The Red King (13 page)

“Trollop, you’d rut with the unwashed?
Wouldn’t you rather preserve your bloodline, your lovely heritage?”
he asked, spreading the cloth over her back.

Her head shook, tossing her mane
irreverently.

Rory gently dropped the saddle onto the
blanket and bent to strap the cinch. “Aye, only for love, that’s
what they all say until they find out love has no dowry.”

“Fleming had a way with his words, didn’t
he?”

Startled, Rory turned to find Etienne in the
stable doorway. His smile was gone, the light in his eyes greatly
diminished.

“Yes,” Rory said, nodding. He returned to the
saddle, checking and rechecking as Etienne moved closer to him.

“I’m quite…” Etienne began. He stopped, voice
fading into pained silence. He cleared his throat. “I’m quite
despondent, Rory.”

“Don’t turn to me for comfort, Etienne.”

“You would be the last person I would turn to
for comfort,” Etienne answered, coldly. He reached out to pet
Brighid on her lovely neck. “But your new boy, Andrew…”

Rory turned then, facing him. There was no
overt threat, but his intent was perfectly clear.

“He doesn’t deserve your bitterness. Why not
release him before the damage is done? You needn’t make the same
mistakes you did with Fleming.”

“Andrew came of his own accord. I did not
force him.”

“As did Charles. He followed you until his
death. Do you want the same thing for Andrew?”

“Never let it be said that you soften your
blows,” Rory snarled, turning away.

“At least I am honest. Can you say the
same?”

“I never lied to Charles, Etienne. I never
promised him anything.” Rory began to brush Brighid’s hindquarter,
smoothing her shining black coat. “He followed despite my warnings,
and your pleadings, I expect.”

Etienne sighed. “I never asked him to stay,
Rory. I knew he would not. I didn’t want to…burden him with that
sort of choice.”

“I didn’t know that.” Rory straightened, met
the other man’s gaze and said, “I’m sorry, Etienne. I never
intended to take Charles away from you.”

The stable was quiet except for the soft
steps of Brighid’s hooves on the fresh straw.

“Andrew told me he died smiling. Winking, in
fact, which I do not find surprising,” Etienne said, lips curling
just a touch.

Rory was eager to finish readying Brighid to
ride. “Do you want something, Etienne?”

Sighing, Etienne moved out of the stall. “Is
it always such seriousness with you now? You were once a man of
passion.”

“My passion got Charles killed,” Rory said
softly.

“It saved him, too.”

Rory resumed brushing Brighid.

“If I offer you a room here, until you go to
Tipaza, would you accept?”

“I don’t think that is wise.”

“Because of Andrew? He seems unusually
innocent, particularly in light of your agreement.”

“Andrew is no fool. He is only young.”

“He is very young, perhaps too young to be so
engaged with you.” There was no mistaking the curiosity in
Etienne’s voice. “I can easily see your benefits but what exactly
is his payment?”

“I do not wish to discuss this with you.”

“Which is exactly why I persist,” Etienne
said. “If the boy has no broker and you intend no recompense, then
there is no agreement and you are merely leading him…where,
Ruaidhri
?”

That gave Rory pause.
Where indeed?
he
thought. It was no deal if all of their transactions were one
sided, and Rory had yet to offer anything beyond safe passage and a
unique education. “Hell and damnation,” he muttered.

“You may wish to consider it. It may suit him
now, but he will need more than your magnificent form, eventually.
One cannot live on cock alone,” Etienne called as he left the
stable. “God knows I’ve tried!”

Rory cursed again, replaced the brush and
took down Brighid’s bridle. He readied her to ride quickly, eager
to escape the looming questions, and led her from the stall. He was
pushing the stable door open when he saw Andrew across the
courtyard.

Etienne was leading him away, to the private
rooms in the rear of the villa, a gentle hand at the small of
Andrew’s back. Rory could hear Etienne extolling the beauty of the
architecture, his deep, velvet-smooth voice visibly easing Andrew’s
nerves. He was warming to the conversation, responding with his own
comments on the archways along the gallery. Etienne saw Rory over
Andrew’s shoulder and slid his hand down just a little more.

“Andrew!” Rory called, louder than he had
intended. His voice rang back at him, echoing off of the high
walls.

