My Man Godric (7 page)

Godric’s eyes blazed at Bertie’s words. His
hands were slower at Bertie’s dress laces now that Bertie had
brought him off, but he pulled the laces free at last and tugged
until all the skirts were gone. Bertie let Godric strip them from
him and then stretched his naked body for Godric’s eyes. If Bertie
was bony, Godric did not seem to mind. He did not seem to mind at
all, until Bertie, who was not used to blushing, felt his face grow
hot and had to momentarily glance away from Godric’s fierce stare.
When he looked back, Godric’s gaze enveloped him from crown to
cock.

To spare himself more foolish blushes,
Bertie leaned in to run his tongue along the seam of Godric’s lips
and to share a breath when Godric’s lips parted for him. Godric’s
fingers were at his back, then at his ass, before withdrawing.
Godric was wise and knew better than Bertie what should not be
attempted in a feverish rush on a cold floor with nothing to aid
them. But the idea of it was enough to make Bertie writhe and beg
against Godric’s mouth, to extract a promise from him that they
might someday be this close again. In the meantime, Godric was his
to touch and touch he did. Godric gave a tired groan when Bertie
ran one hand over his chest, over that rose red dragon, but held
tight to Bertie’s hips when Bertie used his other hand to give
himself release, sliding his cock between his fingers and against
Godric’s skin, with their mouths open and dragging together. It did
not take him long, not after waiting for so long, or with Godric’s
fingers pressing into him with such promise.

He spilled onto himself with a cry and left
a smaller mess across the red dragon but he fell back against
Godric’s chest without much thought to cleaning either of them up.
Godric’s heartbeat roared under his ear before Bertie stretched
out, easing part of his body to the side and leaving his mouth open
beneath Godric’s ear. Throughout it all, Godric’s hand stayed a
steady weight on his hip. Their feet touched, mingled hot skin with
traces of the outside cold in Godric’s toes. Bertie could not hide
his smile.

“We must do that again,” he remarked quietly
when he could speak again, pleasing Godric so much that Godric gave
another short laugh that
was
joy, hot and pure, before he
answered.

“Yes, my lord.” The man did not need an
epic’s worth of words to make Bertie happy, though Bertie knew
Godric did not see this as he did and that Godric was not dreaming
of finding him at court and dragging him to his rooms to possess
him, or of the looks of promise they would exchange at feasts, or
of what Bertie would do to him with enough time in a proper bed.
Godric was already thinking of the morning and a future where none
of that would happen.

