The other side was easier. Camden took the metal parts away, throwing them into his pile of scrap.
He returned to his patient with water and cloths.
“I'll rinse the blood off.” He gently wiped the swollen hand with the damp cloth, the swollen hardness of the flesh bothering him. He was relieved to see some blood start to flow from the holes. The blood itself would carry most of the impurities out.
He used the scrap of shirtsleeve to bandage the wound.
“I think the surgeon ought to see it now.” He said, as he worked. “It might need stitching, in order to heal.” he was talking mainly to distract himself, feeling, if anything, even more disconcerted in Greum's presence now that the task was over. He ran out of words and looked up.
Greum was looking at him, green eyes level and smiling.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Greum teased. “I promise, it doesn’t hurt.”
“You’re a liar.” Camden laughed, relief washing through him. He felt quite weak. He had not realized how tense he had been.
“Well, it doesn’t hurt much.” He released a deep chuckle that Camden found quite appealing.
They sat opposite one another, silent. Camden's hand rested over the bandaged one of Greum's, still lying on the workbench between them. A strange sense of pride washed over Camden, followed by a strange sense of gratitude to the man who had helped him through the ordeal. Perhaps he was merely giddy from the drink and the lack of sleep, but Camden felt positively buoyant.
Looking up, he realized that Greum was sitting as if frozen in his chair. He felt suddenly concerned that perhaps he had harmed him, leaving him in shock, only to realize that somehow the air had thickened in the room. Camden's breath caught in his throat when he saw the look in his eyes as he watched him, the deep green of his gaze boring into him with a force that had Camden holding his breath.
Suddenly, he felt awkward.
“I'll...take this outside.” He indicated the pail of blood-rimed water. Outside, Camden waited a moment for his cheeks to stop burning before returning to the small room. Embarrassment, surprise and desire all ran through him in equal measure, making his hands unsteady and his breathing ragged.
Inside again, Greum still sat as Camden had left him, though his green eyes followed him around the room.
Greum cleared his throat. “I'm sorry to have to ask more of you, Camden,” he began, “but could you adjust this bandage? It's bleeding well now and...I can't adjust it myself.” He held up the bloodstained, bandaged hand, his wry smile twisted into a grimace of pain.
With quick movements, Camden unfastened and re-wrapped the bandage. Now that he was aware of Greum's response, it was hard to ignore his own. He could not help that his fingers would brush the palm or wrist of the hand before him, and could not help that his knee, when leaning close, touched Greum's underneath the workbench.
When it was finished, and Camden felt as if his nerves could handle no more, Greum stood up and once again seemed to fill the entire space with his presence. He took a slow step toward Camden.
“Thank you.” He was looking at the floor as he spoke. His voice was low, and careful. Camden’s ears were too full of his own heartbeat to hear.
He should have backed away, but it was his turn to be paralyzed. Camden could not have moved if he wanted to, though a small part of his brain admitted that he did not. When Greum lifted his left hand and gently traced the contour of Camden's upper arm, he hesitated as if waiting for rebuke. Camden said nothing. He looked down at the floor, as if it were the most important thing in the world. Inside, he was in turmoil. He knew that it was a terrible thing to want to kiss Greum, but the traitorous part of his brain wondered what it would be like with such a man. The two sides of his brain warred. He could neither move forward nor pull away, and he was acutely aware of Greum himself, watching the battle play across Camden's face.
Greum was incredibly patient, and that made Camden feel inexplicably angry. Was not the Clan MacConaill supposed to be forceful and brutish? Had Greum behaved that way, he might have had the resolve to fuel his anger further from that moment. Instead, he waited with agonizing patience, ensuring that Camden decided the next move.
Camden raised his face to look back at Greum. His eyes met level green ones, waiting for his response. Camden knew that, despite the longing building inside of him, he could never initiate a romantic encounter with his sworn enemy. Yet, he still could not pull away. In the end, he settled his hands on his forearms that extended between them but moved no other part of his body.
