Bee Among the Clover (161 page)

A
RON was startled from his thoughts by the sound of the storm outside. He hadn’t noticed it blowing in, but now it was coming down with a vengeance. He rose to his feet to gauge whether he should risk it to head back to the hall.

He wouldn’t mind staying right there in the cave, but he knew if he didn’t return soon and the storm got any worse, Wulfgar would be worried, might send someone to look for him. He had no desire to be dragged back to the hall like an errant child.

Aron leaned against the entrance, breathing in the scent of cold rain. There were still patches of snow here and there, gathered against the trunks of the trees or between the pitted rocks where the shadows were deep. Crocuses had started to grow already, vivid purple and yellow against the stark whiteness of the snow. The rain was timely; unless there was another deep frost, they’d likely thrive. He didn’t know why the sight of the bright colors saddened him even more. Mayhap it was because they were a sign of hope and he had none left in him.

He glanced around the cave, eyes falling on the fire pit, and in his mind’s eye he saw Roman there, naked and beautiful, crying out in pleasure that Aron now knew was feigned, pleading for more when in fact he hadn’t wanted it at all.

Aron’s jaw clenched, and he shoved down the hurt and wrapped his cloak tight around him. He would not make that mistake again. He would not be fooled by Roman’s soft sounds and dark, hazy eyes. Wulfgar could order them to be intimate, but Aron would know it was all an act. One he played now as well.

And for that he was, he thought, most bitter.