Nor Iron Bars A Cage (19 page)

I cursed him out halfheartedly for still looking strong. He laughed and leaned close to murmur, “Since I’m going to fetch your food and make your bed, you should be glad of it.

I saw the shock in his eyes as I brushed the smallest of kisses on his cheek, and said, “Oh, I am.”

When he’d laid out the bedding, and led the horses away to the picket line, I sat down, and tried not to look around and see who might be staring at me.
I kissed Tobin, just like that.
I gave up the struggle, and let myself glance around. He’d found a sheltered place for us again, but there were a few men nearby. However if any had seen that kiss, or cared, their attention was already on other things.

That night, bundled together, I kissed him much more thoroughly. And when he’d have rolled over to give me his back, I pressed my face to his throat and murmured, “No. Stay.” He froze and then very slowly put his arm around my shoulders. I felt its weight and didn’t run away. I fell asleep to the slow ruffle of his breath against my hair.

****

The next day was easier still. It was as if this forced immersion in a crowd of men was doing what fifteen years of solitude had not, to make me human again. Or perhaps the solitude had been necessary to get me to the point of being able to ride out in this company. As I grew familiar with all of it, with the sound of hooves, the creak of leather, the rise and fall of men’s voices, and the dust and the smell, it became a backdrop for Tobin.

This was where he’d been, all those years I’d spent away from him, at first sleeping days and working for Meldov at night, and later ensconced in my stone walls in my own personal darkness. Tobin had been riding out in the light.

It astounded me that he had any interest in my life, where the most exciting moments had been no more than ferreting out secrets carried by the dead. But he listened with attention that didn’t seem feigned to my story of the Lady Anella and the missing body of the heir to Caraclo. As I told him how we’d tracked the right ghost to get an answer in the end, his laugh was of triumph and pleasure, not mockery. And although he’d seen and done so much more, he would time and again stop his own tales to coax me into one of my own.

We were so different. We always had been. As teens, we’d both loved to climb to the rooftops and wander through the town, but for him it had been for the adventure. For me it had been the secret glimpses of other lives. I’d wanted him then, at thirteen and fourteen, and spent many a night in my cot thinking about his laugh, or the way his hand felt rough and strong, held out to help me over a steep pitch. I’d never imagined he might be interested too, and never dared reach out or say one single word that might change the way we were, as friends.

Now he was the one reaching out. I was determined to stop holding back, if I could only convince the cowering fool I’d become to take the chance.

I slept each night in his arms now. Clothed of course, but warm and safe in a way I’d never known. I still woke often though, my breath tight in my chest. Old dreams and new ones merged. It was Tobin now, who was manacled to the wall while the wraith used my body against him, and I was trapped, silent and screaming in my own head. Or the mansion was burning, and there in the ashes the throat-cut body was not Meldov but Tobin. At least the dreams were dispelled fast. No better cure than waking to find him alive and solid, still asleep or perhaps whispering comfort against my cheek. And now that I could tolerate his hold, his arms tight around me seemed to keep some of the darkness at bay.

On the fourth night we drew rein earlier than usual. At the top of one of the rising hills was a strong manor. It looked huge and old, its weathered greystone walls rising against the sunset-hued sky. Tobin said, “Deepwell Keep.” I stared at him and then took another look. This place was a legend, the one keep that had held out against the army of Prince Kal, over a century ago. Besieged for almost a year, they were saved by their water that never ran dry, and the foresight of their lord. With food stores exhausted, they’d still managed a mounted sortie against the flank of the Prince’s army, when he thought they were fully subdued, and killed his best commander. That action was the start of Kal’s downfall.

I’d read of it in history books, and even once spoken to a ghost from that era who’d sworn to tell the truth in the name of the Lord of Deepwell, as if he were a saint. And now here the famous keep was.

“No comment?” Tobin teased me. “I’d have expected you to be thrilled. It’s kind of a storybook place.”

“I’m speechless,” I admitted. “Deepwell. Do you think we’ll get a chance to see the famous well, or the cellars where they hid those last remaining horses for the sortie, so they wouldn’t be eaten. Or…”

He laughed. “Maybe. There won’t be a lot of time for tours, but I can ask.”

I shrugged, trying to be casual. “Odds are we won’t even see the inside, right?”

