Bee Among the Clover (183 page)

A
RON had been terrified that the night of thehad been terrified that the night of the Hunt would be his last real
time with Roman, but on the contrary, the slave barely left his side the entire week following. Unless ordered by Wulfgar for one reason or another, his darkling had stayed with him; they’d even picked back up
their training sessions with fervor. And at night in the dark, Roman curled
against him and slept in his arms with no resistance. As though he wanted to be there. Gods, how Aron had missed his closeness.
It was a strain on Aron’s resolve. Many times over the last week he
had told himself he could stay, he could handle this life if it meant Roman
would smile at him and be his, even if only in small ways. But in his moments of clarity, those fanciful thoughts acted to firm his resolve,
because that was exactly what he’d been afraid of, the lure of his darkling.
And now the day was here. Roman had told him the night before that today they’d be going fishing in the river. Butterflies with wings the size of a dragon pounded in his belly, and he couldn’t keep the conflicting
emotions at bay, thankful Wulfgar was preoccupied with Gaeric that morn.
The thane had been pleased with himself when Roman and Aron had returned from the night of the Hunt with what appeared to be a healed
relationship. Aron almost felt guilty for plotting behind his back, because Wulfgar wasn’t an evil man.
Aron looked around Wulfgar’s room one last time, feeling a pang at not having the chance to say goodbye. For all that he hadn’t chosen the
role he’d had thrust upon him, Wulfgar had been good to him in his own
way. Abruptly he turned, hurrying from the room before he could think of
any more excuses to stay.
Aron found Roman in the common area, supervising one of the women at the hearth, who was packing them a lunch in exchange for the
fish they might catch. He watched Roman, the ache in his heart increasing.
He wondered how long it would take for Roman to forget him. How long would it be before Wulfgar found someone else to warm his bed? To share Roman with? The thought made him quail.

Roman turned, lifting his head to meet Aron’s gaze as if he’d felt him watching. He gave Aron a wistful smile. “Are you ready?”
No, Aron was far from ready, but he nodded, attempting to smile for the benefit of the others. “Aye, Roman,” he replied, reaching out to take one of the warm, wrapped bundles the hearth woman handed him.
Roman thanked her before he and Aron headed out of the hall, neither speaking until they were well away from the yard and heading up the tor.
“You’ll have a good head start, Aron. I’ll wait until as long as I can before alerting anyone to your ‘accident.’ Wulfgar will never suspect I’m being untruthful and will spend, at the very least, the next day or possibly two searching for you along the river. He’ll think you were washed up and injured.” Aron’s insides twisted painfully at the matter-of-fact tone. Roman sounded as though he were discussing nothing more important than what to serve for the evening meal, reminding Aron yet again how foolish he’d been to think there was anything more between them than perhaps a tentative friendship. Hadn’t that been proven quite succinctly when Roman had read from his journal? The slave was consumed with Wulfgar. There was no room for anyone else.
Aron nodded, not saying anything as they stepped into the cave and set the bundles beside the other supplies and foodstuffs Roman had managed to steal away and hide for him. Finally, he lifted his head and met Roman’s eyes.
“Thank you, darkling.” Part of him told him to stop this. Roman was risking great harm to himself if he were found to have helped Aron or if this didn’t work. And Aron would have no way of knowing what became of Roman, if he’d been found out or if all had gone as planned. That, he knew, would eat at his soul until the day he died.
Roman was quiet as he turned to make the supplies into a comfortable pack for Aron. He didn’t want Aron’s thanks. He wanted him to stay, but that was such an incredibly selfish want. How long could he ask it of him? The rest of his indenture? Longer? No, that wasn’t fair. Finally, when he thought he could speak without his voice breaking, he met Aron’s eyes again.
“You don’t need to thank me, Aron. I could do no less after everything you’ve given me and all the hardships that I’ve caused you.” Roman took a deep breath. “Let’s get these things down to the river. I have one thing left to give you and a request to make.”
Aron put his hand on Roman’s arm, forestalling his movement to pick up the pack. “Wait, darkling. You owe me nothing.” Aron’s eyes searched his own, and Roman could only hope he managed to hide the longing in them, the guilt that ravaged him.
“Don’t I?” Anguish welled in Roman’s voice before he shook his head. “Mayhap you’re more forgiving than I. It’s because of me that Osric singled you out and beat you. I deserted you in that tent. It’s only through the grace of Jesu that I was able to get Wulfgar before they could finish what they intended.” The thought still gave him nightmares. He tore his eyes away, his cheeks flushing in shame. “And it’s my fault you came to Wulfgar’s household.”
Aron stared at him in confusion, frowning. “What do you mean? I’m here because my father paid more attention to the thrall women and his own desires than what was owed to his thane.” He didn’t acknowledge the guilt Roman felt over what had happened with Osric. Aron would gladly have taken what they’d planned if it meant his darkling was safe.
