The only conclusion he could reach was that he was hiding.
This was not his true home, merely borrowed. If it were his, he would have filled it with horses and other beasts, but that required a working farmstead to keep them alive. Absolon knew this. He had been born on one but escaped its trappings. He should have been able to grow hay to feed them, so then why hadn’t he? Could it be that it would draw the attention of passersby, or the nearest village?
Absolon craved attention, Ragnar’s more than most, so what had happened to make him hide out there alone?
Ragnar hadn’t yet found a way to break his own chains, but he’d found a chink in Absolon’s armor.
Absolon didn’t return to him for the rest of the day and there was no sound that indicated he was even around, though he must have been. A jailer never wandered too far from their prison, otherwise what did they become without it?
When night fell and the air grew still and crisp, Ragnar stood and faced the window, getting as close as he could without straining. With face turned to the opening, he opened his mouth and sang.
His rich tenor voice had swayed lovers—women and men—into his arms, and Absolon had stared at him with adoring eyes more often when his mouth was engaged in song. His throat was still scratchy from its parching, but the more he sang, the smoother it became. The stone cell amplified and resonated the sound, pleasing even to his ears. He raised his voice louder, as he sang of love lost.
By the third song, his own heart was aching as he poured as near to true emotion into his words. The glow of a lantern appeared in the window, soft at first before getting nearer. Ragnar smiled but kept singing, and the light stayed. He finished the song and moved on to another; one he’d been saving for this moment. He allowed a moment of silence, to let anticipation fill the break between one and the next before he began.
Ragnar imagined he was singing to Absolon, that the berserker was in front of him, naked in his bed and looking up with admiring eyes. He’d sung this song to him so many times: in a crowded tavern when it had been a secret sign of their affection, or whispered in his tent before the start of that fateful battle, and as a gentle lullaby in that cold stone building in the forest while they fended off winter.
He sang all six verses, leaning heavy on the emotions. They were easy to draw on. The memories swept them into his arms. His voice broke more than once as he tripped over loving remembrances and the good times in the bad that they had shared before he’d had to do what he’d had to do.
He held the last note as long as he could, and when he finished, he was no longer looking at the window, no longer playing for Absolon, and no longer in the mood for singing. He retreated to the wall and slumped to the ground, his heavy heart bringing him even lower. He watched the window for as long as he could stay awake before sleep claimed him.
And the lantern never left.
Though his renditions had brought no one to his rescue, he would try again—only when his heart was not so tender. The singing had affected him more than he would have imagined, stirring up recollections from a lifetime ago.
Absolon came in the afternoon with food and water, tending to him as he would a caged animal. He didn’t meet his eyes, merely looked at buckets, at manacles, at pieces disjointed from the whole, and not at the one they were all connected to. Ragnar had never felt more invisible.
Words pricked his tongue, eager to leap forth and ensnare Absolon, but he didn’t know which ones to use. He couldn’t talk about the singing without it sounding like he wanted his approval. He didn’t want to lead him into a fight that could push him away. He’d come two days in a row; breaking that streak could prove deadly.
Though Absolon ignored him, he studied Absolon. He forced himself to not linger on his broad build, on his thick arms and coarse hands, on the expanse of his chest and shoulders, the muscles that rippled beneath his clothes, the firmness of his legs or the solid roundness of his ass. All that was as much as it ever was. Even in his studied avoidance of focusing on them, snatches of memories of running his hand across Absolon’s naked body, gripping hard to his wrists and pinning him down with all his strength as he willingly submitted, of his hands at his throat—
Snatches that Ragnar had to dash aside in the hope Absolon didn’t see how the crotch of his trousers tightened.
No, what he was meant to be looking at was the effect of the songs, the effect of killing thirty men, the effect of being alone with a man he despised. He focused.
Absolon’s smile was gone.
That revelation struck him like Thor’s thunderbolt.
Thinking back, he hadn’t seen Absolon smile the entire time, but he’d had other things to worry about. Now, however…
Gone with the smile was also the happiness that had once filled Absolon’s body to bursting. From what Absolon had once told him of his past, there had been little cause for mirth, yet he had always found something to smile at, such as the gentle greeting of his horses and the grudging affection of others. No matter how many times Absolon was spurned, by family, by friends, by lovers, he held onto the hope that next time would be better.
When had Absolon last smiled?
Absolon’s eyes swam in sadness, his body was tensed and rigid, he was barely capable of holding himself together.
“Stop staring at me,” Absolon growled and turned his head so their eyes finally met.
“Is that to be a new condition of my captivity? You may as well blindfold me.”
“How about I pluck out your eyes instead?”
You wouldn’t. He tried to believe that.
“What happened to you, Absolon?”
“You dare ask me that?”
“I do. I want to know.”
“You no longer have the right.”
“It can’t be easy for you here, with no one to talk to.”
“Who says I’m alone?”
“Oh? There is someone else here, after all? Another jailer? Another prisoner?”
The corner of Absolon’s mouth twitched.
