All for One (24 page)

Benoît blushed bright red again at the memory of falling apart in Aristide’s arms like a green youth. “I needed a moment to recover my composure; that’s all,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I’d just come in my breeches like an unblooded boy. I was a little embarrassed.”

A part of the musketeer’s spirit swelled with pride at the knowledge that his touch had been enough to bring Benoît undone. But that didn’t prove it meant any more than that Benoît had been starved for another’s touch—anyone’s touch, even another man’s. And Aristide wanted far more than that. “I apologize for the situation,” he said softly. “You need not fear I will importune you again.”

“Don’t say that,” Benoît begged, voice breaking at the thought of never knowing Aristide’s touch again. He reached out involuntarily, his hand hovering above Aristide’s, wanting to touch, but afraid to make matters worse. “Please don’t say I’ve driven you away. You dragged me back to life. You taught me how to feel again, how to
love
again. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Don’t play with me!” Aristide rasped, his eyes opening to meet and hold Benoît’s. “Don’t speak of love if all you feel is lust. This is new to you, I know, but I cannot touch you, hold you, love you, and then let you go.” His head dropped, his sound hand tightening on the blanket as if to stop himself for reaching out for Benoît. “You would tear my heart from me when you leave.”

“You don’t know me at all, do you?” Benoît asked sadly, fingers closing around the clenched fist, loosening the grip and twining his digits with Aristide’s. “I could never have contemplated any of this, never have stepped into your arms, if it were only lust. Yes, I want to know the joy I could find in your arms, for you move me as I didn’t believe possible, but if you never touch me again, I could live with that. Just don’t make me live without your love.”

“You have it.” Aristide’s fingers tightened abound Benoît’s, hope flaring stronger than pride at Benoît’s words. “You have had it since the day we found you.”

“And you have mine,” Benoît promised in return, leaning forward to kiss the other man before pausing, not wanting to impose. “May I kiss you?” he asked hesitantly.

“You need never ask permission for that,” Aristide assured him.

“Not even when Perrin and Léandre are around?” Benoît asked before he could stop the words from forming. As soon as they were out, he wished he could take them back, but perhaps it was better to address the issue of the absent musketeers now, before things went any further between them.

The jealousy in Benoît’s voice made Aristide smile, even as he wondered if he could possibly explain the connection with his fellow musketeers in a way Benoît could understand. “What I feel for Léandre and Perrin will never change, but it is not love—not the kind of love I have for you,” he corrected himself. “We are brothers, and any of us would lay down our life for the others—but I have not found pleasure with them since I realized what I feel for you.” His smile widened, knowing the truth of his words as he spoke them. “Once they accept that you feel the same for me, they’ll be happy for us. Around others, we will still need to be discreet, but with those two I have no secrets.”

“Truly?” Benoît asked, the memory of Aristide going into their arms haunting him despite the musketeer’s reassurances. “Will I truly be enough for you? I… I know nothing of how to love you, not the way they do. A few weeks ago, the thought of kissing a man had never crossed my mind, much less making love with one. I fear you will grow tired of my ignorance.”

“Your love, your presence, are all I need.” Aristide brought their entwined hands to his lips and kissed Benoît’s knuckles softly. “We will share as much as you are comfortable giving, though I suspect,” a sparkle warmed his eyes as he moved their joined hands to raise Benoît’s chin, “as we have learned, your body will know what to do, even if you do not.”

Benoît blushed again. “You will never let me live that down, will you?” he asked, taking the kiss he had requested earlier. His heart rejoiced at the touch of their lips, pounding in his chest as if trying to burst free to dance in delight as Aristide’s mouth opened to him. Feeling bold, he slipped his tongue between the parted lips, exploring the musketeer’s mouth eagerly.

More than happy to cede control of the kiss, Aristide let Benoît’s tongue roam his mouth until it had mapped every part of it before slowly, tenderly following suit. He was almost grateful for his body’s weakness, which kept him from rolling Benoît beneath him on the bed and teaching him everything the younger man did not know. This way would be much better. Much harder on his libido, he acknowledged as Benoît hesitantly sucked his tongue deeper into his mouth, making his cock twitch to life, but much more rewarding.