Turning immediately, Andrew caught sight of
him and smiled bright enough to dim the sun. He left Etienne under
the arched gallery and ran to greet him. “This is Brighid?” he
asked, slowing as he approached.

Rory returned the smile, unable to stop it.
“It is.”

“She is lovely,” Andrew said, reaching up to
stroke the white blaze above her bridle. His eyes were shining when
they turned to Rory again. “Your secrets are not amusing, you know.
Why do you ask me to share my thoughts when you won’t do the
same?”

“Forgive me, Andrew. It is a fault I have yet
to overcome,” Rory said, his fingers briefly grazing Andrew’s
cheek. “And forgive my earlier callousness as well. I wasn’t
prepared for Etienne’s wit and his assumptions caught me off
guard.”

“I’ll try.” Andrew grinned. “But even Job
lost his patience, eventually.”

Rory quelled his sudden, urgent desire to
kiss those lips and carry Andrew to the nearest couch with
difficulty. “Will you be comfortable here? I think it will be safer
than an inn. Etienne has guards and a certain reputation, and the
rooms are far more luxurious than any tavern I’ve ever visited.
We’ve been offered a place to rest and I would accept, if you feel
you can remain.”

“If you say it is safe I am satisfied. I
can’t say I’m comfortable, exactly, but I will try.”

“Stay in our room, especially after dark.”
Rory mounted Brighid, settling into the saddle with ease. “And be
mindful of Etienne. He’s…devious.”

“You’re leaving?” Andrew did not sound upset,
but it showed in his eyes, in his fading smile.

Rory put a hand to his cheek. “Brighid needs
a run, and I have more to do before the night ends. I’ll be back.”
Before he rode out into the street, he called to Etienne, “Make
sure he’s safe. Keep your clients away from him.”

“What about myself?” Etienne shouted in
return.

Rory narrowed his eyes. “You know better.” He
kicked Brighid into a trot and left to the sound of Etienne’s
laughter.

Rory let Brighid have her head once they
exited the east gate, circling behind the city but staying close to
the wall. He bent low over her neck and relished her speed, her
strength. Riding, specifically at a swift and thundering gallop,
was a pleasure he carried from childhood, one of the few memories
he retained from before he was taken. All others; details of the
little town, the faces of his family, even which cottage had been
his home…all buried by the years that followed.

Always there, but shuttered tightly, those
memories awakened slowly over the sound of her hooves. He
remembered bits of the raid that had eradicated his village; the
fire, the blood. He knew everyone had been killed or captured. And
he still woke to the sounds of screaming, his nightmares not as
frequent but remaining torturously vivid. His personal Hell had
begun as soon as he was noticed; tall for his age, thin, with pale
green eyes and fiery hair…they all marked him special. They made
him a prize.

The parallel to Andrew was too much. It
caused him pain deep in his soul, sharp and raw, and he reined
Brighid up short. She reared, her hooves slashing at the air, and
pealed angrily from the pull at her bit.

“Whoa, there, love! I’m sorry!” Rory
exclaimed, leaning close to stroke her neck, soothe her agitation.
“I’m sorry, my love. Easy, easy, it was my fault. It will not
happen again.” In his heart he longed to comfort a pale, frightened
child. When he tried to envision Andrew, he saw himself. He pressed
his face to her neck, listening to her labored breath and the
racing of her blood beneath her skin.

Brighid settled, pawing at the ground as if
she wanted to run free again. To make up for his sudden,
unconscionable cruelty, he let her go again. This time, he thought
of nothing but the muscles beneath his knees and her ebony mane
flying back towards his face, the warm sun and the smell of burnt
rocks on the horizon. She ran herself out as they neared the last
gate, having circumvented the city nearly back to the Bab El Oued.
Dismounting, Rory walked her through the streets, letting her cool
and return to her steady, normal breathing.

They arrived at their destination as
appointed. He left Brighid with a boy to attend her with water and
some sweet hay. As the evening call to prayer began, Rory entered
the tavern. It was filled with sailors, from his own ship and
others, gathered to pay their respects to the memory of Charles
Fleming. He drank, saluted his fallen friend, but could not find it
in his heart to smile and jest. Still he drank, and waited to
forget.