Roman wouldn’t meet his eyes, and the withdrawal cut Aron to the core. Gods, he just wanted something, some sign of…. He stopped his thoughts. There was no sign because there was nothing there. Roman had said everything when he had rejected him the morning after the Hunt.
“No, well, yes, but…” The slave bit his upper lip, then shook his head. “I keep Wulfgar’s records. He would likely never have known of the discrepancies were it not for me and my ‘scribblings,’ as you both so fondly call them.”
Aron said nothing for a moment, then caught Roman’s chin in his hand, tipping it up. “Look at me, darkling.” Roman obeyed, and the guilt and anguish in his eyes, buried deep but still there, tore at Aron. His heart began to pound. Had he been mistaken? He searched the slave’s face, hoping for some emotion beyond the guilt. “You’re not to blame for me being here. Gods know I don’t even really blame my father any longer. He loves his drink and his pleasures of the flesh too much, and I long ago accepted that.”
Roman shoved down the desperate desire to cling to him when Aron dipped his head and kissed him, his lips soft and gentle for the brief instant they touched his own. He fisted his hands at his sides, knowing if he touched Aron he would lose his resolve and beg him not to go. Aron lifted his head after a moment and murmured softly, “You said that first day that it was
Wyrd
, fate, that brought me here. I believe that, darkling.”
Roman looked away, unable to maintain the gaze when his heart was tearing from his chest. He had been wrong, Roman thought. Because he could not imagine what purpose there had ever been for Aron coming to Wulfgar’s hall. It had caused nothing but heartache for them both. Still, Roman found he couldn’t regret it. He would never forget Aron and the times when, for the first time in four years, he hadn’t been alone.
Roman allowed his head to drop down on the crook of Aron’s shoulder for a moment. Aron’s arms stole around him, and he accepted the comfort of his embrace. This would be the very last time he would get to feel it. The night before he’d lain awake in the darkness, refusing to sleep because that would make the morning come that much quicker. There in the darkness, with the sound of Wulfgar’s snores and Aron’s soft breathing in his ears, Roman had finally admitted to himself that he had done the most foolish thing in the world. He had fallen in love with him. Too late, not enough, but there it had been, mocking him in the shadows.
Finally, Roman forced himself to let go of Aron and grabbed the pack, helping to set it comfortably on Aron’s shoulders. “We mustn’t tarry. You’ll want to get as much distance as possible before dusk.” There was nothing left to do but send Aron on his way now. Love would not make Aron stay, and Roman wouldn’t want it to. Roman would be damned if he would allow his foolish emotions make a slave of the man he loved. Aron would go, Aron would survive, and Roman… Roman would never recover from his loss.
Aron watched as Roman darted to the mouth of the cave, looking to make sure that no curious person had followed them up. If this was to work, then no one could see them leaving with this many provisions. It was too soon. It was too fast. Aron wanted to shout at him to stop, he wasn’t ready. Instead, he followed Roman out as he gestured to him, only half-listening to his instructions and directions as they trekked down to the river.
Finally, they paused, both staring at the expanse of blue-gray water that streamed innocuously by. Roman turned toward him, gnawing on his upper lip, and Aron choked back the urge to reach for him and stop his gnawing, always worried he’d bite right through his lip when he chewed on it like that.
“You have some things to barter with when you get to the bigger towns. That might be enough to help you get started. If you get into any trouble, go southwest to Londinium and ask for Lucius Naevius.” Aron wondered whom that name belonged to, but his mind was spinning with encroaching panic and the growing desire to beg Roman to come with him. He doubted he would remember the strange name at all.
Still, Aron nodded at the instructions, repeating the name several times in his mind to attempt to memorize it. If Roman said they could help, he’d trust that. He tilted his head as Roman pulled a neatly folded parchment from his pocket, the indecision and shaking of the slave’s hands telling him this was important.
“What is it, darkling?”
Roman hid the inner flinch. He thanked the gods Wulfgar hadn’t ever picked up on that nickname. He thought he’d sooner die than to hear it spoken to him ever again. He bit his upper lip hard and lifted his eyes to Aron. “I have a boon to ask of you, and I know I don’t deserve to ask you for anything, but if you do go to Londinium, for help or after enough time has passed and you feel safe….”
He shook his head, taking a deep breath and trying not to let the emotion inside him clog his throat. “My father, Lucius Naevius, if you could give this letter to him? Tell him I’m alive and in good health?” Just the thought of his father brought more emotion up in Roman than he thought he could bear, combined with the overwhelming agony ripping at him at the loss of Aron.
Aron reached for the letter, brushing his fingers over the front of it, and Roman held his breath as he tucked it in one of the packs. He wished Aron could tuck
him
in one of his packs and carry him away from this place as well. Aron looked up at Roman once the letter was safely hidden. “He’ll get the letter, darkling, I promise you.”
Roman’s heart pounded, his chest tightening as their eyes met, and they both knew it was time. Every second that passed was a chance Aron would be recaptured. He had to go now. Roman’s fingernails cut into his palms where he had them fisted.