“Now there you’re wrong. The regular soldiers will camp in the field, right enough, but the king and all the upper staff will have quarters in the keep.”

“We’re upper staff?”

“I am. You’re baggage.”

I laughed and kneed Cricket against Darkwind’s shoulder. At least that was something to come out of this trip— my riding skills were all brushed up again.

It turned out Tobin was right. All of the King’s Own Guard, and the King’s Voices were among the guests ushered into the courtyard. So were the sorcerers, which made me feel less like I was hanging on Tobin’s coattails. He spoke aside to someone, and we were met by a dapper little man in servant’s livery. “My lord asked me to escort you to your chamber. Would you like to go the long way round and see a little of Deepwell Keep as we go?”

Tobin said, “You must be too busy for that.”

The man’s teeth were surprisingly white in his tanned face. “Never too busy to show off my keep. This way, sirs.”

The tour was a whirlwind of the cellars, where the deep well was guarded day and night by two of the keep’s men, to the parapets where the army of Prince Kal had been monitored through narrow archer’s slits. Tobin asked a few questions but I just took it in, and concentrated on keeping my saddle-worn legs under me. We finished up at a door on a fourth floor corridor.

“Not what you’re used to perhaps, sir,” the servant said, opening it. “We’ve seldom had so many worthy guests at one time and the lower apartments are all full. But you said you’d take quiet over luxury.”

“That’s fine.” Tobin handed him a small coin. “Thanks for the tour. Any chance at all of a bath?”

“Maybe. I’ll see what I can do.”

When the man had left, I closed the door and looked around. The room was small indeed, probably a mid-ranked servant’s chambers. There was a narrow window, set in the outer wall. The window-fabrics were plain and worn, the lamp on the wall smoked slightly when Tobin lit it, but the bed would hold two, if they were willing to stay close. After three nights on the ground it looked heavenly.

I said, “This is quite a place. You haven’t been here before?”

“Not inside. I’ve been here once with my men, but I chose to sleep outdoors with them. I was a young officer, and intent on winning their respect.”

“I bet you didn’t have to sleep on the ground to do that.”

“Perhaps not, but sharing their state in good times and bad did make them more willing to follow me. Still, I’m glad to have the chance to see Deepwell now. Those cellars are something else.”

“Yes.” I brushed futilely at my rump to remove the road dust and then sat on the edge of the bed. “Imagine being the Lord back then. You have horses there, safe under guard for a sortie, but above you have the people of your keep growing weak from lack of food. How long do you hold off on slaughtering them for meat? Or if you were the common soldier, asked to keep his lord’s mounts safe while his family starves. Imagine the temptation to lame one and then suggest it go for food.” I shook my head.

“It’s a much better siege I’m contemplating now,” Tobin said, his voice half an octave lower. “We have privacy here and a little time and a bed. And it seems as if my arms are not as distasteful to you as they were.”

I pushed to my feet and went to stare out the window. The sun had fully set, but the sky still held streaks of lavender and gold. “You were never
distasteful
.”

“I’m sorry.” He was close behind me now. “I misspoke. I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

I shook my head. “It’s my fault. I’m abnormal.”

“You’re wounded.” He was closer still. “Turn around please.”

I did so, and he closed the distance between us. I’d been irked by his command, but now I realized he was still holding to my request not to come up behind me. In front was better anyway. He kissed me slowly. As sweet as the last few nights had been, this was better, standing and awake with no one to see us. His mouth tasted of the dust of the road at first, but no doubt mine did too. After a few minutes there were no tastes between us but our own.

A knock on the door, broke us apart. Tobin went to answer. Two servants stood there with large water jugs. One said, “We’re so sorry sir, there’s not a bath to be had. But we brought some warm water and towels.”

When they were gone, Tobin said, “A pity. I do love a bath. And it eases getting naked.” He glanced at me.

With a dry mouth, I said, “I’m dirty enough to need washing all over.”

“That could be arranged.” Tobin set one of the ewers on the floor and dropped a towel beside it. “Let’s get your boots off and you can stand on that.” He knelt at my feet and took hold of one boot and then the other, as I dragged my feet free. He would have reached for my socks, but I said, “Now
your
boots. Sit on the bed.”

He did as I asked, gravely raising one foot, although his eyes danced.

