The Red King (19 page)

The little boy returned and took both their
hands. He chattered at them and pulled, indicating they should
follow. Andrew did not look at him, but Rory could see the
wretchedness on his face as they allowed themselves to be led. He
leaned in to whisper to Andrew as they walked. “Your soul is a
pure, white light in a dark world. It will take a thousand worse
sins to taint it.”

Andrew turned to him. “What sins would those
be?”

Rory grinned, slowly, devilishly. “Give me
food, first, for strength, and I will show you.” He was rewarded
with another flush and the sight of Andrew’s teeth set to his
lip.

They were taken to another house where Rory
introduced Andrew to Idir. He and Rory were similarly built, but
Idir’s brow was heavy, his eyes soot black and dark hair shorn
short to combat the heat. When he spoke, Andrew was surprised to
hear very good, if thickly accented, English.

“Yes, I speak many languages. I am Egyptian,
raised as an Englishman in France. I returned to my home and
tragedy befell me, but I found my wife and now we are happy. The
tale is long and sad and very romantic. I will tell you tonight.
Now, we will feed you both. My wife will insist, you are so
thin!”

Idir introduced his wife, Titrit, and two
young daughters. Titrit was unveiled and very pretty, and happily
prepared a meal for them. “They are not kept separate, as in
Algiers?” Andrew asked, softly.

“They are not Muslim. Titrit is Berber and
Idir is Christian,” Rory said, reclining on a cushion. “Titrit’s
people lived here when the Roman village was new.”

“I will tell it better than you,
Ruaidhri
,” Idir scolded, coming into the room with a
familiar looking silver pitcher and small etched glasses.

Andrew took the tea when it was offered. He
looked at the glass, then at Rory.

Shrugging, Rory said, “A gift from my last
stay. Etienne never missed it, he has several.”

Again, Andrew’s smile provoked his own.

“Pirate,” Andrew teased, softly.

“A salute to old friends, new friends, the
health and life of our families, and honored ancestors. May God’s
blessings be on all,” Idir said, raising his glass.

Titrit entered carrying a tray, followed by
the two young girls, one with cloths and one with a bowl of water.
Rory put his hands in the bowl, washing away the dirt and sweat
from their travel. Andrew watched closely and copied his actions,
then waited as the smaller of the girls dried both of their hands.
Andrew’s face lit up when he smelled the offerings on the platter.
He leaned closer to where Titrit set it, eyeing the steaming,
opened white and brown shells with a mix of interest and distrust.
Rory withheld his laughter and waited.

“It was meant that you would come today. We
were blessed with an abundance of food and could not eat it all
ourselves. It was the same for the whole village. It was as if God
himself was telling us to be ready!” she said, smiling as she
presented the meal.

“What are they?” Andrew asked. He gingerly
picked one from its bed of couscous.

“They are clams. They are dug from the beach
as the tide retreats. They were like the stars today, uncountable!”
Idir answered. He took one and tore its soft white flesh from
between the two shells, which he then popped into his mouth.

Ever observant, Andrew followed suit, his
eyes widening as he chewed. He took another.

Rory chuckled and took some for his own
plate. He watched Andrew as he spoke with Idir and Titrit,
attentive to their every word. Their daughters smiled shyly and
giggled when Andrew spoke to them. Titrit led them away, gently
scolding them on their behavior as Idir told him, “Tadefi nears
womanhood. I believe she finds you…agreeable.”

The bloom returned to Andrew’s cheeks and he
stumbled over his words. “Oh, she, oh...I am not…”

“No, no, no, it is good. She is not yet ready
and, as much as I love our mutual friend,” he said, with a nod to
Rory, “you are his apprentice and I would not have her married to a
man who rides the seas. Too much separation. Too much danger.” He
grinned at Andrew. “You are safe from the bridal bower.”

Rory laughed heartily at Andrew’s expression
of surprise and embarrassment. “He’s quite agreeable, Idir, but I
have prior claim. At least, until his contract with me is up. After
that, who knows?” Rory winked at Idir but caught Andrew’s frown
from the corner of his eye. It was difficult to not reach out, to
touch and kiss and smooth it away.

Rory stood and stretched, then, deciding they
needed to seek their bed. Andrew, despite his commitment and
determination, still needed rest. “Please give Titrit my
thanks.”

