The Prince of Almond Manor

by Gregory Jonathan Scott

  As far as he knew, the staff had enough elements on hand to build a king sized cake and feed a guest list of one hundred plus. Understanding he was free to go, he thought about a private trip someplace away from the Manor. If anything more was needed, he still had the morning of the event to finish the necessary delivery.

  He’d worked up an appetite from the food runs, and for some reason, had a craving for apples and pears. With the required chores finalized, he’d taken off for the clover field, the place where wafting fragrances of wildflowers, various fruits and cloves had always soothed his soul. It was a getaway of all getaways for him.

  The slivered moon was thicker than the night before, giving off the right amount of light to illuminate a pathway. The slight breeze coming over the hill felt good against his bare chest and helped blow the day’s heat and humidity away.

  Oakland climbed the pear tree and sat comfortably on a sturdy branch, biting into the freshly picked fruit. As expected, the sweet sensation had fulfilled his desire. It was crunchy, and with each bite, he hummed a throaty tune of delight.

  He turned, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, straddling the branch, his legs dangle limply down each side. His gaze traveled out across the clover field while enjoying the peacefulness he’d been looking for. Night time bugs and chirping crickets had slowly come to life. All that background noise was the same as if a quartet had been playing.

  All too soon and like an interruption of a thunder cloud, his heart sped up when he spotted a figure on horseback trotting over the hill. “Not again,” he’d spoken to himself. “Who’s coming now?” He wanted isolation, not a party.

  His heart beat even faster.

  “Wait. It’s him. My Prince. I mean THE prince. Deklan?” Oakland tossed away the pear and finger poked his hair as if combing it out. “Oh Lord, he‘s coming closer.” He checked his chest. All good. Abdomen rippling too. Better yet.

  Out of all the trees in the great big field, Deklan had chosen to park his horse under the one Oakland was sitting in.

  Oakland stopped chewing, dreading Deklan might hear him. He sat motionless on the branch while watching Deklan quietly dismount his horse and lead the huge animal further under the pear tree.

  It was either the breeze or his trivial shifting that caused a few pears to fall from the tree and hit the ground. “Oh, sweet surrender,” he slowly breathed, sitting even more still.

  Deklan looked down, glancing at the fruit where it landed.

  Oakland’s heart pounded harder, feeling every thump at the core of his ears. The booming so loud, he was certain Deklan had heard it too.

  Bending, Deklan picked up the fallen fruit, polished it on the front of his shirt and took a bite, humming from what must have been the savory flavor.

  Could it have been Oakland’s dark skin that had kept him secretly hidden? He was certain it helped, as well as keeping his pearly whites and bright eyes closed—a dead giveaway for a black man under a moonlit sky at nighttime.

  Before Deklan had finished his pear, he mounted the horse and trotted out from under the tree.

  Discouraged Deklan was leaving, yet somewhat relieved, Oakland released a lung filled breath.

  Then, the horse turned around and faced the tree.

  Oakland froze.

  The expression on Deklan’s face and the tipping of his head seemed to have indicated he knew Oakland was in the tree.

  “Holy black bollocks!” Oakland chimed. There was no use trying to get out of the predicament he put himself in.

  “Who goes there?” Deklan shouted. His horse recoiled from the sudden outburst, stomping his hooves. Deklan reached to his side as if he was going for a weapon. A dagger perhaps. A flint-locked musket, even.

  Oakland sat extremely still. He couldn’t move. “Bollocks!” he griped again.

  “Come out, if you please,” Deklan insisted, grabbing hold of the blade attached to his belt.

  Without wavering, Oakland climbed down and stood in the shadows of the pear tree. “Hello again,” he meekly muttered, without giving his name or letting Deklan see his face. He stepped forward into the moonlight and held his hands in plain sight—his way of concealing no weapons.

  Deklan removed his hand from the blade and looked down at Oakland. “I had my suspicions it was you in that tree. Why is it that you’re always running around at night time?”