Tentatively, Benoît ran his free hand over Aristide’s sheet-covered side, thrilled and aroused when the other man moved into his touch, just as he had done when Aristide touched him. Feeling daring, he worked his way lower until he could brush his palm over the growing bulge of the musketeer’s cock.

Benoît’s touch, even through the layers of clothing and linen, fired the desire that seemed to simmer just below the surface ever since Aristide’s first sight of the blacksmith. He arched into the caress, his body clenching instinctively when the roving hand brushed over his swelling shaft. The movement pulled at his wounded shoulder, wringing a small groan that was swallowed by Benoît’s mouth.

Benoît froze at the sound, so incongruent with the feelings he wanted to arouse in the musketeer. Lifting his head and stilling his hand, he looked down at Aristide, chest heaving as he struggled to steady his breathing. “Are you all right? Did I do something wrong?”

“Nothing I would not have you do again, when my body is in better shape to accept it.” He drew Benoît’s hand back to his chest, holding it over his racing heart. “For now, I fear, I have not the stamina to respond to you as you deserve.”

Benoît nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get carried away. Do you need anything? Should I fetch Raúl to check your wound?”

Wishing he had the use of two sound hands, Aristide steadied Benoît by weaving his hand into the dark, thick hair, holding him in place. “Never apologize for getting carried away. I will enjoy it very much, once I’m strong enough to appreciate it again.” He leaned forward to place a kiss on Benoît’s lips, easing himself back against the pillows with a sigh. “’Tis not the first time I have been wounded. It will take some days before I am strong enough to ride again, or—for other exertions,” he added, a smile tugging at his lips. “There is no need to disturb Raúl. I would ask, though, if you would not dislike it—” He moved on the bedding, making more space on the narrow mattress. “Would you lie beside me and let me hold you?”

“I would like nothing more,” Benoît assured him quickly, blushing again when he realized what an exaggeration that was. Bending to his boots, he muttered, “Well, nothing we can do tonight anyway.” Straightening, he looked down at his clothes, dusty and stained from the ride, the fire, and the fight. He pulled his outer tunic over his head, hesitating as he tried to decide how much more to take off.

“As much as I would wish more, I am in no shape to do anything but hold you,” Aristide promised, recognizing the smith’s hesitation. “Though I would welcome the warmth of your chest against mine.”

Feeling like a timid bride on her wedding night, Benoît pulled his undershirt over his head, dropping it to the floor with his tunic. Approaching the bed, he lifted the covers and slid beneath them into the empty place next to the musketeer. “Aristide,” he murmured as his head came to rest on the other man’s shoulder.

Aristide’s arm slid beneath Benoît and rested against the bare skin of his back, drawing him closer. “It would please me to hear my true name on your lips.” His own met Benoît’s, brushing lightly before drawing away.

“Emile,” Benoît murmured, following the retreating mouth, kissing the musketeer tenderly. “I was not sure you would want me to even know that name, much less use it.”

“I assume Perrin or Léandre told you my history?”

“
M.
de Tréville revealed it, when you didn’t show up for duty. We wondered if perhaps your family had summoned you home,” Benoît explained.

“I have no family, save Léandre and Perrin.” Aristide shook his head at Benoît’s expression of protest. “I was young and impulsive, but I do not regret my actions. I am far happier with the life I have made for myself as Aristide than I would be as the
vicomte
de la Croix, living a lie.”

“I’m sorry you suffered that way, but I’m glad you made the decision you did,” Benoît admitted softly. “There would have been no place for me in the life of the
vicomte
, but in Aristide’s life, I might yet fit in.”

“You are already the center of my life.” Aristide kissed Benoît again, lingering in the tender contact until he felt himself beginning to stir again. “I knew something was missing; I did not know until we met that it was you.”

