Bee Among the Clover (55 page)

A
RON noticed that Roman wasn’t dragged into the hall by his leash. He
had one, but Wulfgar allowed him to walk behind him on his own, while
Aron was led in like a prize hound. His blood ran cold as every eye in the
cavernous hall turned on him, making him brutally aware of his nakedness. He looked around, meeting curious looks with deadly glares, choking with a curse when he found himself jerked forward by his leash
and staring up into cold gray eyes.
“You’ll show respect, boy, and until you’re able to do so, you may look at me or the floor when in this hall.”
Aron almost choked on his outrage, but then dropped his gaze to the
floor. It was better than the alternative. “Aye, my lord,” he said through
gritted teeth. Wulfgar loosened his grip on the leash, allowing him to breathe a little easier, and they proceeded. Aron hated walking through the hall with his head down as if he was ashamed.
After they had walked around the hall thrice, Wulfgar sat down on a
bench at the table nearest the fire and drew Aron down on his lap, roaring
with laughter at a jest one of his battle-lords made. Aron held himself stiff,
his eyes sullen on the scarred tabletop, wishing he could sit on the bench next to him as Roman did. But there were small blessings, such as the table covering his nakedness for the most part, and Wulfgar seemed content to have him in his lap, not trying to kiss him or touch him beyond
that.
The mead hall was a blaze of lights and noise that Aron barely
noticed, too sunk into his own haze of anger and misery, until Wulfgar’s voice breathed in his ear. “Does nothing appeal to you, boy?”
Aron stiffened again and raised his eyes to meet the thane’s. He
glanced down at the trencher of food set in front of the three of them and
the brimming mugs of ale, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the thought of food. He shook his head. “I’m not hungry, my lord.”

Wulfgar snorted. “You will eat, boy. Believe me, you’ll need your strength.” He laughed, reaching for a piece of venison from the trencher and holding it to Aron’s lips with an expectant look.

Aron ground his teeth together, his stomach lurching, and then leaned forward to take the bite from Wulfgar’s fingers, his eyes closing so he wouldn’t have to see the thane’s triumph.

A mug was pressed into his hands. “Here, boy, we have a fine brewer,” Wulfgar said.
Aron took the mug and began to drink. The ale was more soothing to his stomach than the food had been. Wulfgar turned his attention on Roman, to Aron’s intense relief. The slave’s eyes were lowered demurely to the trencher, and he was sipping at his wine. Wulfgar caught Roman’s chin, tipping his face upward, and bestowed a smile upon him. “Would you like me to send for some honeyed fruit?”
“My lord is too kind, but I’m full,” he demurred.
Aron clutched his mug tighter, furious at Roman’s meekness and the thane’s pleasure in it. He hadn’t forgotten Wulfgar’s smiles and fond glances cast the slave’s way when Aron had been trapped in his room earlier. If the thane wanted the same from him, he was going to be disappointed. Aron had no interest in placating Wulfgar’s pride; at the end of his term of service, the thane would realize who had won their battle of wills.
There was a roar of laughter from further down the table, and Wulfgar’s attention was drawn away from the both of them. Aron almost looked up to see what the commotion was about, then remembered he wasn’t allowed to raise his head and glared instead at the tabletop. For a fleeting moment, Aron met Roman’s compassionate gaze and turned away, indignant. He didn’t want anyone’s sympathy.
The thane cupped Aron’s jaw. “I don’t suppose there was much in the way of entertainment in that hovel of yours, boy,” Wulfgar said, nodding toward the man who was just rising to his feet from the other end of the table. “We have the king’s own scop here for our entertainment tonight.”
Aron tried to work up some sense of excitement. This was something he’d always longed to see, but he was too exhausted and afraid to care. If the feast was over, then it was that much closer to when he had to return with Wulfgar to his quarters. At least it was private. Nobody else would witness his shame and degradation. He glanced at Wulfgar out of the corner of his eye as he took a long draw from his ale. Maybe the thane would get drunk and pass out.
The scop, Irwin the Silver-Tongued, moved amongst the tables, softly strumming on his lyre and joking with a few of the battle-lords until the room had fallen silent and all eyes save Aron’s were on him. “What would you like to hear this eve, my lord?”
Wulfgar chuckled, and Aron’s eyes opened wide in stunned outrage as he slapped his flank and squeezed. “Tonight, I wish to hear of conquests and the sweet prizes to be enjoyed afterwards,” he roared, meeting Aron’s eyes and winking.
Aron couldn’t quite summon up his anger and disgust. It was lost amidst the haze of exhaustion. He gave scant notice to his nakedness now but was potently aware of the hand that rested on his hip. The thane’s long fingers splayed along the curve of it, burning him like a brand.
Wulfgar grinned and turned his head to the slave. “Roman, go and ready a bath for the boy. I’ll send him to you afore long.”
Aron blinked, hope springing within his chest as he wondered if he was being given a reprieve. If Wulfgar intended to send him away from him, then perhaps he had no intentions after all of using him in that way, at least not tonight. He felt warm all over and slightly dizzy as he looked down. His cup was empty again, and he found himself relaxing. He could tolerate the thane’s attentions, meager as they were now, long enough to listen to the scop and then be sent on his way.
He barely noted the departure of the dark young man, listening as the scop began to play, the man’s voice lifting in song. Aron grimaced as he felt Wulfgar’s fingers begin to stroke his skin. Dismissing it, he told himself this slight bout of attention would pass and Wulfgar would soon send him away.
It was when the thane’s hand slid a bit further around to cup his buttock that Aron began to worry again. He wished the scop would choose another song, one not so bawdy, that wouldn’t raise the desires of the man whose lap he occupied. Wulfgar’s cock stirred against the back of his thigh, and panic began to rise. Aron trembled. He had no power here. He didn’t know why he felt any surprise at Wulfgar’s unthinking attentions in the mead hall. Had his father ever cared when or where he had taken one of the thralls or slave women? How was this any different? That realization roiled in his gut.
Wulfgar brushed his lips against Aron’s ear, whispering low. “Calm yourself, boy. I have no intentions of taking you here for all and sundry to witness.”
Aron turned and stared at him, tension making his body taut, dreading what Wulfgar was going to do next. The thane simply drew Aron against his chest before turning his attention back to the scop as he began a story at one of the battle-lords’ request.
Aron blinked in surprise when Wulfgar placed the end of the leash in his hand and set him on his feet with a resounding smack to his buttocks. His cheeks flushed at the quiet laughter around him, and he focused his attention on the thane, his heart pounding.
“Go, boy,” Wulfgar said gruffly, licking his lips. “Roman is waiting for you.”
Aron took a couple of unsteady steps toward Wulfgar’s chamber, holding his breath to see if the thane would follow. Brandr chuckled behind him. “Your boy needs to be taught how to handle his drink.”
Wulfgar laughed and turned his attention to his men, and Aron scurried away. It was over. At least for now.