by Anne Barwell
The cat's ears stood up on end and then settled back against her head, almost as though she'd understood. She meowed softly and began trotting toward the field where the old oak stood. Tomas watched her for a moment and then followed, ignoring the nagging feeling that he was being led, the very idea ridiculous as he was going there anyway. The grass was damp after the rainfall they'd had that morning, long enough in places to brush against the bottoms of his jeans; he wondered when it had been mowed last or whether it was kept this length deliberately. In the distance a cow mooed, protesting something, and he shaded his eyes from the sun, which had decided to peek out from clearing skies, to see if he could spot the animal.
Instead, a glimpse of white-blond caught the corner of his eye. He blinked, turning in the direction of the tree, but could only see Blackthorn sauntering slowly toward it.
Long grass. An oak tree. Blond hair.
Tomas stopped, his heart thumping as realization struck. God, how could he have missed this? Forcing himself to turn full circle, he made himself slowly take in his surroundings, comparing them piece by piece until he had two pictures in his mind side by side. Ninety years was a long time, and even nature changed and aged, though at a slower pace than people. "Only love and imagination are always young," he whispered, the Keats verse coming unbidden to his mind. This had been what he'd seen in Alice's painting, the magic he'd been unable to put a finger on. The inn had been hers, this field somewhere she had loved.
He swallowed, shivering. Even though he'd been here before, the painting was like seeing someone familiar but much younger, out of reach, intangible, only viewable as a watercolor of a frozen snapshot of time, its present, much older version merely an echo of that. This place still had some magic to it though, didn't it? What Alice had captured was not truly gone, just faded. It was still the same place, just older, and he was being an idiot.
The tree stood unmoving, its leaves a painted picture in the breeze which caressed like fingers against Tomas's face. Bringing his hand to his eyes, he rubbed at them. He had work to do today, and being distracted by fanciful ideas of personifying nature was something he could not afford to do. Novels did not write themselves, and he had already spent far more of the day out socializing than he had originally intended.
By the time he reached the base of the tree, Blackthorn was sitting under it washing herself, one paw examined in detail before rubbing it over her ear and starting on the next. Dumping his belongings on the ground, Tomas sat down himself, leaning his back against the large trunk, ignoring the dampness seeping through his jeans. At least the foliage had provided the ground with some shelter from the rain, although the occasional drop of water landing on his hair was somewhat annoying. Readjusting his position to avoid the branch in question, he unscrewed the lid of the Thermos and took an appreciative whiff of the freshly brewed coffee.
Blackthorn stopped washing herself and gazed at the tea towel on his lap as if to say "What about me?" He opened his mouth to tell her she was pushing it but closed it again, something brown moving out from behind the tree just as he realized he was about to waste his time attempting to get the better of a cat. Blackthorn shifted her attention to the small hedgehog immediately, her body moving from relaxed to ready to stalk. Ignoring the cat, the small animal sniffed the air, scampering toward Tomas's lap. Tomas glared at it and Blackthorn. "My scones!" he muttered, determined they were not going to steal more than just crumbs.
Both animals looked at him, almost as though they thought he was delusional. Yes, his imagination was out in force today. Next he'd be hearing them speaking, further proof as to the state of his mind, or lack thereof.
"Are you going to share those?" The soft voice by his ear made Tomas jump, the tea towel he'd been opening falling toward the ground only to be caught just in time. Cathal chuckled. "Sorry," he apologized when Tomas glared up at him. "Did I startle you?"
"No, of course not." Tomas tried to sound casual. After all, people appeared out of thin air every day, just as they made a habit of disappearing into it. "I had the situation completely under control."
Cathal raised an eyebrow. "So you make a habit of talking to cats and hedgehogs and not sharing your scones with them, hmm?" Blackthorn meowed. Cathal handed Tomas the tea towel and sat down against the tree next to him, holding out his hand for Blackthorn to sniff. The hedgehog turned to look at him as well, staring for a moment before rolling into a still ball.
"How did you know I have scones?" Tomas demanded suspiciously, watching Blackthorn lick Cathal's hand and jump onto his lap. Bloody cat. She might be lucky and get some crumbs, but she wasn't taking over completely.
"It's nice to see you again too, Tomas." Cathal seemed almost amused by Tomas's reaction. "Yes, I know you like them," he told Blackthorn, petting the cat under her chin. "Let's hope Heidi's made the kind with raisins she usually does."
"Sultanas," Tomas corrected absently, noticing the twinkle in Cathal's eye as he spoke and feeling very much like Cathal had an advantage over him. There was so much he didn't know about Cathal, so much he wanted to know. "I didn't know you knew Heidi. She's never mentioned you."
Cathal smiled. "We've never met." Blackthorn growled low in her throat. "Ah yes, sultanas." He sighed, leaning back against the tree, the movement causing his leg to brush against Tomas's. Tomas grabbed his bag and looked for the spare mug he could have sworn he'd thrown in there earlier that day, and hoped Cathal wouldn't notice the heat spreading across his face. "I've never had the privilege of actually tasting her scones. I've only admired them from a distance." His tone grew wistful, and his eyes clouded over in memory. "It's the simple things like stealing fresh baking that I miss." There was a pause and a rueful smile. "Even if I did get my hand smacked for it."