Jesu, please, Aron. Go, please, before I lose my strength and beg you. Please….
Aron didn’t, however, stepping closer to his beloved, young face anguished, voice fervent. “Come with me, please, Roman. I’ll take you there, to your father. I’ll leave you there if you wish it, but….”
Fury whipped through Roman. Couldn’t Aron see how much he desperately wanted to go, if for no other reason than to remain with him? Why was he making it difficult? Roman spun around, unable to face him and still hide the crippling desire to agree. No, he couldn’t. The two of them wouldn’t make it. Wulfgar would never let them both go so easily. He would hunt them down and drag them back, and they would be better off dead than facing the thane’s fury when that happened.
Determination giving him strength, Roman turned back around and met Aron’s beautiful blue eyes. He would never look at the sky without thinking of Aron, he thought. “Damn you, Aron. No.” His fear and anger made his voice colder than normal. “We wouldn’t make it past a day. I won’t risk it.” Aron’s face fell, and Roman’s eyes burned as the disappointment in the other man’s expression was replaced by hurt and anger. Roman longed to take back the harsh refusal. This wasn’t how he wanted to part from him.
Aron said nothing, then gave a stiff nod and bent to pick up the packs, settling them on the raft with jerky movements. Roman knew his snarled response had cut him deeply, but better a little pain for Aron now than a lifetime of it had he agreed. “If that’s how you wish it, then far be it from me to argue,” Aron snapped.
Misery tore at Roman, and he blinked rapidly to keep the stinging from spilling into tears. Not yet. Not until Aron was safely away from this place.
Aron paused at the river’s edge, looking back at him over his shoulder, and for a moment Roman saw his eyes soften. The emotion in them nearly brought him to his knees.
“Goodbye, darkling.”
Roman watched, silent, as Aron stationed himself by the packs, picking up the long pole. Roman went down to the water and untied the rope. “Goodbye, Aron.”
Aron shoved away from the bank with the pole and guided the small raft toward the center until the current caught it and he began to drift downstream. They stared at each other across the rapidly widening gap. Roman wanted to scream out his pain. He wanted to fall to his knees and cry, letting his fists pound the earth until it opened up and swallowed him whole. Instead he watched Aron, unable to blink, until the newly freed thrall was out of sight. Only then did he allow himself to put a name to the emotion he’d seen in Aron’s eyes there at the last moment. Love.
Roman sank down to the ground, drawing his long legs up against his chest and hugging them to him, staring in the direction Aron had gone. Gone. He was gone.
“I love you, Aron,” he whispered to no one. He clenched his eyes shut and tried not to think about it. He had hours with nothing to do but wait for it to be time to go alert Wulfgar of Aron’s death.
He felt a little less guilty because it wouldn’t be so much of a lie now. Aron
was
dead. Whoever Aron became now wouldn’t be the person Wulfgar had owned.
He hadn’t wanted their last words to each other to be those words. Angry words. Hurt words. He’d wanted…. He shook his head, forcing his mind from it. He’d drive himself mad if he sat there for the next however many hours doing nothing but thinking of Aron.
Instead, he drew up in his mind different mathematical figures. The brain-numbing thoughts were exactly what he needed. And if every so often the sums equaled up to Aron’s smile, well, he couldn’t help that.
The day passed with excruciating slowness, and Roman’s exercises were broken up now and again with jolts of terror that Wulfgar might find him early, thus ruining the second part of his plan, and hopelessness, because once again he was alone.
Every hour he could wait was another hour Aron could put between them, a stronger chance he would make it to safety. Roman prayed to Jesu and even Aron’s own gods that he’d find good fortune and tried not to hope Aron would have a chance to get to his father and let him know he was alive. He couldn’t cling to the idea that one day he might be ransomed, but if he was, the first thing he’d do would be search out Aron and see if he still, by some miracle, wanted him.
Finally, Roman could wait no longer. The shadows were growing long, and it was time for the second act of this play. He rose from his hollow, his limbs stiff from inactivity, and waded into the water. He winced as the chill shocked his body and his mind from the daze he’d languished in all day. Roman sank down until the murky water closed over his head, and after a time the chill was gone. It was so peaceful down here. For a split second, the thought crossed his mind to just let himself go, float away. There would be no more pain, no more memories to haunt him, neither the good nor the bad.
It was a peaceful thought, but a groundless one. He wasn’t ready to die. Not yet. And not like this. He’d promised Aron. Rising to the surface and wading out of the water, he consciously stopped holding back all the emotion he’d locked away all day, let the tears come and the shaking in his limbs that had nothing to do with the chill.
He broke into a run back toward the hall. If he’d timed it right, Wulfgar should be in the yard. Roman hoped so. The melee of many people all talking at once and milling about would help distract Wulfgar, and he wouldn’t be thinking as clearly as normal. Or so Roman prayed.