  Out of habit, Oakland placed his thumbs behind his suspenders and pushed his broad bare chest forward. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Yes, but I asked the question first.” Deklan’s horse seemed antsy and acted as though it wanted an answer as well.

  “Nightfall is the only time I have to myself, plus it’s peaceful, and… it’s much cooler than during the daytime. I comfortably unwind out here at this time.” Oakland was distracted by the sound of a cricket at his feet, prompting him to look down. “Your turn. What about you?” he asked.

  Deklan answered briefly, “The same. What you said, except I was expecting to be alone.”

  “As was I,” Oakland replied, intriguingly staring at the huge horse in front of him. He’d seen him before, but never so closely. He stepped up to the horse and held out a hand. “May I?” he asked.

  Deklan nodded. “I see you found the best fruit tree in the field? This one’s my favorite. I mean, pears in general are my favorite. But the tree? This one I like best.”

  “It’s a good one. My preference as well. The tree. The pears.” Oakland stroked the end of the horse’s rubbery nose, and by the beast’s reaction, seemed to enjoy Oakland’s touch. The horse made snorting noises and bobbed his head up and down as if praising Oakland’s generous petting. He must have sensed Oakland’s kindness. In return, his big nose nudged Oakland’s shoulder as if accepting trust and begging him not to stop.

  “No shoes or shirt?” Deklan scanned the front of Oakland. “Do you have a home or do you live out here in these woods?”

  Oakland laughed. “These woods? That’s funny. No. I have a home. Speaking of which, I should get back before I’m missed.”

  “Missed?” Deklan seemed curious. “You have a companion? A family?”

  “No, no. Just the farm animals. They will miss me if I’m gone too long.” Oakland nervously fidgeted with his suspenders.

  “I see. Charming. You need a ride?” Deklan asked, pulling the reigns to one side. The Clydesdale marched a complete circle, starting and ending with Oakland. It’s extremely long mane swished Oakland’s chest.

  Hesitating at first, Oakland replied, “Uh, sure. If there’s room up there for two?” He stepped back to allow the massive Clydesdale to move aside.

  Deklan reached down and grabbed hold of Oakland’s hand. With a hefty tug, lifted him up and over the horse’s rump where he landed in the saddle seat behind Deklan. The rear saddle rise forced Oakland forward, his bare chest pressing tightly against Deklan’s back.

  “Wow. You’re a solid man, aren’t you? Like a stone.” Deklan commented when Oakland bumped against him.

  Oakland inhaled, taking in Deklan’s scent, smelling sharp wood smoked spices and soothing lavender. It was an interesting combination for a grown man, however, Oakland found that specific fragrance suited a person like him.

  “Ready? Hang on.” Deklan turned the horse around and headed up the hill.

  The sudden commotion jostled Oakland’s balance and he responded by wrapping his arms securely around Deklan’s waist, locking his fingers over the buckle on his belt. “Whoa,” he said. “Sorry.” Oakland loosened his grip.

  “Whoa?” Deklan laughed and quickly placed his hand over Oakland’s to hold them in place. “Don’t be sorry. I told you to hang on. Chadwick can ride a bit rough, but if he feels you shift, he’ll lean to keep you upright. He’s smart like that.”

  Oakland inhaled, followed by a quick exhale, leaving his hands right where he’d first placed them.

  “Omigawd, his hair smells fine.” The light brown wisps of Deklan’s shoulder length hair snapped in
the wind, brushing like feathers over Oakland’s cheeks.

  Deklan gently cracked the reigns. “Where to, my kind sir?”

  “You’re headed in the right direction. Continue on,” Oakland replied.

  It had taken about five minutes before the Manor had come into view up ahead. Oakland stayed quiet the entire time and found it strange that Deklan hadn’t asked his name or anything about him. Not to go against what he himself was thinking, but he hadn’t asked Deklan any questions either.

  Deklan slowed the Clydesdale with a tug at the reigns. “Hey,” he spoke to Oakland. “The Manor is just ahead. Where do I let you off?”