When their breathing evened and then
Godric’s slowed with the need for sleep, Bertie thought of moving,
or speaking. Surely there had to be at least one story that would
convince Godric of what they could be, if there was no war, if they
were back at Camlann. But then he thought of the few hours left to
them and of what burdens were now on Godric’s shoulders and bit his
lip to stay quiet and remain where he was.

~~~

Bertie’s memories of the rest of the night and the early hours of
morning were a blur of movement and a whisper of breath at his ear
until the moment full awareness hit him and he sat up and scrambled
to his feet amid the pile of furs that had been laid on top of
him.

Godric must have gotten dressed elsewhere,
for both he and his noisy armor were gone from the tent. He had
left behind a large basin of clean, if painfully cold, water, which
was useful for the unpleasant task of cleaning up the dried
remnants of the night before.

Bertie had no new clothing to change into,
but he pulled on the finer pair of his brother’s breeches under the
Count’s heavy skirts to better stay warm. He shaved as well,
shivering as he used the equally cold glass of water that had been
left with his breakfast offering. The food itself he snatched up
and devoured, cold, tough venison tasting as rich as pheasant with
roasted apples.

He had no possessions of his own here, save
the cat, so he scooped little Godric up and held him close after
the cat immediately climbed into his bodice of its own accord. It
also sought out a warm embrace and a steadily beating heart, poor
thing.

There was still no Godric, but the sun was
rising outside, turning dark gray to purple and silver, so Bertie
swallowed and left the tent.

It was no good wishing for more, for even a
short farewell, but of course he
did
wish it. Godric could
already be on his way somewhere, letting his tent and things follow
after him as he helped save a nation, and Bertie might never see
him again and it was so easy, too easy, to imagine the kind of
goodbyes he should have made.

It probably hadn’t even occurred to Godric
that Bertie was scared for him, that while falling asleep in each
other’s arms had been wonderful, Bertie might still wish to say
something to Godric before he left.

Perhaps he had been afraid Bertie would
further embarrass him, which was admittedly a possibility, or cry,
or wail for Godric to never leave him. Tears could break free
easily enough, Bertie knew, but if Bertie had managed not to give
into the need at their last parting he could do so again, even if
it killed him.

At the very least Godric could have appeared
to chastise Bertie once more for taking risks and then patiently
endure Bertie’s worry and love for him in return. It would have
only been fair.

It seemed winter already at that moment with
Bertie alone and the sun only a hint between the trees. He
tightened the sash at his waist to better support the cat and then
wrapped his arms about himself as he began to walk. Most of the
encampment had already left, ridden out under cover of night. It
was alarming that he had not heard a sound, but then, he had been
wrapped up with his treasure.

Tents stood out amid so much flattened
earth, as did the movements of packing soldiers and the two wagons
near the center of the camp. Some of Bertie’s people were climbing
into them to assist the soldiers carefully pulling up the wounded
and infirm.

There were a few cavalrymen about too, men
from the king’s guard and Godric’s tutelage, waiting patiently
astride their horses, and though it had not occurred to Bertie, it
seemed obvious now that Godric would send along a contingent of men
he could not afford to spare.

Bertie was on a perilous fool’s journey;
there was no need to add to Godric’s worries by taking away more of
his soldiers.

“How many is he sending?” he demanded as he
hurried over to them, stopping when one soldier lifted his head and
he saw it was the sour-faced Captain who did not seem so sour-faced
this morning. He wasn’t frowning until he saw Bertie, and then it
was merely a brief frown before he returned to the task at
hand.

“Only three, Lord Aethelbert,” Torr answered
calmly, as though that number were not both too high and too low.
Three for over twenty five was not enough to truly guard but it was
also too many to take from Godric’s side. Yet three was the same
number that had found them hiding around the Keep and brought them
here.

Bertie stopped, and blinked. It was the same
three, in fact. The same three men.

“Sir Godric did not order us,” the captain
added, straightening for a salute that would have made Bertie gape
if he had not grown up around the court. “We volunteered now as we
did then.”

Bertie felt his mouth go slack despite his
previous thought “This talk of duty,” he got out after too long a
pause. “Is there no one it does not affect?” He pouted to the gods
in general and to the Trickster specifically, and was even more
startled when the captain saluted him.
Again
.

Aethelbert of Clas Draigoch was obeyed, if
reluctantly, but never honored. Bertie wet his lips though they
would chap in the wind, and waited.

“It is a noble task,” Torr offered, then
looked squarely at Bertie with that blank, measured look that
Bertie had first seen in his brother and then in Godric years and
years ago, that look that said potential costs had been considered
as well as the possible benefits and one had decidedly outweighed
