Hostage (48 page)

W
HEN
R
OWAN
woke, he felt prickly and restless. The room was hot and muggy, with sunlight streaming in through the window. Throwing off the covers, he sighed, relishing the cool breeze on his skin.
My skin? Yikes, I’m naked.

Sitting up carefully he found that, apart from a pounding headache and sore throat, he didn’t feel too bad at all. Looking around he realized he was in the room he usually occupied when he was at the estate. Good, there would be clothes in the dressers and wardrobe.

Taking his time, he stretched languidly in the sunshine that spilled through the windows despite the red velvet drapes trying to keep it back. For a second he felt relaxed, peaceful, and happy. Then he remembered what had happened and, despite what Agnes had told him, he was washed with a desperate fear that somehow Astrin was gone.

He dressed hurriedly in the first clothes he could grab, which happened to be black cotton slacks and a stiff, white linen shirt. If he had paused to look at his reflection in the mirror, he might have noticed how the white linen showed off the inky blackness of his hair and how the snug slacks hugged his buttocks and thighs. However, he didn’t pause and he didn’t care.

In the corridor he called to a houseman and asked where Astrin was. He was directed to a room only a few doors along the landing. He swayed, clinging to the wall for support. Until that moment he hadn’t truly believed Astrin was safe.

Rowan found he was nervous as he set his hand on the doorknob. He’d almost forgotten in all the excitement that, before he’d been taken, Astrin had run away.

“This is stupid,” he muttered to himself and opened the door.

Astrin was asleep. He was curled on his side with the covers pulled up to his shoulders and his pale hair scattered carelessly all over the pillows. Stray sunlight, escaping from less heavy drapes, puddled around him and seemed to shine a spotlight on him, highlighting his breathtaking beauty.

Rowan was stunned. For a moment he could do nothing but stand and stare, lost in the wonder of his love. It was so much brighter now since he’d thought it had been extinguished forever. Step-by-step he drew closer, suddenly afraid again, although he could not have put his finger on precisely what he was afraid of.

When he reached the side of the bed, he got to his knees and brought his face close to Astrin’s. His hand hovered over the soft hair, then fell back to his side.
What if…? What if Astrin runs away again? What if he tells me he doesn’t me? What if…?

While Rowan was worrying and pondering what-ifs, Astrin’s eyes fluttered and he sighed. The sound was so sweet that it drew Rowan’s hand, with his conscious will, to touch a cheek that had been cold and was now warm. Astrin yawned and opened his eyes.

When he saw Rowan, he stared at him with an expression in his eyes that stopped Rowan’s heart. Then, without warning, he launched himself from the bed, knocking Rowan over to land on top of him. Slightly winded Rowan stared up into the joyful green eyes hovering inches above his own.

“You saved me. You came after me, Rowan, and you saved me. I didn’t deserve that. I was an idiot. I ran away. I went to that bar. I let that man buy me a drink. I
deserved
to be captured. I deserved to….”

“No. No you didn’t deserve any of it. It was my fault. I didn’t know… I didn’t realize….”

Astrin turned his head away, the strength leaking from his arms, and he dropped down by Rowan’s side, his arm around Rowan’s waist. Rowan stroked his shoulder, concerned by the pain he’d seen in his lover’s face before he’d turned away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, to upset you again.”

Astrin glanced up at him with an ironic smile. “
You
didn’t want to upset
me
? After what I did to you? After what you did for me? You saved my life. If they’d handed me over to Strebo….” He shivered. “And then when the hover sank. I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything after the bar but… my father told me… he told me what you did for me and I felt….”

He smiled again, this time with more warmth in it. “You’re making a habit of it, aren’t you? Saving me? I was lost in darkness again. You saved me again.”

“Well, if you will keep getting into these situations… I keep telling you—you’re bloody hard work, Raphael.”

This time Astrin grinned his usual bright, sunny grin and threw his arms around Rowan’s neck, hugging him tightly.

“Astrin…?”

“What?” Astrin pulled back, his eyes wary.

“Why
did
you run away?”

Astrin let out a sigh of relief. “That’s easy: it’s because I’m an idiot. No, seriously… I really am. You know how I feel about you. I don’t doubt it. You don’t doubt it. And it’s not that I don’t want to be with you. I mean, who’s going to save me when I keep getting into trouble if not you?”

“So why did you run?” Rowan persisted.

“I don’t know. I kept asking myself that over and over when I was sitting in the bar. It was… it was just so… I’d pretty much resigned myself to the fact that, one way or another, we were going to have to be apart, at least for some of the time. The thought of it tore me up inside, but I suppose I forced myself to become resigned to it, to accept it.