It was then that Greum moved. With a gentle tug he pulled Camden against him and brought his mouth down over his own. Camden’s mind spun like a whirlwind. His fingers curled against his skin and he found himself pressing against him with uncharacteristic abandon. Greum’s mouth was tender against his lips, his hands covering Camden's back in warmth. There was another unfamiliar warmth that was coiling in Camden’s stomach. A yearning that he had never experienced before, one that would later frighten him, but at this moment only increased the feelings that coursed through him. Greum's fingers stroked Camden's back, sending tendrils of sensation ricocheting through his body.
“Alan,” He murmured his name against his lips.
The name of his second father brought back a surge of angry memories, as Camden had known it would. He pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes, looking into Greum's, were full of bitterness and dislike. Looking back at him, Greum's brows were furrowed in confusion, but he clearly understood the action. He muttered a breathy apology and quickly vacated the premises. Camden did not look out after him, but instead walked briskly to the cottage and locked the door, stationing himself in front of the waning fire to contemplate his inexcusable behavior.
Camden had almost resolved, after the kiss, not to join Deirdre in the castle, but by the next morning he realized that it was silly to allow such a moment to prevent him from his ultimate goal. It was not uncommon to have a moment of bodily need, he consoled himself; that played no role in the reality of a situation. It was his own burning hatred that had been mistaken for passion, he told himself, a surge of feeling that was misinterpreted in the moment.
With his head held high and his bundle slung over his shoulder, he bid farewell to his host and fellow-laborers at the farm, and made his way north to the castle. As he passed through the courtyard he noticed a large gathering standing, once again, around Father Kendrick as he spoke. He had no intention of listening, but was forced to pause upon hearing his name. The true one; not Alan the woodworker.
“There is a rumor, that the men overheard last night, that the Lord Sutharlainn has been taken prisoner not five nights past.” Camden breathed a sigh of relief that the true date of his departure was so obscured. He pitied his uncle, who likely put a tale around explaining his disappearance, in the hope of his swift return. “The Laird has sent an envoy to Castle Sutharlainn to see if we can be of any service in the recovery of the man. We made a vow to protect the kin of our own Moira Larkin, the former Lady herself.” The crowd made quick gestures to cross themselves. “And now, I ask ye all, to pray for the young Laird in his trials. That he might be returned safely, and without harm.” The crowd murmured its agreement. “And that the Clan Sutharlainn may be freed from the evils that plague its people, that justice might be served, and our ties reunited with the bond that was once promised!”
Camden stood at the edge of the crowd in an attempt to understand Father Kendrick’s speech. There was much of it that he did not understand. He knew that the MacConaills had broken their bond of loyalty, but seriously doubted that would ever be restored. What surprised him most was that the speech was not filled with loathing against his own clan, but instead with hope and prayers for his own wellbeing. Did they care for him over his father because he was the blood of their kin? If they wished Camden well and happy, then why had they destroyed what little remained of his immediate family?
Camden shook his head an
d moved past the crowd. He was pleased that the false story spread about his capture would keep all suspicion away from his arrival on MacConaill lands. He smoothed a hand over the pocket of his jerkin, taking comfort in the weight of the vial that lay inside.
When he arrived in the castle he was instructed to unpack his belongings in the small room adjoining the summer parlor, and wash before joining the Lady Deirdre to break the fast in the great hall below.
Upon entering the feast hall, Deirdre stood and motioned for Camden to sit beside her. Camden joined her at the head table with a small bow and a “G’morning, Mistress.”
Deirdre leaned back into her chair and smiled.
“I’m glad you’ve arrived. There are far too many soldiers around for my sanity. I shall very much like having a craftsman to lighten the conversations with my boorish soldiering brothers.” She said this loudly just as the three men joined the table. One, a fair haired man Camden believed was named Aiden, tossed a small piece of fruit at his sister as punishment. “You brute!” she laughed. “It’s all talk of beasts and battle, wolves and wars. I’ve had my fill of it.”