“Of course, of course,” Idir said, standing
with him and taking his hand. “You are tired. Please, return this
evening for the supper. We will exchange stories, yes?

“Yes,” Rory said, embracing him. “There are
many stories to tell.”

“This is yours?” Andrew asked. They neared a
small building, designed much as the others in the village but
hidden in the trees between there and the ruins. It was not
outfitted with carpet or lanterns, remaining plain and practical.
Behind it was a sturdy wooden shelter; a stable, and Brighid’s
quiet noises could be heard from within.

“I began its construction over a year ago,
only just completing it on my last visit. It’s still unfinished,
but it will house us for now. Privately,” Rory said, standing to
the side of the door as Andrew entered. He followed and noted a few
extra items that were not theirs.

Their baggage had been kindly unloaded while
they ate. The thick woven rugs were spread in one corner of the
single large room and the bedroll spread invitingly atop it. There
were cushions, too, and window hangings to block the sun and keep
out the midday heat. There was one lantern, a skin full of water,
and a bowl of dates and nuts. There was a drape for the door, too.
Rory unhooked it and let it fall.

Andrew turned to him. “We are alone.”

“Yes, we are,” Rory answered. He waited. He
knew what he wanted; he wanted it every time he looked at Andrew,
every time he heard his voice. Andrew came closer, slowly raising
his arms to circle Rory’s neck. “Andrew, you needn’t…”

“Shhh,” Andrew quieted him, licking his lips
as he pulled Rory down.

The kiss was so sweet. Rory moaned, letting
Andrew slip his tongue in to swipe across his lips and stroke the
top of his mouth. He did not take Andrew into his arms, though it
was difficult. Rory restrained his desire to crush him close and
simply rested his hands on Andrew’s hips.

After a moment, Andrew pulled away. “Is
it…not…” he asked, his uncertainty appearing as tension in the line
of his body.

“I didn’t want to seem insistent,” Rory said
against his lips.

“That did not stop you before,” Andrew said,
smiling.

Drawing back so that he could look into
Andrew’s eyes, Rory smiled in return and said, “If I took you every
time I wanted to you would’ve never left my cabin.”

“Please Rory,” Andrew whispered, turning
serious.

“What do you want? You’ll have to tell
me.”

Andrew trembled. “I want you. I just want to
feel you. I cannot get enough of feeling you.”

Rory’s fingers tightened at Andrew’s hips.
“Hellfire,” he muttered and covered Andrew’s mouth with his
own.

They stumbled to the corner, kicking up the
carpet, the bedding, falling on it only to roll off of it a moment
later. Rory set Andrew atop him, hands pulling his thighs apart so
Andrew straddled him. Moaning, Andrew began to thrust against him,
rubbing their hardened cocks together with urgent, hungry
movements. Rory kissed him, fiercely, fingers wound tight in his
hair, and let Andrew rut against him without resistance. When
Andrew began to grunt, his breath coming harsh and shallow through
his nose, Rory lowered his hands to curve at his hips once
more.

Rory thrust up and Andrew pushed himself
back, hands on either side of Rory’s head. He looked into Rory’s
eyes, mouth red and slack and rolled his hips, once, twice, then
threw his head back with a long, low groan. Rory continued to
thrust up against him, pulling Andrew forward so that his cock
would press into Andrew’s lovely round bottom. Andrew finished with
his own climax and met Rory’s gaze once more. He sat back, putting
all his weight on Rory’s groin, and asked, softly, “Can you fuck me
like this?”

Despite their fatigue, despite being fully
clothed, Rory’s climax was almost blinding. He stiffened, his
entire body shot through with stunned pleasure. Andrew rolled his
hips again and he groaned, shuddering as his muscles finally
released. He stilled, leaving Andrew sitting on him while both of
them caught their breath. “Christ, Andrew, I will fuck you any way
and any time you wish. You’ll get no more denials from me,” Rory
said, his hands still trembling on Andrew’s thighs.

Andrew bent to kiss him, as sweaty and
breathless as he. “I will hold you to that.”

Smiling, Rory cupped his head and answered.
“I’m sure you will.”

