Private Dicks (31 page)

When he had been arrested, he had learned that Pearson was no more a shop clerk than Teigh was a merchant, though Pearson had only been an ordinary inquisitor at the time. Esmour looked up at the handsome, cold man before him, anger giving him a chilling calm. "Deputy Chief Inquisitor," he said. "Why would you betray us like this?"

"Does it truly matter?" Pearson asked, looking amused. "All that need concern you is that you have ceased to be a useful target to me. I suppose it was foolish to think that if it worked once, it would work twice."

Esmour frowned at him, completely at a loss. He discarded the matter as irrelevant for the moment. "Where is Prince Teigh?"

"Well on his way to people who paid handsome—"

Pearson's words stopped when Esmour broke his nose with a well-aimed fist. Before he could recover, Esmour stole the dagger on his belt and plunged it into Pearson's throat. By the time the other three knights in the clearing realized something was horribly awry, it was too late. Esmour killed two of them with Pearson's sword and snatched up a fallen crossbow to take out the last one while he tried to flee to his horse.

The man at the cart tried to run as well, but Esmour grabbed him, threw him to the ground. "Where is Prince Teigh?" he demanded, and when the man babbled at him in a rough and garbled language, he repeated the words in Resmoran.
"Where is Prince Teigh? Tell me and I might just spare your life."

"East,"
the man said.
"They are taking him to Castle Marlowe, where the Grand Duke awaits him."

"How far? Which way should I go if I want to cut them off?"

He listened to every word the man spoke, memorizing all of it, peppering him with questions, then making him repeat it all. When he was at last satisfied with the veracity of the man's words, Esmour knocked him out with a blow to the head and left him lying beside the cart.

Returning to Pearson's body, he relieved it of sword belt, dagger, armor, and proper clothes, since he had been stripped down to only his underclothes before being shoved in the barrel. Dressed and armed, he examined the other bodies, relieving one of a longbow and arrows and still another of a pouch of medicinal herbs and foodstuffs.

Prepared, he took Pearson's horse and rode east. When he came to the first fork in the road, he saw the place where several horses had already passed along the left-most fork. Listening to what the cart-puller had told him, Esmour went right and rode until he spilled abruptly out of the forest.

Another fork and he went left, forcing the horse to a faster pace on the clear road, sharp moonlight providing guidance. The sky was just beginning to turn a hazy gray at the horizon when he came to the last fork and took the right-most path. As promised, it took him to the river and he rode along it until the sky began to take on a warm gold cast along the edges.

The bridge he sought appeared only a few moments later, and he saw the forest he had left behind, where the men who had Teigh would shortly be appearing. Esmour led his horse down the river bank and hid it under the bridge. Stringing the long bow, he climbed back up the bank and crossed the bridge to the far side.

Morning light was hazy at best, but in his current position it was to his favor, shadowing him and blinding the men who would be coming toward him.

He did not have to wait long. They burst from the tree line at a fearsome pace, driving their horses hard. The lead rider had a bound figure thrown over his saddle, and the glint of coppery curls in the light of the rising sun was all the confirmation Esmour needed before he let his arrows fly.

Two fell dead before the others had time to react, and in their disarray he shot the remaining two. One rode off, but Esmour little cared if he lived or died. His only attention at that point was for the copper-haired figure who had fallen on the bridge alongside his felled captors.

Esmour discarded his bow and drew his sword. He raced across the bridge to the fallen men lying across it and made certain they were dead.

Satisfied they were relatively safe for the moment, he sheathed his sword and went to Teigh's side, removing the cloth knotted crudely around his eyes and cutting the ropes binding his wrists behind his back. Teigh did not stir, and Esmour was not surprised, given the bloody wound on his left temple.

He looked Teigh over carefully, but he seemed to bear no other injuries. Despite the amount of blood, the head wound looked relatively minor. Esmour left him to fetch his horse and tend to the bodies.

Getting Teigh on the horse proved to be a nearly impossible task, and by the time he finally managed it, Esmour wanted nothing so badly as to crawl into a soft bed and sleep. When Teigh was secured, if thrown over his saddle like a sack of grain, Esmour swung up behind him and kicked the horse into motion, riding hard for the border.

