Bee Among the Clover (290 page)

T
HE fire had burned low, until it was just glowing embers in the dark. The
stars sparkled overhead, thousands of points of light, and Roman stared at them unseeingly. Aron lay in his arms sound asleep, the sleep of one
whose conscience was clear. Roman’s eyes stung, but he couldn’t cry. He
thought all the tears inside of him were dried up forever.
He’d been so sure Aron was going to free him. Despite his misgivings and all the voices nagging him, somehow he’d believed him.
He’d been so wrong. How could he have left himself vulnerable? He knew
better, having long since learned that bitter lesson. This betrayal, though, was worse than all the others combined.
Even now, Roman continued to make excuses for him. Aron was
excited. It had been a long day. It had been a momentary slip of his mind.
He was going to free him tomorrow. But how could Aron forget when it was so important to him? Aron knew how Roman felt. The former thrall had gone through the same thing with Wulfgar, counting down the days
until the thane gave him his freedom. Aron wouldn’t have forgotten, but
then to believe that thought would mean Aron had spent the last three months lying to him. That was far worse.
Roman couldn’t imagine the man who made love to him with sweet
words and tender touches, who tried to protect him so fiercely, the man
who had only ever gone back on his word once, lying to him. If that was the case, then he had never known Aron at all. Roman wound one of his hands in his own hair and tugged, the sharp pull forcing his thoughts from
the rut into which they had fallen.
It made no sense. His mind struggled to understand even under the weight of his heartbreak. Roman didn’t want to leave Aron. Even as he thought it, he pressed closer, feeling Aron’s arms tighten around him in his
sleep. The slave wanted to scream at him, he wanted to curse him, to ask
him why, but he couldn’t. If Aron even suspected he was thinking of

It would be so easy to stay. Even now, he was counseling patience, to give Aron time. And he couldn’t. Roman would wind up hating him, hating himself. The last part of Marcus that was still there, the part Aron loved so much, would die. If Aron could keep him a slave instead of trusting him to stay, then Roman had been entirely mistaken about him, about them, and about what their relationship meant to Aron. Better they have this one last beautiful, untainted moment together before it all started to disintegrate. Still he lingered in Aron’s arms.

How could Roman let him go? Not just let him go, but of his own free will walk away from Aron? He didn’t know, but he was going to do it. Aron had promised him freedom, and for once in his life, Roman was going to take what was promised to him, not simply wallow in the pain of betrayal.

He lifted up onto one elbow, looking down at Aron with stinging eyes. No tears would come; the pain was too great for them. His gaze roamed over Aron’s beloved face, so young and innocent in sleep, the way his golden lashes dusted his cheeks, the soft part of his lips as he breathed, the incorrigible tumble of his unruly hair across his forehead.

“I would’ve stayed by your side until the sun fell out of the sky, if you’d only asked.” His voice was a bare whisper in the darkness, and Aron didn’t stir at all. Roman closed his eyes against the pain and took several deep breaths, feeling like he was losing his mind.

At the center of the madness that was creeping in on him was a numbness he prayed would grow. He didn’t this kind of agony, would rather feel nothing at all.

Still Roman lay there, unable to let go, unable to untangle his body from the young man he loved with an intensity that had frightened him from the moment they’d met. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he forced himself to do so.

With the practice of years of detangling from Wulfgar’s sleeping embrace, Roman slid carefully out of Aron’s arms, biting his lip hard to keep from crying out when Aron made a soft sound of loss and curled onto his side.

He knelt down beside Aron, tucking the blanket around him so he wouldn’t get chilled. The temperature had dipped now that the sun was down, and the air clearly held the crisp zing of fall. He took a lock of Aron’s hair, rubbing it between his fingers. This was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Roman leaned down, pressing his lips to Aron’s temple, breathing in his scent one last time. His soul was splintering. He could feel the sharp edges jabbing at him before the numbness took over again.

Roman rose before he could change his mind and dressed. Now that he was moving, he did so quickly. He could feel the strength of Aron’s will tugging at him to come back, to burrow in next to his warmth and forget this foolish notion of running away.

His jaw jutted out, and a rebellious glint shone in his eyes as he gathered his things. For too long he’d let others run roughshod over him, and it was a hard habit to break. He paused. Aron was different. He was, even if he didn’t free him the same way Wulfgar hadn’t. He would also never punish him the way Wulfgar had, or abuse him as Osric had. He wouldn’t raise his hand to him, or give him away for another person’s pleasure. If Aron caught him… for a moment Roman pictured the anguish he would see in those blue eyes, and he faltered.

How could he do this to him? How could he hurt him this way? He never wanted to hurt Aron. Roman’s hands trembled as he gripped his saddlebags. Must he always trade his happiness for another’s? How often was he going to fulfill someone else’s need and never his own? Was he being selfish for wanting this so badly? He forced himself to take a trembling step toward the cobbled horses.