Ragnar waved away the need for him to answer, taking the pleasure of having Absolon flustered into his heart, though it didn’t ring with as much joy as he expected. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been listening. I know you’re here alone. That must be difficult for you.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
“Come now, we know each other better than that. That’s why you had the dog.”
Absolon’s eyes flared.
Ragnar ducked his head. “I am sorry about that. I didn’t mean for it to run away.”
“His name was Trogen.”
“Sorry, again. I was only trying to escape; you can’t blame me for that.”
“I blame you for a lot of things, including the loss of my dog.”
“He’ll return. I’m certain of it. You take good care of your animals.”
Absolon looked over his shoulder, perhaps thinking of the dog and wondering where it was, and if he should go look for it.
“Who brought you here, Absolon?”
He spun round. “No one. This is my place. It’s for me and me alone.”
“Has it always been just you?”
“Yes.”
“Then where did you learn how to…you know…?” He put up a hand, slightly bent the end of his fingers, and opened his mouth like he was a monster or attacking wolf.
“That’s none of your business.”
“I think it is.” He stood. “It’s how you’re going to kill me, isn’t it? How does it work?”
“I’m not talking to you about it.”
“What happens when you do it?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“But I want to know now.”
“All you need to know is that you will get what you deserve.”
“Whatever has happened to you has obviously made you stronger and more fearful. Isn’t that enough?”
“You might like being feared but I don’t. Because of you, I have been turned into this…thi
ng. I am cursed and it is because of you.”
“Who cursed you?”
“Someone else I was wrong to trust.”
“Then they should be here in my place. I did not do this to you.”
“If you hadn’t left me behind, then he wouldn’t have found me. I wouldn’t be like this. I would have been beside you and we would—” He stuffed his words back down his throat, closed his mouth, and breathed deep through his nose. “What’s done is done and you will pay the price for your part in it.” Absolon headed for the door.
“Then let me pay for it with money. I promise you can have all of it. Use it to buy yourself a whole herd of horses and a pack of hounds. There’s enough there to keep you and your farmstead for fifty years.”
“Fifty years? And what of beyond that? What will become of me then?” Absolon grew agitated from the idea and fidgeted and fretted like he was the one trapped in a cell. Ragnar had exaggerated the depth of his coffers, but surely Absolon did not believe he would live much beyond his seventieth year. Very few farmers ever did. But it seemed a question that bothered him immensely.
“There will be someone for you, Absolon. Someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated. Someone who loves you.”
The words shook as they came out of Ragnar’s mouth, but they stiffened Absolon to stone and his gaze narrowed. The agitation fled.
“Your money is worthless, and your attempts at bargaining are clumsy and insulting. You will die, Ragnar. And that is the end of it. Hold your tongue and keep your own counsel until then, and pray God forgives you because I sure as Hell won’t.” He slammed the door.
That night, Ragnar sang again, his breath clouding as it left his body. The glow of the lantern appeared, but Absolon did not demand he keep silent. And though the songs remained melancholy, Ragnar’s heart filled with hope.
Chapter 4
Absolon delivered the next day’s rations without engaging in anything remotely resembling conversation. No shadows darkened his eyes but the stooping of his shoulders, the lank fall of his blond hair, revealed more about his state of mind than any words. Absolon had always been obvious. No matter how much Ragnar goaded him into talking, peppered with gentle and caring questions about his wellbeing, Absolon completed his tasks like a ghost locked in the work of a doomed eternity.
Old buckets taken out, new buckets brought in, loaf of bread delivered, staler than the day before and dotted with holes where Absolon’s thick fingers had penetrated too deep. With the work done and Absolon about to leave, Ragnar ordered him to stop.
And he did, but the set of his jaw showed how much he hated that he had.
The soldier was still in there. How many times had he barked orders at Absolon only to have them eagerly completed? How many times had he spoken quiet but hard in his ear for him to roll over, to raise his hips, to touch himself, to not touch himself?
“Thank you for what you have brought me, and I know you are trying to make this as comfortable as you’ll allow, but it has been a few days and I would like to bathe. Even horses get groomed daily.”
“You are not a horse.”
“Exactly. I am a man.”
Absolon chuckled. “You are a viper and spit only venom.”
“That may be the same, but the stench coming off me must be worse than any poison. Bring me a change of clothes and a few extra buckets of water so I may wash.”
Absolon’s mouth twitched. “You think you can make these demands?”
“They’re requests. You’re in charge. I know that.”
He narrowed his eyes. Those words would have sounded false to anyone, but it was nevertheless what Absolon wanted to hear. He was in his power, but though he suspected a trap, he’d consider himself strong enough to outplay it.
“Please, Absolon, I know I will die for what I did to you and the pain I have caused you. I am prepared to wait, but surely you can permit this small allowance.”
He grunted by way of response, committal neither one way or the other, and left. If he didn’t return, Ragnar would keep at him until he relented. Or made a mistake. The idea of washing had not been one he had planned on, desperate for anything to keep Absolon talking, to find where the boundaries stood in what he would permit. But now the idea was out it seemed as good and as useful as any. An opportunity to wring of potential. Could he convince Absolon to remove the manacles? Could he get close enough to steal the keys or to wrestle Absolon to the ground and best him? The last seemed impossible but desperate men were sometimes blessed with untold strength, and he was becoming desperate.
