Bee Among the Clover (266 page)

A
RON watched Roman as he leaned over Gaeric’s shoulder, explaining something to the young man with a patience Aron would never have been able to maintain. Roman seemed different somehow, but Aron wasn’t
quite sure what the difference was. There was an air of quiet authority to Roman, whereas normally he was content to fade into the background. But then again, it’d been the same way when his darkling was teaching him
about swords. There’d been no hesitation in him when Roman was
knocking him around, nor was there any humbleness when he was discussing strategy or military history.
“Aron, you’re not paying attention,” Roman said with some asperity
in his voice their eyes met.
Aron grinned. “Sorry, I was thinking.”
About you
, he mouthed,
gratified to see the faint blush cross Roman’s cheeks.
Roman shook his head with a look on his face Aron was beginning to recognize. It said his darkling loved him despite the aggravation he
knew he was causing Roman. Aron was himself; he’d always be himself without any apologies to anyone.
“You’re supposed to be concentrating on your letters.” Roman tapped one of the thick sheets of vellum with his finger. Aron knew he
hated to use it for practice, but Gaeric had insisted on using the best, and it
wasn’t as though his darkling could take it with him when they left.
Aron tried to hide the grin, though his blue eyes danced with amusement, looking down at the scribblings. Roman had explained how
each symbol represented a letter and the letters added together made
words, but honestly, it seemed silly. He felt silly, scratching the inked quill tip across the paper in the form Roman had demonstrated.
He’d much rather be doing something more productive, more
entertaining, like hauling Roman to the rushg Roman to the rush-covered floor and making
love to him until his darkling forgot all about his letters. He tried to pay attention because not only had Wulfgar ordered it, but Aron knew that

Roman was right. The written word was the way of the future, he’d said, and Aron didn’t want to appear ignorant to anyone.

Gaeric wasn’t exactly pleasant company. He seemed to resent being taught by a slave and alongside a thrall, but Aron didn’t think he was a horrible young man. Gaeric was no different in his attitude toward the lower class from anyone else of his status. He was a clever young man, though, and caught on quickly. Aron would probably be further along in his own studies if he wasn’t terribly distracted by his tutor every five seconds.

Roman pursed his lips as Aron winked at him before bending back over the parchment. His lover was impossible. One of the mythical wee folk come from the hills with his charming grin and silvered words to steal his heart and his sanity. Roman turned back to his task. Words and numbers had always been able to soothe him. There was an order there that didn’t exist among humankind. He understood what they did, and they didn’t make up their own rules.

The last several weeks had been busy. It was nice to finally have something useful to do again, and this was a task he could take pride in. It was impossible to get fully comfortable, though, because Osric was always in the background, waiting and biding his time. Roman had been awaking earlier than usual, sneaking from the pallet to take up his sword and practice his forms in the pre-dawn while Aron and Wulfgar slept. He suspected the thane knew what he was up to, but Wulfgar kept silent. Aron slept heavily, a fact for which he was grateful. He knew Aron was sensing the restless anticipation in the hall because he held him close every night and whispered assurances to him. Roman wished he could tell him he was going to fight Osric despite his orders, but he didn’t want that argument or tension between them.

It was difficult holding Aron each evening, kissing him, and not being able to do more. Just one more time Roman would like to lie with him, surrender to him completely. Give him everything he had in his heart to give him. He knew Aron would feel betrayed if he were to find out about his morning activities.

Aron examined the words in front of him, his brow furrowing. They looked off somehow. He rose abruptly from his chair, waving his hand at Roman’s startled look, and went to retrieve the letter he’d so carefully hoarded. It was creased from opening it so often, and he caressed the pages before opening it, examining the letters intently. They were different.

Aron frowned down at the scribblings on the sheet in front of him and the ones on the letter Roman had given him for his father, looking up at him. “The symbols aren’t the same.”

Roman gave him a curious look. “Aye, that’s because the letter I gave you is written in Latin. You’re learning the Germanic language.”
Aron frowned deeper, carefully refolding the letter and tucking it inside his tunic. “How many languages are there?”
Roman smiled, shrugging. “Hundreds, Aron. Some are very similar and only have slight variations; some are so different you’d never imagine they would ever make sense.”
Gaeric gave Roman a sharp look. “But the one you teach us, this is the one others of our lands will recognize?” He nodded when Roman confirmed that, going back to scratching out the letters, seemingly unconcerned with any other language so long as he was learning the right one.
Hundreds. The idea boggled Aron’s mind, not to mention the idea of all those people speaking the different languages. He remembered the multitude of strange sounds on people’s tongues in the marketplace in Londinium. Suddenly, his own pocket of the world seemed so much smaller.
“Do you think I could learn Latin too?” He would love to learn the language Roman spoke, though he didn’t know how much he could learn in the time still allotted him. His promise to Cate weighed heavier and heavier on his mind every day.
Roman met Aron’s gaze, his dark eyes serious. “I think you could learn anything you set your mind to.” Then he smiled. “But one thing at a time. Learn to read and write your own language before tackling others.”
Aron nodded and returned to his chair, absently touching the letter again. A new determination filled him. He’d conquer his own language, and then he’d learn Roman’s. He picked up the quill again, carefully dipping it into the ink, conscious of his darkling’s eyes on him as he worked.
Roman hadn’t realized Aron kept the letter or that he’d obviously looked at it so often. It shouldn’t touch him the way it did. Not anymore. He suppressed a sigh, lightly massaging his temple. It’d take someone of greater intelligence than he to work out his conflicted feelings toward his lover.
For now, he would concentrate on something he did understand. He picked up one of his books, his long fingers caressing the binding. Words, numbers, they didn’t betray you; the people behind them did. That thought brought a new aching to his heart, and he pushed it away, concentrating on the self-pleased look on Aron’s face instead.

R
OMAN stared out the window of Wulfgar’s room. It was mid–afternoon, and they’d finished their studies for the day. Aron had been sent off by Gaeric on some errand for Wulfgar that the thane’s son apparently didn’t feel like handling himself, which left Roman to pace the room. He was going to go mad if he didn’t get out of his unlocked prison, if just for a little while.

He knew he shouldn’t. Aron had made it very clear he wasn’t supposed to leave alone, but a quick walk around the mead hall perhaps, for a bit of fresh air and sunshine, and he’d be back before Aron returned or ever knew. There were plenty of people about their tasks this day, and if he didn’t venture out of the gates or to any secluded place, he should be safe. Besides, if worse came to worst and Osric did corner him, Roman was going to kill him. He had Wulfgar’s blessing to fight, and he had no intention of losing.

Roman slipped out of the room and made his way out near the hearths, drawing in a deep breath of the warm, late summer air. It wasn’t as hot as it had been; a storm had recently dropped a goodly amount of rain and cooled things off considerably. Glancing around but seeing no sign of Osric, Roman smiled to himself and began to walk, a slow, easy pace, because Jesu only knew when he’d next get a chance to take a simple walk.

Still, he wasn’t suicidal, nor did he want to be taken unawares in a place where he didn’t have access to a weapon, so he kept to areas on the outside of the hall where there were more people. He knew if he bided his time, Osric would make a move. He knew that clearly and with a sense of calm, like that instant just before a violent summer storm. Roman was as ready as he was ever going to be. He wasn’t as powerless as he had been before, and that thought kept the dark memories at bay. It kept him calm and clear-headed. He’d be ready. He had to be ready, because whether it happened before they left Wulfgar’s hall or afterwards, it was going to happen.