Daylight was well upon them when he finally stopped, and he was grateful that it was not as cold as it could have been. He stopped by a brook and led the horse to drink. Pulling Teigh down, nearly sending them both tumbling the ground in the process, Esmour laid him out on the grass and finally tended to the wound at his temple.

Esmour sighed as the knot in his chest finally began to ease. Unbuckling his sword belt, he drew the sword and set it near to hand, then sat down with his back to a tree and spread his legs. He tugged Teigh up to lie between them with his head on Esmour's thigh, as they had lain in bed so many times. His chest ached all over again with the memories of all the nights they had spent in such lazy fashion, the amorous way they had ended.

Teigh groaned softy in his sleep, shifted restlessly. Esmour combed a hand through his hair and Teigh immediately calmed. "You bloody knave," Esmour whispered.

How long they lay there, he did not know—only that he must have dozed off, because he jerked awake at the sound of someone saying his name. He opened his eyes and flushed when he saw Teigh staring at him, realized he had been caught with Teigh in his lap.

He stared into Teigh's green eyes, struggling to remember why he was supposed to be angry, but really only remembering the pain. "Hi—" he coughed, cleared his throat. "Highness, how are you feeling?"

Teigh did not reply, just cupped Esmour's face, drew him close, and kissed him hard. Esmour froze, eyes popping open wide. He reached up to cover Teigh's hands with his own and pull them away. But Teigh drew back just enough to whisper, "Poet," and Esmour crumpled, tears stinging his eyes to hear that endearment after three long, miserable years.

He was a fool, and it seemed he would never cease to be, and he just could not bring himself to care in that moment. He let his hands fall away, instead wrapping his arms around Teigh's waist as they shifted to their knees. Teigh's heavy arms looped around his shoulders, swallowing Esmour in his embrace as he took a hungry, burning kiss that banished the world around them.

Teigh's mouth slid from his a moment later to press small, sharp, sucking kisses along his jaw, the line of his cheek, to nip at his ear in that way that never failed to make Esmour shiver. His arms slid away, but only so he could push Esmour down into the grass and climb atop him. He leaned down and resumed the ravenous kisses, taking Esmour's mouth like he had every right to claim it.

Esmour sank his fingers into Teigh's curls and fisted them tightly, shuddering when clever fingers slipped beneath his clothes to tease his skin. "Ama—" he broke off, horrified, but too late as Teigh froze above him and reality struck them like a brisk winter wind.

Sitting up, Teigh stared at him, mouth twisting in a sad, bitter smile. "Do you know how much I hate Amabel the spice monger? I loathe him, most of all in those moments when you screamed
his
name as you came in my arms. I would give away every last scrap of this kingdom to hear
my
name on your lips in passion. Alas, for my foolish choices, I think I never will."

Esmour's heart seemed to stop when Teigh picked up his tattooed wrist and pressed a kiss to the mark, eyes dark with pain that hurt to look upon. "You hate me," Esmour blurted. "I saw your face when I was arrested, when they put the penance bracelets on me. Whenever you speak to me—"

"I thought you had betrayed me," Teigh said, dropping his wrist, raking both hands through his hair and sending the already-tangled curls into wild disarray. "You snuck off that morning … then the tax coach was robbed, every knight and clerk with it needlessly slaughtered. Pearson said you were part of it, and he gave me every reason to believe him. I was already coming into question for growing too close to my assignment—for falling in love with you. Pearson convinced me that I had been played for a fool …"

He sighed, stroked a hand along Esmour's torso, and Esmour remembered just how much Amabel had liked simply to touch him, looking for comfort as much as passion. "Still, I could not stop loving you, Esmour, my poet. I insisted you be given the bracelets, a second chance. I still had hope that someday something might change, though I knew there was little chance, if any, that you would forgive my deception."

"So why did you not trust me this time?" Esmour asked.

"I did trust you," Teigh said, eyes flaring. "Pearson came to me about a traitor in the ranks, and said it was likely one of two men. You were one of those two. I refused to believe it, and told him I would investigate you personally. I sent him off to set a trap for the other suspect. When I saw your bond mark, I knew something was wrong. When you told me the truth about that morning … that was when a number of things came together in my head and I realized it had been Pearson the entire time."