  Oakland acted like he wasn’t paying attention. “Oh!” he perked up. “You can let me go here. I can walk the rest of the way.”

  “Don’t be slight. Where to?” Deklan insisted.

  “Right here is good with me.” Oakland unlocked his fingers from Deklan’s waist, slowly pulling his hands loose.

  “Really? Here?” Deklan stammered.

  “Yes Really. You can drop me off right here.” Oakland was about to hop off while the horse was still moving, but before he had a chance, Deklan tugged Chadwick to a stop.

  “Oh-kaay,” Deklan’s voice had gone singsong as he twisted in the saddle. “Then this is your stop.” He cross reached for Oakland’s hand, helping him down, the grip tight and lasted longer than it probably needed to. Oakland noticed the man’s touch was warm and could tell his heart was too.

  Deklan corralled the horse around until he was facing Oakland on the ground. He squinted as if trying to memorize Oakland’s face.

  Shyly, Oakland looked away. Nothing was where he directed his gaze, he just wasn’t content with Deklan knowing who he was, or that he maintained the kitchen that served meals to him and his family.

  Waiving, Oakland raised a hand toward Deklan. “I suppose I’ll see you around? Maybe under a pear tree?” His thumbs met his suspenders at his chest before sliding to his waist.

  Deklan smiled down on Oakland, eyes directly on his caramel colored chest as it projected forward with labored strength. Deklan saluted him and then squeezed Chadwick’s ribs with the heels of his boots. He cracked his cheek a few times, telling the horse to get moving.

  Oakland had a silly-happy-feeling going on inside the pit of his stomach as he watched Deklan leave on horseback. It was good and a first for him. The Prince’s long dark hair flipped softly in the breeze when he twisted in his saddle one more time.

  On the way back to the carriage house, Oakland felt struck by jubilance, whistling joyful tunes as one would do if in love.

  When he opened the door to his place, a goat scornfully bleeped at him as if he’d been gone for days, and Oakland heard, “Baaaaahd, daaaaaahd.”

  Chapter 6

  The day that followed was lively at the Manor, every servant seemed frazzled as if they’d never hosted a party before. Oakland had a laugh at that while he watched from the window of his tiny cabin. Wagons delivering what appeared to be party effects were coming and going. By the way the staff scrambled inside and outside the mansion, looking like nervous ants milling for food, he could tell the evening was going to remain active until dawn.

  Set up in the expansive backyard were two gigantic canvas rooftop covers. One placed on each side of the lengthy pool running from the rear of the house to the furthest point of the property. The pool was enormous and Oakland wondered why anybody would need one that large. He figured the tents were meant for shade as well as maintain the food on the menu.

  By the looks of the commotion, Oakland might have been the only person not invited to help put it all together. He recognized most of those from the kitchen, and a few he’d seen from time to time around the manor. He presumed the skinny black man who kicked dirt in his eye and nabbed the invitation the other day was right—he didn’t belong with those people and probably never would.

  That was no big deal to Oakland. He was content with the life he was handed, and most of the time, was happy just being left alone. People bothered him, and the ones he’d been acquainted with, kicked him when he was down and pushed him around when he was up. He was a loner because of that, had everything he needed to survive, and probably more than most other people had.

  Oakland still kept wondering what it would be like if he was invited to the birthday celebration and what would happen if he ran into Deklan while there. The fantasy Prince seemed kind during the past few times they’d communicated, and Oakland could easily see them as mates. The idea of that had Oakland’s stomach tossing in a good way. He knew how he himself felt, but wasn’t sure if Deklan was feeling the same way. The horseback ride the night before had certainly introduced questions about Deklan. The clasping of hands and the eye contact had given a slight clue for what Deklan might be interested in. The thought of what could come of the two of them had left Oakland smiling, which then turned into a full blown grin the more he wondered about what could transpire once meeting up again.