“I saw a wolf, in the woods, not long ago.” Camden admitted, amused with the hearty banter between the siblings. The table went silent and all eyes turned to Camden. He assumed it was because they feared for his danger near such a beast.
Deirdre raised her wine glass to her lips before speaking. “Do tell the story. I hope you weren’t harmed.” Her eyes shifted to her brothers. “I’m afraid our lands have quite an uncontrollable wolf problem.”
Even the sister seemed enraptured with the topic, so Camden went on.
“It was early morning and I was…” He adjusted his story slightly. “…walking through the woods when I happened upon the largest wolf I ever did see.”
“What was it doing?” Kenzie pressed.
“Gathering its breakfast, I presume.” He shrugged. “It stood upon a hill and looked out across the lands below. I had no idea wolves could be so large. It was the most magnificent thing, as black as the night sky. ”
Aiden slapped Greum across the back causing his brother to choke on the bread he had just eaten.
“Oh, that wolf.” Kenzie smiled. “He’s somewhat of a pet around the castle. You can practically walk right up to him and scratch him behind the ears.” Kenzie grunted as Greum punched him in the side. “You should try it some time.” He said with pained laughter.
Deirdre must have noticed Camden’s confusion because she waved her hand unconcernedly at the men.
“Oh, don’t mind them, Alan.” She patted the top of his hand in a sisterly manner. “I never know what these bairns are fighting about.” She shot them a look that warned the men to start behaving as adults before continuing. “Now. What’s this I hear about Lord Sutharlainn going missing?”
“Captured.” Aiden said through a mouth full of sausage. “Father sent an envoy.”
“That was silly.” She argued. “We’ll be receiving his head back on a spike.”
“You think by now they’d have figured out that it wasn’t us.” Kenzie grumbled. Camden’s ears were ringing with excitement. So soon and he was already hearing talk of the topic he most desired. He willed himself to remain silent, not wanting to impede their conversation or raise suspicion of his interest. Of course they would claim innocence in the presence of a stranger.
“Yes, well, there’s no proof otherwise. Is there?” Deirdre’s responded with nonchalance.
“It was a trap.” Greum spoke softly.
“It matters not, now.” Their sister spoke to them with motherly knowledge. “Lord Sutharlainn will never consent to renew the peace if he suspects your involvement. There is no point in pressing the matter. It’s a wonder he hasn’t sent his clansmen here to slaughter you all for retribution.”
Aiden laughed as if he though this possibility absurd. “Good luck fighting what you can’t find.” His confidence made Camden want to do exactly as Deirdre had suggested, and test his clan's army against their own.
Camden finished his breakfast in silence. He had been right to suspect that living in their presence would fuel the hate that boiled his blood. His eyes shifted from Aiden, to Greum, to Kenzie, then further down the table to their father. Four men, he told himself. Four lives, for the price of one.
The following fortnight passed so quickly that Camden barely noticed. He was surprised to find that he truly liked Deirdre, for all her frank commentary and hearty laughter. He also enjoyed the work, which was challenging and new. The chapel was in disrepair and Deirdre's vision for its renovation was impressive and unusual. He found the work interesting and engaging.
Camden's days were measured though, by encounters with Greum, who seemed to be everywhere in the castle. Camden put his discomfort aside and tried to encourage small conversations with him, in the hope that he might eventually be able to pry from him the story of his father’s demise. Their acquaintance grew from courteous acknowledgment, to casual updates, and eventually to Greum joining him midday when he was working in the sawdust-scented space of the fast-developing chapel.
One day, while up a ladder measuring a roof-truss with Greum sitting on the table below, idly carving a scrap of wood, Camden finally broached the topic.
“Greum, do you remember my first day in the castle?”
He turned his head toward him, the carved work still in his hands. He nodded.
“Well,” he attempted to speak as if he were only vaguely interested in the topic. “You and your siblings were discussing something about Clan Sutharlainn. Something you said that you didn’t do. Something that might prevent the missing Lord from ever consenting to peace…” he set his measuring-equipment aside and crossed his hands in his lap. “What was it?”