Esmour sat up slightly, bracing himself on his elbows. The position was awkward, but he could not bear to make Teigh move. He wanted them as close as possible for as long as possible, because he really was that pathetic and desperate. Even when he wanted to kill the bastard, he did not want them to be parted. "So why did you vanish?"

"Time. I realized Pearson needed to be found and arrested with all due haste. I did not have time to explain to you all that I had done wrong. I should have realized that Pearson was already on his way to Castle Ashby. I am sorry I did not explain everything sooner."

"I should have listened to you, not punched you and stormed off, Highness," Esmour said quietly.

Teigh bent over again and held Esmour close, nuzzling his temple, voice ragged as he said, "I thought you were dead when they came for me. I could not imagine why they would let you live. It was all I could think about, after they captured me, though I should have been worried about a great deal more. I cannot express how happy I am that you remain amongst the living, sweet poet."

Esmour trembled at the words, buried his face in hollow of Teigh's throat. "I feared I would be too late to save you."

Drawing back again, Teigh brushed his knuckles along Esmour's cheek in a gesture of fondness that made Esmour ache with memory and longing. "I am not certain I deserved to be saved, but I am grateful you did so anyway."

Esmour opened his mouth to say of course he deserved it, or something about duty perhaps, and felt a perfect fool when instead all he said was, "Your eyes are still like emeralds."

The naked pain and longing on Teigh's face stopped his breath again. "Still a poet," Teigh teased softly, and bent down over him, hands braced on either side of Esmour's head. "I am not worthy of it, and can only promise to beg forgiveness and make amends every day for the rest of my life, but say that you will try to love me again anyway, Esmour. My life has been unbearable without you."

"But—I cannot," Esmour said, even if all he wanted to do was admit he had never stopped loving Teigh. "You are a prince, and even if I were not a criminal, I am a commoner."

Teigh gave him hard, biting kiss. "If I were Amabel? If none of those impediments were between us? Pretend that we are only this, right here; would you take me back into your affections then?"

Esmour laughed. "Yes, damn you. You never left them. Three years apart and twice betrayed, and I cannot leave you behind."

"Then you are mine, commoner though you may be," Teigh said and kissed him again, claiming his mouth like a war prize. Esmour moaned, clung to him while Teigh's hands once more conquered his clothes and found skin.

When the belt holding up his hose fell loose and Teigh's still-familiar hand fisted his cock, Esmour almost spilled right then. He tore away from Teigh's mouth, bucking into his touch, groaning. "Too long—"

Teigh dragged his tongue across Esmour's lips, sucked on his lower lip. "Since you have been touched properly? No one knows you as well as I."

"Since I have been touched at all," Esmour admitted, face growing hot.

Above him, Teigh went still, and stared at him with sadness and guilt. "Truly, I am not worthy of you, poet."

"Not for you to decide, my prince," Esmour whispered. "Finish me."

Teigh obeyed, devouring his mouth while stroking his cock. Pulling back slightly, he said, "Say my name, Esmour. Fall apart in my arms and say
my
name."

The plea was all Esmour needed to tumble over the edge and do exactly as bid, crying Teigh's name as he spilled in Teigh's hand. Teigh kissed him softly, then drew back and cleaned them up with a kerchief pulled from his sleeve.

Esmour reached for him, frowning when Teigh grabbed his wrist and stopped him. "But—"

"Later," Teigh said. "We are long overdue to return, and if my father has already received word of this debacle then he will be in a fine snit. Never fear though, my love. Now that you are returned to me, I have every intention of ending this day with you in my bed doing many a wicked thing. For now, we must be off."

Reluctantly obeying, Esmour righted his clothes and stood up, strapping his sword back into place. Teigh fetched the horse and mounted, then reached down an arm to help Esmour swing up behind him. "Hold fast," he ordered, and spurred the horse to motion, riding off back to Castle Ashby.

*~*~*

It took nearly a month to sort everything out, and it would take much longer still to find just how far and deep Pearson's treachery had spread. In all that time, no one seemed to take it amiss that Esmour shared Teigh's bed. Nor had anyone restored the penance bracelets to Esmour's wrists, and he was not in a hurry to remind anyone to do so.