Bee Among the Clover (213 page)

It took several moments for Aron to speak around the lump in his throat. “Aye, darkling, I promise.” He leaned closer to him, pressing another cool cloth to his face. “I’m right here by your side.”
Roman sank back into the furs, closing his eyes, though his hand still clung to Aron’s. Aron started to speak softly, hoping that the sound of his voice would continue to soothe him. “I have so much to tell you, Marcus. Most of it must wait until you’re better to tell, but….”
“How is he?” The thane’s voice cut through Aron’s focus, and he lifted his head. He hadn’t even heard Wulfgar come in.
He wanted to snap at him; how did Wulfgar think Roman was doing? But he bit it back, shaking his head and looking down at Roman, running a freshly dripping cloth over his forehead and down his neck. “Not well. The fever’s high, the wound’s infected. I haven’t the skills to heal him, my lord.”
Aron looked up at the thane, hesitant to ask, but he had no choice. If something wasn’t done, Roman would die, and Aron couldn’t let that happen. “My lord, one of the slaves mentioned a healer in the village. Please, I beg you, send for her. He’ll die without aid, please.” The pleading tasted sour on his tongue, but for Roman, he would do anything. Wulfgar grimaced and then sighed. “Aye, Aron, I’ll send for her.”
Aron took a deep breath in relief, muttering a quick prayer of thanks under his breath. “Thank you, my lord.”
When Wulfgar left, Aron called the slaves again, this time to bring a bath of cool water. But it didn’t seem help. Roman whimpered when he was submerged and his wound came in contact with the water, which Aron was sure must seem freezing to his fevered skin. He attempted to clean him as best he could before lifting him out and drying him. He covered Roman with a light linen cloth and re-bandaged his wound with another poultice. He tried to get Roman to accept some thin broth, to no avail, and wondered what was keeping the healer. The village was within the gates. It shouldn’t be taking this long.
“Aron.” Wulfgar’s voice sounded behind him, and he turned his head, eyes widening at the sight of the woman beside the thane.
“Cate!”
Aron’s gaped at the red-haired woman in utter shock, his mind reeling. But how? It didn’t make sense—she was still in Londinium. How had she found him?
He belatedly realized the thane was looking at him with suspicion, and he closed his mouth, trying to think of an excuse that would satisfy Wulfgar’s curiosity. But his thoughts refused to cooperate and instead kept returning to marvel that somehow she was here.
“You know this woman?” Wulfgar asked, cocking his head, and Aron nodded.
Cate was cleverer than he, though, and smiled, giving Wulfgar a shake of her head. “I assisted the boy’s father last harvest, when Mother Haide was ill herself.” She crossed to the pallet and cut Aron a censuring glance.
Aron didn’t know how or why she was there, but he was grateful. He chewed on his thumbnail as she examined Roman. His voice was fretful and shaky. “Can you help him?” He didn’t know what he’d do if she said no. Die himself, most likely.
Cate touched his hand. “Aye, I can.” She glanced back at the thane. “My lord, this will be a messy job; the boy here can assist me. I wouldn’t want you to keep from your duties.”
Wulfgar hesitated, then nodded, muttering for Aron to send word of Roman’s condition before ducking from the room. Most likely the thane was as uncomfortable around the sick as everyone else. Aron cared not for the reason, just grateful that he was gone.
As soon as the door shut, he turned wide eyes on Cate. “How did you get here? How did you find us? Can you really save him?”
“One question at a time, Aron. How I got here is neither here nor there, but I must say you led me on quite a merry chase.” She frowned at him. “Your Wyrd line has some curious twists and seems to be all tangled up with his.”
Aron watched as the healer placed a hand on Roman’s brow and closed her eyes as if seeing something in her mind. He was anxious to ask more questions but held his tongue, not wanting to interrupt whatever she was doing. Finally, she opened her eyes, her expression grave, and Aron felt his heart sink even lower. “He’s going to die?”
“No, Aron. I got here in time, though it was a close thing. Before I start, however, I need to ask you something.” Her gaze was intent, and Aron could not seem to look away. “What would you give to have your Marcus returned to you hale and whole?”
Aron frowned. What kind of a question was that? “Anything, Cate, you know that.”
“Anything encompasses more than you can imagine, Aron.” There was a wry note in her voice. “What price is too high for him? You ran once because you thought he would cost you your freedom in the long run. Was that cost too high? You thought so at the time.”