While they slept, wrapped around each other
in the dim, quiet little house, Rory dreamed of a storm. Frost
covered everything; his men, the rudder, the very sails on his
ship. There was a fierce, biting wind that cut through him,
stripping the flesh from his chest and back. His heart was exposed.
It started to freeze, seizing, turning hard and grey as he fought
to steer the ice-covered vessel. Pain radiated from his chest out,
shooting down his arms and legs and into his head. He cried and
shook with cold and fear, but did not release the rudder.

Rory knew he was going to die, yet he held
fast.

Then there was the briefest of glimmers
across the blue frozen surfaces. A soft, golden light broke through
the black clouds and touched the ice, illuminating the entire
surface in shimmering splendor. It faded, returned, and this time
found Rory where he stood. He turned into the warmth, letting it
shine on his cold and aching heart. He felt it soften, warm, thrum
and begin to beat once more. The sound of it was so foreign, so
long forgotten that it worried him. It terrified him.

Rory jerked. For a moment he was aware of his
face pressed to Andrew’s neck, of soothing hands down his back. He
could hear Andrew speaking, his voice low and comforting. Only on
the edge of awake, Rory did not respond except to pull Andrew
closer, to seek his warmth as he sought it in his dream. He drifted
again, calmed by the touch, the smell of the man in his arms. He
only barely heard Andrew’s words as he fell back into slumber, but
he carried them with him back into the storm.

“You’re safe, Rory. You’re with me and you’re
safe.”

Supper was a communal affair, around a fire
in the center of the village, in the Berber way. They reclined on
carpets and partook of a myriad of foods. There was music, some
dancing, and a grand story about the old Egyptian kings told by
Idir. Rory translated for Andrew, carefully matching the words to
keep the story correct else Idir would take him to task. Andrew
laughed when this happened and told them both, “Ramses is not
unfamiliar to me. His story is chronicled in many places.”

Idir came closer and spoke in low, dramatic
tones. “You have not heard the tale from an Egyptian, the blood of
Ramses himself flows in my father’s, father’s veins.”

Andrew conceded that was true and settled
back down for the rest of the tale. He leaned on a cushion, closer
to Rory this time so that the translation did not disturb the
telling. “He had red hair, you know,” Andrew whispered,
conspiratorially.

“What?” Rory asked, having been distracted by
the smoke, saffron and very-Andrew smell coming from the nape of
Andrew’s neck.

Turning to him, Andrew said with a smile,
“Ramses. He and his father, both of them had red hair.”

“Interesting.”

“It does seem to come with a certain
prestige,” Andrew commented, thoughtfully.

“Or curse, I suppose, depending on your point
of view,” Rory answered.

“Is that why Maarten chose you?” Andrew’s
question was soft, as gentle as he could make it.

Not certain he wanted this to begin here,
within the village, Rory did not answer right away.

“When you say his name, I think of Acklie, or
someone like him. Monstrous, deformed, ugly down to his very soul,”
Andrew further ventured.

“No, Maarten was…quite lovely to look at, a
true Northman in stature and appearance. His madness did not
manifest in his face, at first,” Rory said.

Andrew looked perplexed by this. “It’s unfair
that one should look appealing yet be so appalling.”

That made Rory smile, but it was rueful at
best. They were close enough that Rory felt his breath when he
spoke. The others were all listening to Idir and paid no mind to
them. It was as good a time as any. “I do think it was my hair that
caught his attention. I was the only person in the village wearing
this particular plumage.’ Rory sounded calm, but something was
worrying at the edge of his thoughts. Something ugly. “Plus I was
very pale, even more so than you, I think. He was curious, he said,
and wanted to see if all my hair was the same color.”

Andrew frowned, but did not interrupt.

“I told him I didn’t have any other hair and
he had me strip to prove it.”

Even in dancing light of the fire, Rory could
see Andrew’s face blanch. “Did he…?”

“Not that night. No, he touched me, touched
every place I’d never seen or thought of at that age. He was not
harsh. He didn’t hurt me at all, really. He was just curious, like
he said,” Rory said with a shrug vastly more at ease than he felt.
Again, those feelings were more vivid than ever. He could remember
the close examination of his scalp beneath the hair, the careful
attention to his feet, and then shuddering as fingers stroked his
ass, his balls, his cock.