Eyes luminous, Benoît stroked Aristide’s shaggy hair. “I was as good as dead when you found me, and not because I’d been shot. That I have a life at all is thanks to you and your friends. That I want to live it is entirely because of you. I love you. I didn’t think I’d ever say those words again, at least not to anyone living, but I intend to say them so often you’ll get tired of hearing them.”

“That will never happen.” Aristide settled Benoît’s head back on his shoulder, his eyes growing heavy. “I plan to say them to you every morning and every night.
Je t’aime
, Benoît.”

Chapter 22

T
HE
sound of horses in the courtyard outside, footmen calling back and forth to one another as they prepared a carriage for departure, drew Benoît from his sleep. Just for a moment, he panicked at the feeling of hard arms around him, a hard chest beneath his cheek. Then he remembered the night before and all that had transpired between Aristide—no, Emile, he corrected—and himself. He could still hear the echo of the musketeer’s last words before he fell asleep. “
Je t’aime
,” Aristide had said, words Benoît had not ever expected to hear again, much less from a man.

It felt right, though. Loving Aristide, being loved by him, felt like nothing he’d ever known. Part of that was purely physical, the differences between a man’s body and a woman’s, but part of it was emotional as well. He didn’t always have to be the strong one. Aristide had proven himself more than capable of taking care of both himself and Benoît when Benoît was wounded. That Benoît now had the opportunity to return the favor was a mixed blessing since Benoît would never have wished a gunshot on Aristide, but it gave him the chance to show his own resourcefulness as well, to create a match of equals. He was still hazy on exactly what that relationship would entail. Aristide had certain physical needs, as Benoît did, that they would have to learn to sate with each other, but it went far beyond that. They would have to learn to live and work together outside of bed too. Benoît hoped
M.
Maurisset would be willing to take him on permanently so he’d have a way of contributing to their expenses. They’d have to find new lodgings. He respected Aristide’s friendship with Léandre and Perrin, but enough of his jealousy remained to want the other two musketeers sleeping under a different roof so Aristide wouldn’t be tempted to return to their bed.

That brought him back to the physical side of their newly declared love. Benoît shivered as he contemplated all he still had to learn. Aristide had brought him off with a few kisses and a simple touch of his hand, but that was at least partially because of the length of time since anyone had last touched him. He was not so naive as to believe that would be enough for long. Not to mention that Aristide had not found his release that night. He’d been too weak last night, too, but that wouldn’t remain the case, and then Benoît would be faced with the question of how to satisfy a man who was used to having two lovers at his beck and call. He wanted to do it, wanted to show Aristide he was as capable a lover as Perrin and Léandre, but the fact of the matter was, he wasn’t. Not right now anyway. He knew nothing about pleasing a man sexually, beyond perhaps a hand on the other man’s cock. He shuddered a little as he thought about what else sex with Aristide might entail, his arse clenching in protest at the thought of being invaded by the heavy shaft he’d barely touched the night before.

A hand smoothed through his hair before tipping his chin upward. Aristide’s hooded blue eyes met his, one finger gently stroking his cheek. “Cold?”

“A little,” Benoît lied, leaning into the caress. He knew he’d have to talk to Aristide about his fears, but he didn’t want to spoil the calm between them with those concerns right now. Instead, he hitched the covers a little higher, covering their bare shoulders and enclosing them in a cocoon of warmth and privacy. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Stronger.” Aristide flexed his shoulder, the twinge of pain a faint echo of the previous days’ agony. “Much better. Sleeping with you in my arms definitely agrees with me.” He bent his head enough to brush his lips gently against Benoît’s. “I could grow accustomed to it very quickly.”

“So could I,” Benoît admitted, face flushing as it did anytime he thought about the sudden, astounding intimacy between them. “I slept better than I have since… since I can remember.”

“If we did nothing more than sleep together like this for the rest of our lives, I would be content.” That might not be completely true, but Aristide recognized the enormity of the change in beliefs Benoît was facing. “I swear to you I will never ask for more than you are willing to give.” His stomach rumbled beneath Benoît, wringing a smile from them both. “I have not the strength, in any case, at least not until we manage to find something beside broth for me to eat.”