“I do not understand. You talk in riddles,” Aron said in frustration. He didn’t understand why she wasn’t doing anything. Couldn’t she see how gravely ill Roman was? Her questions stung him, and in some strange way, they frightened him as well. “Whatever you want, I’ll find a way of getting it to you.”
Cate chuckled, cupping Aron’s face in her hand. “You, my impetuous friend, have a knack for finding trouble. Aye, I talk in riddles. That’s what my kind do. And if you’d said that to any of my brethren, you might’ve found yourself a plaything for the next eon while your Marcus lived and died a normal life.”
Aron’s confusion grew and he shook his head. “What do you want? I’ve told you I’d give anything for him, so tell me what you want in exchange. I’ll find a way to give it to you.”
Cate smiled, her expression showing both amusement and respect. Aron wanted neither; all he wanted was Roman to live. “It’s a simple thing. When your term of service is up with Wulfgar, you’ll return to me in Londinium and serve me for however long I require.” A mischievous light filled her eyes, giving her an impish look. “I promise you, though, I won’t force you to become my lover.”
Aron stared at her aghast, then slowly bent down low over Roman, pressing his forehead against his feverish one. Oh gods. Tears pricked his eyelids. A slave, again. For all intents and purposes, that’s what she was asking from him, and without even the promise of ever being able to see Roman again or help him to get free. He wanted to rail at the injustice of it all, but there was no question of his answer. He would see Roman live, whatever the cost.
“Heal him and I’ll give what you ask,” Aron replied, his voice rough, forcing himself to meet her eyes.
Cate nodded as if she’d expected nothing less. She checked the wound again. “I’ll take away his fever and heal the wound, but he will be weak. You have more than adequate skills to take care of him from there.”
Aron nodded without a word, watching as her hands hovered over Roman’s head, her eyes closed. She whispered a lyrical, musical incantation under her breath in a language he didn’t understand. He saw Roman’s eyelids flutter, and then her slim hands moved down to hover over the infected wound.
Aron flinched when Roman whimpered, and he almost moved to stop her, afraid she was hurting him, but he held himself back. Instead, he closed his eyes and murmured against Roman’s ear, soothing nothings that would hopefully distract him from the pain. Then Roman’s restless shifting eased, his breath came easier, and when Aron reached to brush back his hair, his skin was cool. He gave a soft sob of relief, turning his face into the slave’s tangled hair.
Roman opened his eyes, an extreme weariness dragging at his body, chiding him to go to sleep. He blinked at the apparition before him, some otherworldly being who reminded him of the seraphim, but when he blinked several times, the vision changed, and he saw only an ordinary, lovely, red-haired woman bending over him. His mind, even in its fuzziness, tried to make logical sense of the situation. No, he must still have a fever and be hallucinating.
The scent of Aron close to him was no illusion though, and a smile flittered across his face as he turned to burrow into him. “Aron,” Roman sighed, his eyes closing, feeling safe for the first time since the night of the hunt. He clutched at Aron’s tunic.
Aron’s head jerked up as Roman curled against him and whispered his name. He framed Roman’s face in his hands, tracing his fingers over his delicate cheekbones. “Gods, Marcus….” He couldn’t express his relief. He hadn’t had any hope his darkling would live, and now… with shaking fingers, he touched the bandage Cate had fashioned on Roman’s thigh, lifting his eyes to hers. “Thank you, Cate. You don’t know what this means to me.”
Cate smiled and sat back on her heels, eyes sparkling. “I think I have an idea.” She rose to her feet, gathering her bag. “You two spend a bit of time together. The thane won’t be expecting me out of this room for some hours yet, and you have much to discuss. I doubt he’ll disturb you.”
Aron nodded, so focused on Roman that he didn’t notice her leave. He shifted, stretching out on the pallet with Roman, drawing him against him and brushing his fingers over his cheek, his eyes regretful and yet so happy at the same time.
“How do you feel?”
Roman made a soft sound, turning into Aron and pressing his forehead against his neck. “You’re here. Confused, tired. I missed you, Aron….”
Aron swallowed around the lump in his throat, hands soothingly running up and down Roman’s back. His skin, so soft and warm, not feverish like before, was a profound relief. He blinked back tears and turned his face to press a kiss to Roman’s hair. “I missed you, too, darkling, so much.”
