of
heathen magic would repair what had become so broken. If anything, it was going to make things worse, but Roman couldn’t tell Wulfgar why.
All he could do was hope Aron would understand this had not been
Roman’s doing and pray he did not hold him to blame for yet another
humiliation.

Roman rose from his bath, wrapping of length a toweling around his hips. They were going to come for him soon to bring him to the feast. Somewhere else, Aron was getting ready himself. Roman shook his head, trying to rid his thoughts of how Aron looked naked, with passion directed at him darkening his blue eyes. Ever since Wulfgar had told him about the
Wild Hunt, Roman had been consumed with thoughts of Aron and of how desperately he wanted this night, against all sense of self-preservation, and that scared him.

He rubbed scented oil into his skin and brushed out his hair until it
fell in shining waves. They hadn’t brought him any clothes yet, and he
was apprehensive about what they would put him in. Would he have to run through the woods in a loincloth or, even worse, naked? Damn Wulfgar of the gods would bring them peace. Roman was

and his heathen superstitions. Roman felt a burst of anger and bitterness toward the thane that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. This was going to fix nothing.

Roman hoped Aron was going to be at the feast before nightfall, when the hunt would begin. Then he could gauge Aron’s feelings and maybe circumvent Wulfgar somehow. Though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how.

Two other slaves came in then, and when he saw what he was to wear, Roman couldn’t help a flush of embarrassment as well as a fluttering in his stomach at what Aron would think of him in this. It could barely be called clothing. The sheer, white sarong-style cloth, threaded through with fine gold threads, that would wrap around his hips would hide little. Roman nearly balked before the slaves showed him the small linen loincloth that would barely preserve his dignity.

After helping him into the costume, the two girls then sat him down and began weaving small white and golden flowers into braids in his hair. The finishing touch—the delicate gold and silver collar Wulfgar had given him at the king’s keep—was placed around his throat, and by the time they were finished, he looked heathen. Pagan. Very much like the sacrifice he was.

His heart pounded in his chest. If his costume was so elaborate, he couldn’t help wonder what the thane would deem appropriate for Aron’s, and he felt a bit faint imagining how he would look. Blinking from his daze, he nodded to the slaves and followed them from Wulfgar’s room. The hall was deserted, as was the yard; the feast was taking place on the tor near his and Aron’s cave.

As he approached, Roman glanced to the horizon and saw the sun sinking below it. It wouldn’t be long before this nightmare began. He could only pray that Aron would know Roman had no choice as well and this certainly wasn’t his idea.

As Roman approached, he saw the thane rise from his seat at the lavishly spread table, nodding in approval as his gray eyes skimmed over him. The slave lowered his eyes, as was proper. The thane refrained from touching Roman as he led him over to his seat of honor to the side of Wulfgar, who clapped his hands to signal the attending slaves to serve the food.

“Eat, pretty one,” Wulfgar murmured, pouring Roman some of the dark wine. “You’ll need your strength this evening.”
Roman was barely aware of the thane’s presence. He ate and drank, not tasting anything that touched his lips. All of his concentration was on the absent thrall and on what was to take place this night. For once, he wished he were free to give himself to another without being ordered to do so. His heart ached so much it was a wonder that he could breathe around it. What if Aron rejected him? He didn’t know if he could bear the pain again. How had Aron’s opinion come to mean so much to him, when he’d been so upset at his arrival?
Before Roman knew it, the feast was over with and he was led to the edge of the tor, the dark expanse of the forestland spread out before him. His heart pounded in his chest, but more from exhilaration than terror now. In the background, he could hear the intoned words of the priest wash over his senses, leaving behind an almost preternatural calm.
“Lead him on a merry chase, Roman.” He thought he heard a smile in the thane’s voice.
Then the horn sounded and Roman bolted into the trees, wending and weaving among the branches, his bare feet quiet on the path. The full light of the rising moon gave him enough light to pick out the details he needed. At that moment, he felt as if he could run forever. Let Aron try to catch him. Tonight he could run to the edge of the world and be free forever.

A
RON heard the sound of the horn blowing and knew Roman had been loosed into the forest. He would be given a bit of a head start—otherwise it wouldn’t be much of a hunt—and then Aron would be sent after him.

He didn’t want to chase Roman, he didn’t want to hunt him down and take him by force, but he saw no other choice, as always. His head lifted as Wulfgar and the Druid priest appeared at the mouth of the cave, gesturing to him. It was time.

Glancing down at himself, he felt more naked than he did without anything on at all. A low-slung loincloth of tanned hide covered the necessities and not much else; a roughly worked fur spread over his shoulders and opened down his front; his feet were bare. He looked primitive, and he felt the same as well. His heart pounded in his chest as he was led to the edge of the forest, and he reached for the thick mane of the horse, swinging up onto its bare back.