His plotting was interrupted by the unlocking of the door. Absolon’s booted foot kicked it open and he marched in with a barrel full of water held on one hand and balanced with the other and advanced towards Ragnar as if he meant to throw all of it at him. Ragnar retreated, his arms up.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. Please, Sol.”
Absolon stopped. “What did you call me?”
“I’m sorry, forget it.”
“What. Did. You. Call. Me?”
Ragnar swallowed. “Sol.”
Absolon growled and dumped the barrel on top of him. A few hundredweight of icy water drenched him and forced him to his knees. The water flooded the floor.
“You don’t get to call me that,” Absolon snarled. “Ever again.”
It was a mistake. He hadn’t wanted that far too familiar name to cross his lips. That had been his name for Absolon, the one he’d whispered in the dead of night to soothe his worries. It had felt sacred then and profane now.
Absolon marched for the door.
Ragnar’s teeth chattered loudly. “You can’t…leave me…like this.”
Absolon sneered. “You’ll dry.”
“I’ll die…of…the chill…before…you kill me.” And he believed it. His skin grew taut and gooseflesh rose across his body. He hugged himself for some warmth but that squeezed out more water. He was going to die from this.
Absolon grumbled and vanished. Ragnar tried to look up, but he was shivering too badly. There had been frost on his water ration that morning and his coat was already struggling to keep him warm. One night like this and he’d freeze.
Booted and dry clothed legs appeared in front of him. “Stand up.”
He did as he was told, digging deep for his noble dignity, but no sooner had he straightened than Absolon’s hands were on him. With both hands he ripped the clothes from Ragnar’s body like they were nothing but tree bark. Ragnar started, about to cover himself, but forced himself to stop. He would endure this. He could perhaps even use it. He held his tongue and watched for the right moment, while the gentle wind scoured his body.
Absolon flung the rags down in a sodden heap. Though the cold would not be flattering, Ragnar stood proud in his wet boots and tracked Absolon’s eyes wherever they went. They slid down his body, explored where his hands and mouth had once traveled, but they did not linger. Absolon was a stablehand and Ragnar was a horse being checked for burrs and nicks. Absolon’s lips disappeared into a thin grim line.
He handed Ragnar a cloth to dry himself, holding it out at arm’s length. Ragnar took it, overreaching far enough to touch Absolon’s hand. He withdrew like he’d been scalded and retreated to the other side of the cell, cloaking himself in shadows.
“You’re going to stand there while I do this?”
“I don’t trust you. When you’re done, I’ll take everything back.”
Ragnar shrugged. He was still cold, his skin tightening on his bones, his boots soaked through and freezing, but he took his time and let Absolon take in all of him. He looked into the shadows to where Absolon’s eyes must be before letting the cloth cover his face. He rubbed his hair dry for far longer than he needed.
He ran the cloth over his face then lengthened his neck to mop it of water and twisted and reached as much of his back as he could, knowing how his muscles stretched, creating a line for Absolon to follow. He dried one arm, long, languorous, then the other, before wi
ping down his chest, his abdomen, deviating to his left leg, down his thighs, around to his hamstrings and calves, and repeated it down the right.
He straightened and rubbed the cloth over his groin, cleaning his cock and balls of the last drop of moisture. Despite himself—or because of himself—his cock thickened but he turned his back before Absolon could see his full arousal.
He held the cloth out from his body. “Will you dry the rest of my back, please?”
He heard Absolon move and smiled to himself but no sooner had his lips curved than Absolon pushed him against the wall, hand flat in the middle of his back, and crushed him against the stone. Roughly, Absolon scraped the last of the water from his body, his bulk close enough to his naked skin to feel heat. Absolon’s lips appeared close to Ragnar’s ear, hot breath on his skin, lulling Ragnar into closing his eyes. Absolon hadn’t often been like this but when he had…
His cock hardened even as Absolon pinned him down.
“You always were a cheap whore, Ragnar.”
“Then use me, Sol.”
Absolon pressed him harder against the wall. “I told you not to call me that.” His teeth were clammed shut so tight Ragnar could hear them grind. “You’re not worthy of it.”
“Then punish me for it. Take out your hate on me. Use me like I used you.” He swallowed hard. He’d stop at nothing to get away from Absolon. Even this.
“You’re not worth my spit, let alone my seed.”
“You used to enjoy giving me both.”
Air snorted through his nostrils. “Is there nothing that will stop your mouth?”
“You know the only thing that could ever do that.” He pushed his ass back until he rubbed against the hard bulge in Absolon’s trousers and raised a small smile to his success.
“Will you give up what scraps of honor you have left to get your way?” Absolon shoved him again and stepped back.
Ragnar rolled his shoulders and turned around. His cock was standing firm and to attention, but he wouldn’t hide it. As much as he hated that Absolon had brought this out of him, he would use it to his advantage. “Why shouldn’t we both have a little pleasure before I’m to die?”
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