Aron lifted his head, tipping Roman’s face up and cupping his cheeks in his hands, meeting his wide, wet eyes and taking a steadying breath. “I’m so sorry, darkling. I made a mistake leaving without you, leaving at all.”
Roman wanted to know why Aron had left, he still didn’t understand, but Aron was already upset, and he didn’t want him to think he was accusing him or attacking him because of it. Maybe one day he’d be able to ask him. “I wanted to leave with you, Aron, but I couldn’t. Do you understand? I couldn’t let anything happen to you. If you got caught….”
His dark eyes opened wider, and Roman clutched harder at Aron before releasing him to run frantic hands over him. His eyes searched Aron’s for shadows, hating the faint bruise on his cheek. “Oh Jesu, they didn’t hurt you, did they?” The thought of Aron in Osric’s hands made him ill. His memory of the events of that day was murky. Surely Wulfgar wouldn’t have sentenced Aron to that, not after he’d seen what it’d done to him. He found it hard to articulate his fears; to give them voice might give them reality.
“No, darkling, calm down.” Aron’s voice was soothing, and Roman’s breath eased at the assurance. “Wulfgar beat me, which was no more than anyone would expect after making him look like a besotted fool, and I’ve been made to stand at the gate every day announcing my crime, but I am fine. No, he knows us well. Hurting you, that was my punishment.” Bitter anger clouded his voice.
Profound relief swept through Roman, and he sagged back on the pallet. If being branded ensured Aron’s safety and sanity, he’d gladly go through it again. His fingers tangled with Aron’s, pressing them to his lips. Aron only had a few short months left, unless Wulfgar had extended his stay; then he’d be safe from them all.
Aron’s eyes closed at the gentle brush of Roman’s lips to his knuckles. He was so soft, so gentle and tender-hearted. Aron would cut out his own heart before hurting him. He drew him closer and met his beautiful dark eyes, holding his breath, but in the end he couldn’t keep the words inside, didn’t even want to.
He cupped Roman’s face in his hand, trying to show him with his eyes how sincere he was. “I’ll never leave you of my own choice again, darkling. I love you.”
Roman sucked in a breath at those words. He felt them like a doubleedged sword, so bittersweet. Tears filled his eyes, and he tried, and managed, a shaky smile, turning his head to press his lips to the center of Aron’s palm. At first, the words caught in his throat, but then he whispered, “I love you, too, Aron.”
Roman pulled Aron close, burying his face in the curve of his neck. He refused to worry about what was going to happen in a few short months when Aron had to leave again after his indenture was up. He was going to enjoy every moment, savor it and store it away, and after Aron was gone, mayhap then he’d find the strength within him to leave too. Somehow, some way, as much as he owed the thane, he was going to see his home again, and he was going to make his life with Aron.
Exhaustion began dragging Roman under again. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been insensible from the fever, but he guessed it must’ve been bad for Wulfgar to relent and allow him back in the hall. It was all right now, though. He closed his eyes and let the sleep his body demanded overwhelm him, knowing he was completely safe with Aron’s arms wrapped around him.
Aron watched as Roman slipped off to sleep, how trustingly he curled against him, how his long fingers fisted in Aron’s tunic as if to keep him close. Aron stretched out beside him, drawing his slim, warm body closer and sighing as a sense of calm washed over him.
Slowly, so as not to wake Roman, Aron reached down and lifted the edge of the bandage, intending to see if it needed changing, but he froze when there was nothing underneath it. Instead of the horrific wound that had marred his darkling’s thigh, there was flawless, golden skin. With a start, he recalled how Roman’s fever had faded in an instant. At the time, he’d been so grateful and overwhelmed with emotion it hadn’t registered, but now…. A shiver ran down Aron’s spine as he slid the bandage back into place. It would have to stay. Wulfgar would think they’d staged Roman’s illness in an attempt to be reunited.
How had Cate done it? She had vehemently denied being a witch, but Aron could think of no other explanation for Roman’s miraculous healing. He shook his head, pushing it aside, as well as thoughts of the promise she had extracted from him.
Any sacrifice was worth it for this, for his darkling close and whole. And by the gods, Roman loved him. Aron would give his soul to keep him safe, keep him happy. He vowed it. Nothing would hurt him again, not if Aron could help it.
Turning his head and pressing his lips to Roman’s temple, Aron smiled a little at the soft murmur he gave and at how he snuggled closer. “I love you. I’ll always love you, my darkling.”
And somehow, some way, they’d be together when all was said and done.