Benoît was glad for the interruption Aristide’s stomach had provided. He appreciated the other man’s willingness to let him delay, but at some point, Aristide would have to ask or Benoît would not know what to do. That was a problem for later, though, since Aristide was hungry and wounded. “Shall I see about some breakfast?”

“My stomach can have patience a little longer.” Aristide’s arm wrapped around Benoît’s shoulder, holding him close. “I’ve waited too long to have you here beside me to want to give up a moment of it.”

“We’ll have to move eventually,” Benoît reminded him, though he made no effort to pull away. “If nothing else, Raúl will want to check your shoulder again.”

The rumble was louder this time, winning a laugh from the musketeer. “It seems I am overruled,” he murmured, relaxing his clasp but continuing to stroke up and down Benoît’s back. “I have lost all track of time, so I know not if Raúl will be awake. If he is not….” He paused, considering, before going on. “Do not wake him, but do not be surprised if you learn he and his companion also share a bed.”

Benoît shook his head as he sat up and cast around for his shirt. “It seems I lived quite the sheltered life in Montredon. Or is it merely that like finds like?”

Stretching, Aristide pushed himself upright with his sound arm. “I have no doubt you were sheltered, but it is more than that.” He searched for the right words, needing to be certain Benoît understood the world he would be entering if they were to make a life together. “You will find less opprobrium in Paris thanks to the court’s influence, but for the most part even there, those who prefer their own sex must hide their nature. Only among those one trusts most is it safe to let down your guard. So yes, I suppose it is true that like attracts like, because only among others like ourselves can we be who we are, without lies and pretense. Even Perrin and Léandre are as brash as they are only when we are in private; Léandre even keeps a mistress, when he can afford her, to allay suspicions.”

Pulling his shirt on, Benoît shook his head. “I have so much still to learn, it seems,” he commented, “but that can wait until we’re back in Paris. Here, we’re among comrades and even if we weren’t, I’m tending a wounded friend. Surely none can find fault in that.”

“Few think amiss of soldiers lodging together; as Perrin would be quick to tell you, musketeer pay is low enough that few could afford to live without pooling their means.” Despite his words, Aristide had already determined to begin looking for another set of rooms, smaller if need be, as soon as they returned to Paris, for himself and Benoît alone.

Leaning over to kiss Aristide lightly, Benoît smiled, relieved that there were pretenses which would allow them to live together without censure. “Let me fetch some breakfast. Don’t try to get up until I return.”

Aristide leaned back against the head of the bed, a smile playing on his lips. It felt odd to let another care for him this way, but he had to admit that he liked Benoît fussing over him a little.

Downstairs, Benoît ordered a proper breakfast for himself and Aristide, encountering Raúl and Gerrard in the stairs as he made his way back to their room with the food. “How’s our patient this morning?” the gypsy asked.

“He was able to sit up on his own,” Benoît reported.

“Good,” Raúl declared. “I’ll be up after we eat to check on him. Enjoy your breakfast.”

Benoît thanked him and fumbled with the tray and the door, finally succeeding in letting himself inside. “Here we go,” he said to Aristide with a smile. “Breakfast!”

The room was too small for much beside the cot and a few small chests of drawers, but Aristide would rather be sharing the bed with Benoît than dining in state at the most sumptuous royal dinner. “Come eat with me,” he invited, sliding his legs to one side and patting the bedding beside him.

Benoît balanced the tray on the bed and sat back down, facing Aristide across the spread of food. “I didn’t know what you wanted so I brought up a couple of different things,” he said, indicating the various pastries on the tray. “I hope something will appeal.”

“Some of that tea would not go amiss.” Aristide picked up a crusty tart and bit into it, the buttery taste rich on his tongue. “I am hungry enough to eat whatever you put before me, but this is quite good.”

Benoît poured the tea into a cup and handed it to Aristide. “Your appetite returning is a good sign, is it not? Raúl said he would be up to check on you after he broke his fast as well.”