Roman patted the nose of the sorrel, hushing the mare under his breath when she snorted as she awoke. He looked over at Aron in the dark, making sure he hadn’t awoken at the soft sound. If he did, there’d be no denying what Roman was doing, but Aron continued to sleep peacefully. Roman cinched the saddle and bags into place, his chest aching and throat tight. He swung up on the horse, wrapping his cloak about him. “Goodbye, Aron,” he whispered, unable to tear his eyes away. “I hope your gods give you peace in your life. I wish I could share it with you, but I cannot live the rest of my life a slave, especially to a man I loved and trusted. Maybe one day you’ll understand.”

There was nothing left but to leave, and it was with an empty heart and tears streaking his cheeks that he did so, turning the horse toward the dusty road and forcing himself to not look back. If he did, he’d never make it; he’d lose his will and stay, even if it meant eventually losing his spirit.

Yet as he picked his way to the road in the dark and kicked the horse to a quick walk, he left his heart beside that fire. He wondered if the sacrifice of Aron was worth whatever he might gain in exchange.
T
HE first shafts of sunlight cut across the small clearing, and Aron stirred, rolling first to the left, arm flinging out in half-conscious search for Roman, then rolling to the right, repeating the procedure. Brows furrowing, he slit one eye open and peered at the blanket beside him, which was empty and cold.

Sitting up, he glanced around the camp, assuming Roman was seeing to his morning needs or perhaps gathering more wood so they might have their morning meal, but there was no sign of him. It was when he noticed the missing horse that he realized something was amiss.

Aron rose to his feet, scanning the camp more thoroughly and noting other things missing. Roman’s things. All of them, gone. At first he didn’t allow himself to make the connection, calling out to him, sure he was wrong, but there was no answer. He dropped hard back to the ground, realization hitting him like a lance to his gut.

Roman was gone. There was a brief thought he’d been taken, by Wulfgar perhaps, but Wulfgar wouldn’t have been able to sneak in and steal him, all of Roman’s things, and the horse without Aron awakening. Roman would’ve screamed, struggled. No, Roman had left him.

The pain was crushing, and Aron gasped in an agonizing breath, burying his hands in his hair, fisting them there as the reality hit him again. He choked on a sob and lifted unseeing, wild eyes to stare around him.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. They had promised each other. Made love and made vows with their whole hearts. Hadn’t they? He felt nauseous, wanting to crumple in on himself. Instead, he blindly reached out for a rock from the fire circle, rising to his knees and hurling it at nothing with a hoarse shout.

“Damn you, Marcus!” His voice cracked as the tears fell without his consent. “Damn you to your hell!” Aron buried his face in his hands and doubled over on his knees, entire body shaking with the force of his agonized sobs. A soft whimper of pure pain escaped him, and he whispered to no one, “You promised….”

How long Aron knelt there in the grass he couldn’t say, but the sun was high in the sky before he finally straightened. Questions kept turning over and over again in his mind, each one sending a renewed stab of pain through him. He didn’t understand. Why that night? Why not before? Why come with him at all?

Aron remembered how Roman had looked the night before and shook his head. The slave didn’t just lie with his mouth. He did so with his whole body. Aron pulled hard at his hair, willing the image of Roman from his head. His pride said to ride back to Wulfgar’s and demand answers from Roman, but he couldn’t summon up the anger to do so. He was just numb inside.

Besides, Aron wasn’t going to abase himself for someone who clearly didn’t want him. Roman would say one thing and do another. And if Aron saw triumph in Wulfgar’s gaze, he might just do something stupid and find himself at the end of a hangman’s noose.

The sun beat down on him, and his head ached from his storm of tears. “Curse you, Marcus,” he whispered. “If you’d just asked me, just told me, I would’ve let you go.” He paused, considering that statement against his earlier fierce possessiveness. Would he have? Yes, though it would have killed him to do so. But Roman hadn’t asked. He’d sneaked away like a coward in the night instead of facing him.

What more could Aron have done to show him how he felt? What was Wulfgar’s hold over him? Aron forced himself to stop thinking. He’d drive himself mad if he continued. Slowly, he rose up, rubbing the back of his hand across his face, and looked around the campsite, all the joy of the previous day vanished like it had never existed.

He was lost, adrift. He didn’t know which way to go or where to start. Aron aimlessly walked around the campsite, kicking a rock out of his way and gathering his things in a haphazard manner. He couldn’t stay here with the memory of Roman’s sweet cries in his ear.

It wasn’t until he’d thrown the saddle blanket over his horse’s back that he remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and the breath left him in a rush of air. Oh gods. Cate. Aron just lay his head on top of the blanket. Some vaunted destiny of his. He was going to be enslaved for who knew how long or in what manner, all for a faithless man who didn’t love him as he’d promised.

Aron had the brief thought that he should’ve just let Roman die at the hands of the master he loved so well. But as quick as the thought came to him, it was gone. No, he couldn’t have done it, even had he known how it would end, how Roman would betray him. Aron still would’ve made the same choice.