“Then when they started to talk, it felt as if they were confirming my fears. When they said we could be together if one of us gave up the crown, it didn’t even occur to me not to. I would have given up my life to be with you… er, no… maybe not, as that would have been stupid because we wouldn’t have been together anyway. Maybe my legs or arms or something.”

Rowan shook his head with mock severity. “But I wouldn’t have wanted you then. I want someone with all their bits in the right place.”

“Does that mean you won’t love me if my leg drops off or all my hair falls out?”

Rowan’s face softened as tenderness flooded him. “Look at me like that with those beautiful eyes, and I won’t even see your legs or hair.”

“So what if my eyes fall out?”

“Shut up, Raphael.”

“I love you, Rowan. I have never been surer about anything else as I am about that. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but… marriage. I’m not sure you appreciate what that would mean, especially for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. That’s what made me panic. You’d have promised yourself to me there and then without even thinking about it. But you have to think about it. There are conventions, requirements for the consort of a king… at least in House Raphael. The relationship is not an equal one. I don’t want to be in a position where you always have to defer to me, where you have to follow court rules about walking behind me, and not sitting down before me, and—”

“Do you think any of that matters to me?”

“Maybe not, but it matters to
me
. I want our relationship to be an equal one—in every way.”

“It will be, in every way that matters. So what if I’m required to defer to you… will you ever force me to?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then what does it matter? If I have to walk behind you, I can admire your beautiful arse. If I have to wait for you to sit, I can sit on your lap. As long as we are equal in here”—Rowan touched Astrin’s breast—“and here”—he touched his forehead—“then we’re equal everywhere it matters, and I couldn’t care less what the rules say. As long as we are comfortable with what we are on the inside, what we do on the outside makes no difference at all.”

Astrin gazed at Rowan for a long time. Tears came into his eyes, and he did nothing to wipe them away as they crawled slowly over his cheeks. Rowan stayed still and said nothing, seeing the turmoil behind Astrin’s eyes. After a while he stopped caressing Astrin’s shoulder and began to wipe the tears away.

“Don’t cry because of me.
Never
cry because of me. I’ll do anything, anything in my power, to make sure you never have anything to cry about.”

“I’m not crying.”

Rowan captured a teardrop with his finger. “What’s this, then?”

“Your imagination. I can’t be crying. I’m too happy to cry.”

Rowan took Astrin into his arms again. They clung to each other and, entwining, their spirits soared.

“I thought you were dead,” Rowan said hoarsely. “That man—the one who took you—was choking me. Before I passed out, I felt you slip from my arms into the water, and I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“I don’t remember. I guess I wasn’t really there.” Astrin laughed briefly. “But I didn’t die. For the second time, I didn’t die because of you.”

“I suppose that makes us even.”

“What do you mean?”

“There were two times when I would have died if it weren’t for you.”

Astrin seemed puzzled, and then he shook his head. “I didn’t do anything. I only healed you. I didn’t save you.”

“On those occasions, you healed me, on so many more, you saved me: every time you kissed me, every time you touched me, every time you looked into my eyes. You keep on saving me, Astrin, and I don’t care on what terms. I want you to go on saving me every day for the rest of our lives.”

Astrin stared at him, searching his eyes with his own. Then he smiled a slow smile.

“Ask me again,” he whispered.

“What?”

Ducking his head, Astrin looked up at him coquettishly. “Ask me again.”

Catching on to what he was saying, Rowan got to his feet and lifted Astrin with him. Taking Astrin into his arms, Rowan held him and brushed his lips over Astrin’s once. Then he sank to one knee and took both of Astrin’s hands in his. Looking up into the beautiful face, tilted down toward his own, Rowan licked his lips, suddenly feeling nervous.

Astrin’s hands tightened, as if he sensed it, and the two shared an intensely personal moment.

“Will you marry me?” Rowan whispered, and Astrin nodded.

“Of course I will.”

Rowan grinned. “At last. You’re such hard work, Raphael.”

C
HERYL
H
EADFORD
was born into a poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was sixteen, the toilet was at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was a stone slab in the pantry, and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen. They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.

Cheryl has always been a storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews, and cousin, and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play.

Later in life, Cheryl became the storyteller for a reenactment group who traveled widely, giving a taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around hitting people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all kinds, sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.

It was there she began to appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient times, the wandering bard was the only source of news and the storyteller the heart of the village, keeping the lore and the magic alive. Although much of the magic has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us that wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere.

In present times, Cheryl lives in a terraced house in the Valleys with her son, dog, hamster, and two cats. Her daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close. She’s never been happier since she was made redundant and is able to devote herself entirely to her twin loves of writing and art.

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