It was late when he returned, the sounds of
the nightly festivities at Etienne’s private brothel ringing out
through the louvered shutters. Rory avoided detection by entering
the back of the stable, carefully maneuvering Brighid through the
single door. He had her ensconced in her stall and her bridle off
when he heard the door open again.

“You left him alone for a very long time,”
Etienne’s voice said behind him.

“Etienne,” Rory sighed. “What are you doing
in here? Shouldn’t you be with your guests?”

“My patrons,” Etienne corrected. “They are
quite busy at the moment, I assure you. We need a moment.”

“Please, not now. My head…”Rory feigned
illness.

Etienne clucked his tongue. “I’m old, Rory,
not feeble.”

“What is it, then?” Rory asked, unbuckling
the cinch.

“I had a lovely supper with Andrew. He’s a
remarkable young man; bright and compassionate and exceedingly
broad minded. I admit I was shocked when he told me his story.”

Rory pulled the saddle off of Brighid’s
back.

“He informed me that you are his first, and
only. Do I need to explain to you how dangerous this is?”

“He’s not ready, I know that. We haven’t had
enough time to prepare him. That’s why I’m taking him to Tipaza,”
Rory said.

“That’s not all. What if your touch ceases to
be what he craves? What if he sees another, a boy his age, perhaps,
and longs for his kisses. Or suppose a girl, comely and trim,
smiles at his pretty eyes and offers to lift her skirts for his
pleasure. You place far too much value on your
cigare
,
especially in light of what little you offer by way of candor.”

“You’re saying he will not follow through
with the mission because I will bore him?” Rory scoffed. He laughed
at the thought. “Andrew would consider it dishonorable not to do as
he promised. Of that I’m certain.”

“I’m saying, you arrogant bastard, that he is
inexperienced and he is taken with you. With your normal reluctance
to share your heart and mind, it all hinges on what you do share.
How long do you think it will take you to drive him away with your
coldness?” Etienne said, stepping closer to make his point.

Right again, damn him
, Rory thought.
“What do you suggest?”

“I suggest you tempt him now. Show him other
pleasures; give him a girl, a boy, give him drink, opium…all the
pleasures a man could want. Then ask him to follow your plan. If he
stays, he may yet be our weapon,” Etienne told him, his voice low.
His face was serious, miserable; Rory could plainly see that using
Andrew distressed him. “An ally is more useful than a thrall, and
more reliable.”

“You’ve put some thought into this,” Rory
said, frowning.

“I made promises, too, Rory. I will not
renege on them because of your feelings. I would expect the same
from you.”

Rory looked away, down to the straw beneath
his feet. “Do you have anyone in particular in mind?”

Rory entered the silent room. One lantern
cast a red tinged glow across the figure on the bed. He was
undressed, covered by a silk sheet that draped the peaks and
valleys of his body. In his sleep he stirred, rolled onto his back
and flung both arms out. He was covered just to his hips, chest
bare and smooth and calling for a touch.

He stepped aside, allowing the girl entry.
Holding his finger over his lips, he nodded in the direction of the
bed. She looked, smiled brightly, and shrugged out of her robe.

“
Oui, ah, oui… avec plaisir
,” she
whispered.

Her golden hair fell to her hips and her skin
was the color of fresh cream. She was soft and sweet and
curvaceous, even Rory wanted to run his hand across her dimpled
bottom. When she rested one knee on the bed to lean over Andrew, he
saw her sex was hairless and shimmering with moisture. He wondered
if it were excitement, or oil, or even the remnants of her last
customer. The thought stiffened his own cock, but he held himself
in check.

She slowly pulled the silk cover away,
licking her lips as she bent forward. When she took Andrew in her
mouth, he woke. He sat up quickly, gasping, but she covered his
mouth with her fingers. “No! No, please, you can’t…”

“Andrew,” Rory said, stepping closer.

“Rory!” Andrew’s eyes were wide with
alarm.

“Lie still,” he ordered.

Shaking his head, Andrew started to speak.
“No! I…”

“Be quiet.”

The girl was gentle but insistent. She put
her hands on his shoulders and pressed him back, then straddled his
hips. With a practiced undulation she took him into her, Andrew’s
startled shout was evidence of his shock. The girl began to ride
him. She whispered sweetly of his beauty as she stroked his face.
Andrew was tearful, trying to brush her fingers from his cheeks,
telling her over and over “No, no please.”