“Don’t make fun of me,” I muttered.

“Never.” His voice was soft. “Tell me what you want.”

“To be equal. To take turns.” I couldn’t do this if there was a master and a servant in this room, even if the master was me. I helped tug his boots off, although with just one hand I was perhaps more hindrance than help. Still we managed it. I backed away when that was done and set hands to my own shirt.

“I can…” Tobin began.

“Not this time.” I averted my eyes as I stripped off my travel-stained clothes. I could hear the sound of him doing the same but I couldn’t look over there. When I was down to my small-clothes I hesitated.
What did I want?
I wasn’t yet sure. I trusted Tobin, but didn’t trust my own responses. I felt hot and then cold, and was only half aroused, despite knowing that Tobin now stood less than three feet away, unclothed and waiting.

For the first year in my little house, I hadn’t even pleasured myself. Every attempt was aborted in images of wraith-light and the panicked feel of being a passenger in my own body. Gradually I’d gotten past that, but pleasure had remained a fast and furtive thing, a matter of touch and friction and hard breaths— impersonal and unemotional. I drove my body to release, but without letting myself think about it, without engaging my mind or emotions.

This was different. This was Tobin. He was worth time and thought. And yet there was still a gibbering terror beneath my determination that said he would take me and harm me and control me. I
wanted
, and I was still afraid. I kept my eyes on the floor as I pushed my smalls off, walked over and stepped onto the towel.

“Lyon, look at me.”

My eyes were fixed down, staring at my own near-hairless legs and arched feet, standing on the bleached-white cloth. I heard Tobin approach, and then he knelt, lowering his head to come into my field of view. I turned aside, staring at the smooth-worn boards of the floor.

“Lyon, if you don’t want me to come so close without clothes, say so. I won’t leave you or think less of you. It’s been what— barely a week since I forced you out of your safe shell? I’ll understand if you don’t want me to touch you at all. Or if you prefer, let me start slowly, and you can call a halt whenever you choose.”

“All right.” I wasn’t sure he could hear that, so softly did it come out. But there was the sound of water as he dunked a cloth and then he stood and reached out toward me. Even looking to the side, I could see his strong arm, all muscles and tan and dark hair, as he laid the cloth on my shoulder. The water was clean and good. He wiped gently up my neck to my jaw and around. The he rinsed the cloth and gave it into my hand. “Do your face. I don’t want to blind or smother you by accident.”

I scrubbed roughly at my cheeks and forehead, and then over my eyes, glad of a reason to close them. When I opened them again I looked at him and handed the cloth back. Tobin smiled, and then took his time, rinsing my shoulders and arms. He held the ewer up for me to dip my hands, and then he wiped them both, good and bad, with equal attention. When the cloth moved down my chest and brushed a nipple I shivered. I remembered clean lamplight, his dark eyes flecked with amber, and the touch of his mouth, and my breath came faster.

Tobin knelt and continued. He washed me to my waist, and then very slowly lower. Over my hips, and around down the outsides of my thighs. Each time moving a little closer and a little closer to… I grabbed his wrist. “Enough.”

He took just one deep breath, and then said in the same quiet voice, “What now?”

I dropped another towel from the stack onto the boards. “You stand there.”

Tobin glanced at me and then smiled slow and wide. He stepped onto the towel and held his hands out at his sides. “I’m yours. Do what you will.”

Mine.
What was I that this man should give himself over to me? And yet, what a gift. I took the fresh water and began with his face, even though he’d not done mine. I wiped to his hairline, where the day’s sweat had caked the dust in dark runnels over the tan of his brow. He had faint lines there from squinting. I carried on, over the straight nose, the high cheeks, the wide mouth. He was trying to be sober and still, but I saw him hide another smile as I scrubbed a spot from his chin.

I moved to his strong shoulders, wider than my own. To his arms. His hands. His chest. That chest… If you’d asked me a month before, I’d have said I preferred a man with less hair, with the planes of muscle clearly seen. But this was perfection. His curls were silkier than they looked, and as I wiped and rinsed, the flat arcs of chest muscle were outlined by the wet hair. His nipples were larger than mine and darker, and as I watched they tightened. I dared to press the wet cloth against one, rubbing in small circles, and Tobin made a soft sound.