Bee Among the Clover (252 page)

“We’ll figure something out, Marcus, together. Mayhap you just need some time. You didn’t become Roman overnight. You cannot expect to lose him that quickly either.” Aron had no idea how he could help him, but he remembered how frightened he’d become when he’d realized he might be willing to accept perpetual slavery in order to stay with Roman. Maybe that had been the start of what Roman was talking about. Somehow, they’d find a balance.
“I’m sorry, Aron. I’m always laying my worries and dark moods on your shoulders.”
“No, I like knowing your mind, darkling,” Aron replied, brushing his fingertips over Roman’s soft lips. “We had too many misunderstandings between us because we didn’t talk, and because of that, we hurt each other. No more.”

G
LANCING up at the sky, Aron sighed and looked back down at Roman. “We should return to the hall, darkling.” The expression on his face said he wished they could stay in their glade forever, but Wulfgar had been good to give them this time alone, and Roman thought if they didn’t take advantage of it and returned when told to, he’d give them time together again soon.

Roman nodded, taking Aron’s offered hand and rising to his feet with him, smiling at the comforting, familiar feel of Aron’s hand laced with his own. He had hope; with Aron he always did, even if sometimes the hope hurt. They’d find a way to make a life together, he was sure of it.

Aron paused at the tree line and turned to Roman. “Darkling, I know you like it not, but I want you to stay in Wulfgar’s room as much as possible. If Osric is following you, then I won’t risk him hurting you or catching you alone, do you understand?”

Roman drew his upper lip into his mouth, putting a hand on Aron’s arm. “Aron, there’s something I have to tell you.” He didn’t want to, Aron was going to be furious, but he had to know. “This morn, when Osric cornered me, he… he had my journal. He’d destroyed it.”

Roman cringed at the flare of anger in Aron’s eyes and shook his head. “You cannot. I know what you’re thinking, and you cannot, Aron. It’s what he wants, to force an attack on him and justify his retaliation. Leave it be.” Roman wished for the hundredth time that it had been Osric he had killed three years ago, instead of the others. “He might have had the nerve to invade Wulfgar’s chamber to get the journal, but it is still the safest place.”

Aron’s expression was fierce, but he nodded. “By the gods, though, Marcus, if he sets foot in that room, do not be foolish enough to try and fight back, just scream. Someone is always in the hall, they will hear you.”

Roman lowered his eyes. “I promise, Aron.” He wondered if Aron realized how naturally he took command. It was born in him, just as it seemed he himself was born to follow. It actually almost made it easier to accept his confinement now that Aron had ordered it.

They broke through the trees and saw the gate to the hall not too far in the distance. As they entered, Aron looked around warily for Osric, but he didn’t see him. The warriors weren’t sparring in the yard as normal, and that worried him. The battle-lord could be anywhere. Frustration gnawed at him. He didn’t like not being able to protect Roman, and he didn’t like having to confine him for his protection. That wasn’t fair.

Aron skirted around the side of the hall, intent on ducking through the door near the hearth fires. If Osric was in the main hall, they could get to Wulfgar’s room with a good chance of not being noticed.

The folly of that idea was driven home when they rounded the corner. Aron found himself snatched by the collar of his tunic and tossed aside like a sack of potatoes, while Roman was seized by the arm and hauled up against Osric. The battle-lord’s cold eyes were narrowed on his darkling.