Watching Benoît’s throat work as he swallowed his own tea, Aristide reflected that more than one appetite was returning along with his strength. He willed his arousal to subside, reminding himself that he needed to let Benoît find his own way toward whatever intimacies they would eventually share. He sipped from the mug Benoît handed him, focusing on the warmth of the liquid. “Perhaps afterwards, we might ask the innkeeper for a pitcher of water. I will feel even better for the chance to clean myself.”

“I think that will depend on Raúl,” Benoît said, flushing at the thought of Aristide removing his clothes to wash. “You shouldn’t overdo it. We don’t want to re-injure your shoulder.”

The rush of color flooding Benoît’s face did little to ease Aristide’s growing desire to push the breakfast dishes to the floor and pull Benoît down beside him. Before he could be tempted further, a rap sounded on the door and Raúl pushed it open.

“Well, you look considerably better than the last time I saw you,” the gypsy declared, walking unselfconsciously into the room. “Let’s have a look at that shoulder, and then perhaps you can have a bath.”

“If you can convince Benoît it will not harm my shoulder to wash myself.” The warmth in Aristide’s eyes as he smiled took any sting out of the words. “I feel surprisingly well for so short a recovery. The wound must not have been as deep as it first appeared.”

“Never let it be said I disappointed a patient,” Raúl replied with a grin. “Now let’s have a look. As for convincing Benoît, perhaps he will take the word of your healer?”

“If you say it’s all right, I’ll trust you,” Benoît agreed. “I just don’t want to see him hurt again.”

“Nor do I,” Raúl agreed. “Let’s undo this bandage and see what we see.”

Raúl unwrapped the cloth from around Aristide’s shoulder, eyeing the wound critically. “Well, it’s not a pretty sight, but I don’t see any sign of infection. As long as you keep it dry, you can bathe as much as you’d like. Shall I have a tub sent up?”

“You’re not staying?” Benoît asked nervously, the idea of being alone with Aristide while he bathed enough to send nervous jitters through his stomach.

“Why would I?” Raúl asked. “Surely you can give your man a bath without my assistance.”

Benoît flushed bright red, bringing an indulgent smile to Raúl’s face. “Unless you’d rather watch my hands on him as he attends his needs and bathes?”

Benoît flushed even redder. “No,” he stuttered, “I can do it.”

“A bath would be more than I dared hope,” Aristide admitted. “But as for… other needs….” He trailed off awkwardly, shamed at having to ask for this kind of assistance. “I begin to feel the need for a privy.”

“Now that is a bit more complicated,” Raúl apologized. “You’re hardly up for a walk all the way outside. The innkeeper has provided a chamber pot behind the screen. See how steady you are on your feet.”

Once Benoît had moved aside the breakfast tray, Aristide slid his feet to the floor, pausing on the edge of the bed to catch his breath before trying to stand. His legs felt as though he had been abed for weeks rather than days, threatening to buckle beneath him. Quickly, Raúl was at his side, steadying him with a surprising strength for his slender form.

“Apparently you will need help,” the gypsy declared. “So who shall it be? Benoît or me?”

Benoît swallowed roughly, faced with a situation he’d hoped to avoid completely. “I’ll help him. Unless you’d rather Raúl do it?”

“If you do not object?” If Aristide had to accept someone’s aid in so basic a function, he would far prefer Benoît’s assistance than that of a near-stranger. He could only hope his body’s weakness would keep him from betraying his other needs.

Benoît flushed again. “’Tis better than having someone else help you,” he replied honestly.

Raúl grinned. “I’ll just see to your bath, then.”

“Just help me over there,” Aristide asked as soon as the door had closed behind the gypsy. “I can support myself against the wall….” He broke off as he realized that, unless he freed his wounded arm from its sling, supporting himself would leave him short a hand to complete his business.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Benoît scolded, sliding his arm around Aristide’s waist. “You’ll fall and hurt yourself worse. I can face away while holding you up.”

“’Tis only my pride in danger of being hurt,” Aristide confessed as they made their way to the screened alcove. “I had not imagined your first sight of me being under such circumstances.”