Bee Among the Clover (268 page)

A
RON scowled and stalked about the yard before finally moving toward the trees because he was tired of the looks he was getting. No one understood. He doubted even Roman understood, and if he did, he didn’t care. It wasn’t just that Roman had taken Wulfgar’s authority over his. Roman was a man, his own man, and Aron didn’t wish to deny him that. What hurt the worst was that Roman could’ve died. Could’ve died, had likely expected to, and he hadn’t once thought about what that would mean to anyone beyond himself.

It made Aron weak and nauseous even to think of his darkling dead, the life sapped from his beautiful dark eyes. It would’ve crippled Aron to lose him, but Roman hadn’t thought of that, hadn’t thought of anything but his own need for revenge.

Aron could understand, the gods knew he could, but his own desire for revenge was tempered by the greater need to protect Roman. Hadn’t he proven that? The many times he’d bitten his tongue with Wulfgar, even with Osric, because had he lashed out like he desired, Roman would’ve been the one to pay the price.

Yet more proof that whatever Roman felt for him—and he didn’t doubt the slave felt something—it was not the same. Not even close.
He dropped down to the ground and leaned back against a tree, eyes closing as he attempted to calm himself. How had any of this happened? How had it come to Aron loving a man so much he would give his life, sacrifice everything for him, and all he got in return was proof time and time again that no matter what he did or how he tried, he wasn’t enough?
And even now, by the gods, even now his besotted heart was trying to convince him all was not lost. It told him if he just held strong for these next two months, loved Roman and cared for him and gave him what Roman wanted, perhaps when the time came for them to leave, Roman would choose him after all.
He’d never felt at such a loss before. He didn’t know what to do or say to make Roman see. He only wanted to love him and keep him safe. He didn’t understand what the thane had done to win such loyalty from his darkling. Roman didn’t love Wulfgar, at least Aron didn’t think so, and for all of the thane’s caring of him, Wulfgar had hurt him, repeatedly. Didn’t Roman see that Aron would never do that to him? He’d never give him to others as a punishment. He’d strike down any man for trying to touch what was his. He’d never maim him out of anger, either.
Aron drew up his knees in an unconscious imitation of Roman and hugged them to his chest. What had he ever done to make Roman believe he was untrustworthy, that he ever had anything but his best interests in mind? He wanted to believe Roman would stay with him always. And he wanted to trust Roman. But the air of reserve Roman had had ever since Aron had gained ownership of him put him off. He was terrified that as soon as he gave Roman his freedom he’d bolt in the opposite direction. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t escape the belief that he was going to lose his darkling, and it just made him cling to Roman harder.
It wasn’t fair. All he wanted was to be with him, to have this thing he’d found with Roman that he’d never had or even known existed with anyone else: love. He didn’t want it to go away or end and leave him the rest of his days remembering what it was like to have it.
Aron exhaled heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face and ignoring the burning in his eyes from tears that wanted out. He could do nothing about the next two months, and when it was over and the time came to leave, he knew full well there was every possibility Roman would stay. And as he’d told his darkling, if when their time was up Roman chose Wulfgar, then the thane was welcome to him. Aron wouldn’t stop him from staying.
Aron could, he knew that. He could collar Roman and make him his slave in every sense of the word. It was tempting. But he knew if he did that, while he might have Roman with him physically, he’d never have his heart, his trust, or his love. And Aron refused to be like the others. He wouldn’t treat the most beautiful, intelligent, pure soul he’d ever met as nothing more than property.
The afternoon was waning, the shadows lengthening on toward evening. He was drained. The anger and fear that had spurred his tirade earlier disappeared under the weight of a bone-deep weariness. He could vaguely hear the sounds of the hall going about its business through the trees, but it seemed as if they belonged to some other world. He could understand why Roman seemed to seek solace here so often.
There was one thing he didn’t have to worry about: the thane wouldn’t seek restitution from Roman for the battle-lord’s death. He wondered who would pay the weregild to the battle-lord’s family, or if Osric even merited such treatment after he’d so blatantly broken the rules of combat. It’d happened so quickly that the other new reality of the day’s events only now struck him.
Osric was gone. Aron wouldn’t have to confine Roman to the room anymore. And Wulfgar wouldn’t have the excuse of protecting him any longer. Would he banish Roman to the slave quarters or would he save face and keep him with them still? He didn’t want not to be able to hold Roman each night. Not when these two months might be the only chance he ever got to again. Slowly Aron rose, his muscles creaking in protest. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting under the tree thinking.
Aron drifted out of the trees, looking down at the peaceful scene before him that belied the turmoil in his heart. Somewhere in the hall, Roman waited for him, and Aron didn’t know what to say or do. Right now, he wanted to gather Roman in his arms and pretend for a little while longer that everything was going to be all right, that the love they had for each other would outweigh their suspicions and the hurt they caused each other. He had to believe it, or he’d find himself with nothing worth waking up for.