Aron snarled and leapt to his feet. He darted for them only to be met with a casual blow to the chest that sent him back to the ground.
Osric’s words were directed at Aron, though his eyes remained on Roman’s pale, frightened face. “Your whore injured a rather important part of me this morn. I’m sure you’ll understand when I insist he make it up to me.”
Aron glared darkly, shaking he was so angry, frustration rising because he knew if he charged again he would only be knocked down just as easily without helping Roman in the least. “Let him go, Osric! He’s mine!”
Osric simply laughed, looking at Aron with an incredulous smirk. “You’re serious?”
The battle-lord turned Roman and hauled him against his barrel-like chest, the slave’s struggles and frightened sounds cutting Aron like hot blades. “You’re a thrall, and since thralls can’t have possessions, that makes the little whore here open to the public, doesn’t it?”
Aron’s chest heaved as his breath came in harsh pants, eyes locked on the two, ready to strike if he had to. “Let him go.”
Osric ignored his demand. “I’ve waited long enough to make you pay, Roman. Wulfgar won’t give you the punishment you deserve, so I will.”
Aron growled, hand closing on the hilt of the knife at his waist and preparing to strike, when Roman cried out, meeting Aron’s eyes. “No! Don’t, Aron. That’s what he wants.”
Aron’s hand clenched harder around the blade, but he forced himself to let go, knowing what Roman said was true. The madness on Osric’s face frightened him. The similarities between what was happening now and what had happened at the king’s hall struck him, and he realized the agonizing decision that Roman had made. If he left him to get help, Osric could do anything in that time. He might even try to kill Roman. And he knew not where Wulfgar was.
Then Aron heard the thane’s voice, faint and far away. He must be somewhere around the corner and across the yard, but he was close. For a second he wondered if it was a futile effort to run for Wulfgar. Roman was no longer the thane’s. Would he even care? But he had to try. If Wulfgar wouldn’t help, then Aron would kill the battle-lord himself and take the consequences.
He forced himself to bolt. Leaving Roman there in Osric’s hands was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, harder even than when he’d left him behind and run away. At least then he had left knowing Roman had been safe.
Aron’s jaw set as he darted toward Wulfgar, skidding to a halt in front of him. “My lord, please come! It’s Osric….”
That was all he had to say, though he didn’t miss the look that flashed across Wulfgar’s face, telling Aron that for a split second the thane had considered not getting involved. Aron’s pride stung; damn it, he couldn’t even protect Roman properly, it was again left to Wulfgar to do that, and Aron hated it. But he pushed it down and hurried ahead of the larger man. Roman was what mattered.
A
S SOON as Aron bolted, Roman began fighting back in earnest. Aron was safe. Osric couldn’t use him as leverage to make Roman obey. It was as if something broke inside him, letting loose all of hatred and anger. He kicked and twisted, clawing at the battle-lord’s face.
“I’m going to enjoy hearing you scream for me again, whore, and this time I won’t have mercy. You’re going to die, Roman.” There was sick pleasure in Osric’s voice.
Osric’s big hand closed around his throat, cutting off his air. Roman tried desperately to pry the iron grip away. Vaguely in the midst of his struggles, he realized he was being dragged, and he fought even harder. If Osric managed to get him off somewhere before Aron returned with help, then they’d never find him.
Aron cried out in fury as they rounded the corner, and he saw Osric throttling Roman and hauling him toward the gate. Wulfgar grabbed his arm before he could rush forward and attack the battle-lord.
“Osric, release him now. Roman and Aron have other duties they must see to this afternoon.” The thane’s voice was testy and impatient, that of a man pulled away from something he’d rather see to than deal with this nonsense. Aron stared at him incredulously before his eyes darted back to Roman and the battle-lord. The look in Osric’s eyes turned his blood to ice.
His insides tore at the terror and fury on Roman’s beautiful face. Osric hesitated, which alone bespoke of his state of mind, before unceremoniously dropping Roman to the ground.
Aron broke free from the thane’s grip and slid to a halt beside Roman, pulling him back away from where Osric stood. Wulfgar scowled and gestured to them. “Aron, take him inside. I don’t have time for your hysterics.”
He bit back a hard reply, fury rising in him that Wulfgar could be so callous, but he wasn’t going to linger and lose the opportunity to get his darkling to safety. He pulled Roman to his feet and hurried him inside, straight for Wulfgar’s room.
Aron ignored the stares and whispers in the hall, murmuring to Roman as they walked quickly back to Wulfgar’s room. He eased Roman down onto the bed, worry gnawing at him as his darkling drew up his knees and dropped his head down, his long hair obscuring his face. Frantically, Aron looked him over, but it seemed that he wasn’t seriously injured anywhere else, at least visibly.
Aron wrapped an arm around his slender shoulders, uncertain what he could do to help. The frustration and helplessness were overwhelming. He resented needing Wulfgar’s help in protecting what was his, and he resented the thane’s careless disregard of them, but overpowering all of that was his hatred of Osric.
Finally, Roman’s continued silence and refusal to move started to scare him, and Aron grasped his darkling by the shoulders. “Marcus, look at me, talk to me,” Aron pleaded.
“It’s not going to stop.” Roman lifted his head, and Aron almost recoiled from the raw tumult of emotions in his dark eyes. Fury, terror, shame, helplessness… it seared him. Roman’s voice was a dark rasp. “It doesn’t matter what we do. He’s not going to stop.”