  Without actually having been invited to the Manor’s celebration, on the upside, Oakland would be close enough at the carriage house to see the birthday event carrying on. He wouldn’t be dancing and dining with the prince, but if he could hear the music and witness the laughter, he would consider that as good as being there. While Oakland sat at the window next to his bed on the second floor watching all the commotion going on down below, he saw a door open at the south side of the manor that was rarely used. In fact, he hadn’t remembered ever seeing it open and close. His face had lit up when he spotted who had come out of that door. To Oakland, it appeared that Deklan had been escaping from whatever was taking place inside.

  He saw Deklan sidestepping with his back against the Manor wall as if trying not to be seen. The Prince crept craftily to the corner of the house before taking off with a crouched gallop toward the field where the two of them had recently been running into each other. The thought was crazy, but Oakland wondered if Deklan might have been planning to seek him out again, the man he continued to meet in isolated places.

  Deklan’s strong physique wasn’t easy for Oakland to ignore. He liked the way the man looked and the way his shoulder length hair flipped away from his face as he ran. He thought about following Deklan wherever he was going, make believe he ran into him by accident, but decided to stay put and keep his admiration for the Almond Prince his own secret.

  Oakland could hardly sit still, and instead of chasing, only watched Deklan disappear into the thick foliage of the forest. Inquisitively, Oakland wondered why he was running into the woods alone. Was he heading out to meet somebody? A secret affair? Was it he who Deklan might be searching for?

  Repressing the urge to jump out the window, Oakland sat back at last, pleased with himself for choosing not to dash after his first true heart’s desire. He fidgeted nervously before pulling himself away from the window, contemplating one more time if he should stay or go.

  Even though he hadn’t cared for it, principles had won the battle.

  He moved to the bed, lying back with his arms angled under his head, gazing into the blackness of the ceiling above, unable to get the images of Deklan out of his thoughts. It was the man’s strong features that held his attention. The few times they’d met, Deklan’s handsome face and gleaming eyes had gotten permanently lodged in his memory. There was brilliance within his aura that Oakland couldn’t quite explain, almost a sheen that hypnotized and pulled him in.

  He rolled to his side and stared out the window while listening to the outside noise as if it were inside the room with him. It was the sort of distraction he needed to bring himself back to reality. The stray cat he named Elmer was another helpful diversion, walking the bridge of his body from toe to shoulder and settling on the pillow where he proceeded with the hair licking ritual that had taken place almost every single night. The scratch of the cat’s tongue against his scalp had helped curb his thoughts, but not completely.

  Oakland then heard Wattsworth shouting orders to the staff, telling t
hem everything for Deklan’s twenty-sixth birthday celebration had to be in place well before the guests arrived the next day.

  As if the party shouldn’t have taken place, clouds suddenly covered the sky and defeated the sun that instant. It turned the grounds dark and rain had come down hard.

  Deklan had taken off from the manor for good reason, trying to escape the idea of his future life set in place by his parents. He wasn’t interested in getting married to somebody he had never met, much less to a female and… Oh Gawd, her vagina. He wasn’t born the man he was expected to be. He was attracted to men, not women. His anxiety had gotten the best of him and he needed to get out of that house.

  Deklan had eventually come to a narrow brook and clumsily jumped to the other side. His foot slipped on a mossy rock and he grumbled as the water filled his boot.

  He left the brook at a slower pace, surrendering to the rain that had already taken hold of him. He’d found refuge under the fullest tree, disturbed with his situation, but satisfied he was far away from what reminded him of why he had run away in the first place.

  Deklan reached for a bright red apple dangling from a twig above his head, scrubbed it against his wet shirt and took a horse sized bite of it—the tartness turning his face into a screwy knot. At that moment as if the sharpness of that apple had told him any place he’d run to would be sour, he thought rationally and decided to go back home to face his qualms head on.

  Unhappy and miserably wet, feeling nothing less than that of a prisoner, Deklan slogged through the misty woods, feeling wet brush, sticky ground cover, and grabby tree branches. He shivered from the freezing rain trickling down his back and cold air blowing over his dampened flesh. He sneezed. Strands of wet hair snapped his cheeks.