the other. Bertie distantly wished he knew how to do it, then
realized to his dismay that he already did and that was why his
brother and Godric had put such trust in him.

He became aware that he was staring and made
himself blink again. The captain’s mouth curved up in what could
have been a smile before he went back to work. He shrugged as well
but the gesture was too pointed to be innocent. Bertie found
himself glancing around until he found Torr’s horse and he could
see the dried posy still hanging from his saddle. It was one more
reason the man spoke madness; Torr had an invasion to help fight so
he could return to his beloved, he shouldn’t be devoting himself to
looking out for Bertie. But when Torr spoke again, he seemed to
disagree. “And someone must see that you are safe, for his
sake.”

The hand that smoothed Bertie’s skirt over
his hip and nervously patted his combed hair was to buy him a
moment as he struggled to control himself. There were so very many
thoughts swirling in his mind, like the excited and anxious knots
suddenly in his stomach.

A statement like that would imply that the
outcome of everything depended on more than just Godric, that there
were others who dreamed and made their decisions based on what was
best for others, and Bertie thought, distantly but fiercely, that
with so such people on their side, there was no way they could
fail.

“Godric worries about everything, for
everyone,” Bertie murmured, because it was true, but also because
only the Trickster himself would give Bertie this information at
the moment he had to leave.

“But for none so much as you, my lord.”
Godric’s warm hearthstone voice carried even when he did not raise
it. Bertie spun around to watch him approach. Godric continued to
speak. “I had thought this clear.”

Godric was in armor again, his sword at his
side, again. Bertie’s chest tightened with pleasure and fear and
the nearly overwhelming desire to hold Godric down and prevent him
from leaving. It was unfair that everything else in the world
outweighed the wants of Bertie’s heart. The gods were both kind and
cruel.

“Perhaps to prudish Southerners,” Bertie
remarked finally, faintly and not at all evenly, but he managed sad
disapproval, even a cluck of his tongue a second later. “Your jaw
is already rough.”

“Beards are good for the winter months,”
Godric commented back, still calm even if his eyes travelled again
and again over Bertie’s face. He came to a stop a short distance
from Bertie and scratched his chin. There were a few blossoms in
his hand, a scant collection of asters this time.

Bertie frowned at them, at Godric really, a
true frown. Hopefully even a scary one. But Godric stood before him
and those cursed wagons were behind him, so if this was Bertie’s
chance at a farewell then he ought to take it.

“As long as you shave it when I see you
again,” he allowed, and froze when this made Godric stop. That
thoughtful expression crossed Godric’s face again and Bertie
wondered what Godric was dreaming of that made him smile as he did,
wide and accepting as if a deal had been struck.

“When I see you again,” Godric agreed with
such lights in his eyes that Bertie took a step forward. He halted
himself, just barely, only to have a moment of confusion when
Godric’s hand took hold of his arm, when Godric came to him and was
so near.

Godric’s brow was lined like the corners of
his eyes and he moved with a flash of color that held Bertie
still.

Bertie breathed out hard, shuddering with
awed, delighted confusion as Godric tucked the handful of flowers
into his hair. Godric pushed the stems into the dark strands to
ensure that not one would fall but Bertie did not protest the
tangles. There were flowers in his hair that Godric had put there.
He wondered if Godric had had the same vision of all ending well,
if Godric also thought that it had to be so, so that Bertie could
pull him close on the palace steps as garlands of victory fluttered
down around them.

When Godric was finished and had lowered his
hand once more, Bertie slowly reached up to feel what had been
done, only to hesitate without daring to touch a single petal.
Around them, others were watching, amused or shocked or disgusted,
he could not tell. He did not much care to take his eyes from
Godric to look.

But Godric was wrong. “These are for
soldiers,” Bertie said at last, and was answered with a single,
perplexing nod. Bertie glanced around quickly, once, at knights and
horsemen and peasants alike, and then lifted his chin. “I had not
thought Southern men so bold,” he declared over the blood rushing
in his ears, using his last bit of control. There was only one
meaning for this.

“You’d be surprised, my lord.” Godric gave
away nothing and yet everything, and Bertie could not help himself
any longer. He fell forward into the man’s arms. His Godric, who
caught him and held him there, letting Bertie absorb the sound of
his heartbeat.

He had to come back.

With that thought, Bertie reached up to yank
one twining stem from his hair, uncaring of how messy his hair must
look. There was no finer decoration.

He held up the single bloom of fired gold
and could have fainted at how Godric bent his head without
comment.

It was a momentous occasion, a scene from an
epic song, a crucial part of history, the last moments he might
ever have with Godric.

Thus, he knew that when he opened his mouth,
something stupid and a little mad would undoubtedly fall out.