Greum returned to his carving. “They think we poisoned the Laird.” He said simply.
“Did you?” Camden asked it, tentatively.
Greum hoisted himself onto one arm and looked at him with a piercing glare.
“All your time here and you still think the MacConaills are capable of that sort of treachery?” He leaned back and spun the carving in his fingers, staring at it but seeing another time entirely. “The other clans hate us because we’re different, but we had better reasons for being there that day.”
He spoke with such sincerity that Camden’s heart went out to him.
Camden reached forward and laid a hand over his.
“Because the Lady Moira was kin to Clan MacConaill?”
“Partially.” He admitted, looking up at him with a half-smile.
“Why else?” He pressed.
Greum dropped the carving so that Camden’s hand fell between his in its place.
“It doesn’t matter.” His thumbs rubbed slow circles on his palm as he stared at their joined hands. Camden’s heart beat fast and his breath felt shakily uneven. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of Greum's fingers tracing the lines of his hand. Greum must have felt him tremble because a moment later his lips pressed against the sensitive skin. Camden opened his eyes to see Greum watching him.
With slow movements, never breaking eye contact nor releasing his hand, Greum raised himself into a seated position. His thigh pressed against Camden's, Camden's knee resting beside his hip. His hand raised and tucked a stray lock of pale hair behind his left ear.
Camden felt a knot rise in his throat. His opinion of this man was terribly conflicted. He was known as a fierce warrior, and yet was so gentle. He claimed to be falsely accused of Camden's father’s murder, yet he and the clan were riddled with secrets. He was the very face of his enemy, and yet Camden craved his touch.
“Alan.” His fingers brushed Camden's shoulder and followed the length of his arm down to the elbow. This time the name did not recall memories of Camden's hatred. The result was, instead, an increasing heat in his body, a coiling tension that built in the very center of his body.
“This is wrong.” He whispered, more for himself than anything.
&nb
sp; “There’s nothing wrong about this.” Greum’s voice was smooth and calming. Or, it should have been calming but had little effect on the rolling emotions that were overwhelming Camden by the minute.
Greum leaned forward and kissed him. The empty space of the renovated chapel faded into silence in the back of Camden's mind. He restrained himself for only a moment before giving in to the abandon of his desires. His arms wrapped themselves around Greum's shoulders, his fingers buried themselves into the black curls at the base of his neck, and Camden felt himself pulled resolutely against Greum's body. They sat for a while on the table, and then Greum stood, easing them both down the side of the table-leg and to the floor, where they collapsed, bodies entwining one another.
Camden had taken lovers before, but never like this. Greum's mouth roamed over his, guiding and prying from Camden a response that he would never have thought possible. He wanted more, which was, in this case, a dangerous thought.
Camden's hands found themselves at the front ties of his neck, rapidly pulling the laces from their holes. He wanted to feel his skin, to run his fingers over the contours that he had previously imagined. Greum’s hands were hungrily roaming over the exterior of Camden's coat. His hand hooked on the back of his knee and he pulled him closer, shifting them each into a more comfortable position. His hand glided along his thigh, stroking up from knee to waist, before coming to rest there, briefly, the grip of his muscled fingers on Camden's body pleasing them both. Greum's mouth was on his and he pressed Camden's body against him, drawing him closer to his waist so that the hardness between his thighs pressed against Camden's hip-bone, and he smiled to feel the urgency of Greum's desire building there.
A loud noise in the distance startled Camden. The war horn was sounding yet again. With a sigh Greum shifted away, moving back to a sitting position from where they both lay on the floor. Greum stood, adjusted his shirt and kilt before coming to crouch in front of Camden. His green eyes looked levelly and inquiringly, as if he could read every thought in Camden's mind. Camden blushed in hope that he could not.
Celestial Seductions: The Complete Series: An MM Gay Paranormal Mpreg Romance Collection Page 60