"You stole baking?" Tomas tried to visualize what Cathal must have been like as a child. One of those who could get away with just about anything with wide eyes and an innocent expression, he figured. "From whom and what happened?" His voice softened. "I couldn't imagine someone staying mad at you for long."
"You'd be surprised." Cathal's tone was bitter for a moment, his hands clenching into fists. Tomas looked up at him in surprise, but the angry expression fled Cathal's face instantly as though someone had taken a cloth and wiped it away to replace it with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "She was a very dear friend whom I miss terribly." The cat on his lap whined in her throat, and Cathal stroked her absently, soothing her. "It was a long time ago, but I remember it still as though it was yesterday."
"I'm sorry." Tomas moved a little closer, wanting to put an arm around Cathal to comfort him but unsure as to how the gesture might be taken. "It's difficult when friends are angry with each other."
"No! She--" Blackthorn meowed loudly and jumped off Cathal's lap, stalking off before settling in the grass a short distance away. "We were friends; the anger was never between us." He gave the cat a stubborn look and shook his head, his next words soft. "It wasn't your fault either."
"Cat?" Tomas wondered if she, whoever she was, had been allowed to use the nickname. "Are you okay?" Normal people did not talk to cats as Cathal was doing now. Whatever had happened to Cathal, however long ago, it still hurt him badly. Even though they had only known each other a very short time, there was no mistaking the regret in his voice, the slumping of his shoulders, and the way he was moving slowly away, putting emotional as well as physical distance between them.
"I am fine. This is something I should know better than to talk about." Cathal dragged himself across the grass, putting more distance between them. He settled down on his bottom, crossing his legs, his body language suggesting Tomas should not attempt to get any closer. "Could I have some of your coffee, please? And a scone, if you don't mind sharing? Perhaps you could show me what you're working on today?"
The change of subject was abrupt and not at all subtle, but Tomas decided, for the moment at least, to respect Cathal's need to move on. Once he got to know him better and f
elt more confident, he would attempt to broach this topic again. "I brought an extra cup in case you wanted some. I wasn't sure you liked coffee."
Again Tomas was treated to the fake smile. "I enjoy coffee and don't get the opportunity often. It's not a common beverage where I am from." Cathal ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "I'm sorry, Tomas. It's better this way." He took the cup of hot coffee Tomas offered, their fingers brushing briefly.
"It's all right, Cat," he said softly, trying to sound reassuring. "One day when you're ready, we can talk. In the meantime we can share coffee and scones, okay?" Tomas unwrapped the scones, laying the tea towel out on the grass between them so they could both help themselves. "Heidi's sent more than enough, so have what you like. They're better fresh."
Not letting go of his coffee, Cathal edged forward until he was sitting closer but kept the tea towel between them. Slowly he picked up a scone and took a tentative bite, chewing thoughtfully. He grinned, his mouth full. "This is very good, much better than the last scone I had." A slight chuckle escaped his lips. "Alice's cooking always smelt wonderful, but the taste left something to be desired. Her skills lay elsewhere, but she was determined to be domesticated. It could be quite amusing at times."
"Alice?" Tomas stilled, scone midway to his own mouth, his brain making connections that had to be impossible. "Did she live locally? I don't think I've met her as yet."
"She used to." Cathal finished his scone and took another gulp of coffee, throwing the couple of large crumbs on his lap in the direction of the rolled-up hedgehog. "But I doubt you knew her." His tone was suddenly very factual. "Alice Edmonds. She and my cousin were together a long time ago."
"Were?" Tomas felt himself relax, chastising himself for thinking Cathal's Alice and his could be connected. After all, it was a common enough name; even Emerys had used it. Even if they were distantly related, which was unlikely, and Cathal might have some clues to what Tomas was seeking, that would mean confessing that he'd had no luck finding the sequel to the book, and he wasn't ready to admit to that as yet.
"Nothing lasts forever, Tomas. Love isn't always enough." Cathal glanced toward the sky, his gaze lingering on a patch of white meandering across an otherwise uninterrupted sea of blue. "However much you want it to be." He placed his cup on the ground, his eyes darting to the tree and back.
"It has to be, sometimes," Tomas insisted. "It's one of the reasons I write, to create a place where it could be, rather than just a hope that never eventuates." He followed Cathal's line of vision to the tree, but there was nothing there apart from Blackthorn, who was watching the hedgehog, who had uncurled and was eating the crumbs Cathal had tossed it.
Cathal raised one eyebrow. "I didn't think you wrote romances, although I thought there were some hints that one of the couples could have been together." He paused. "But it was never confirmed or denied. It was one of the things I liked about the book you gave me. The other was that they were making their own future rather than the one dictated for them by the expectations of their society." Cathal looked suddenly embarrassed, almost guilty. "I haven't returned it, as my sister wanted to read it too. I hope that is okay. She was curious but promised to be careful."
"That's fine," Tomas reassured him, wondering if he would get to meet this sister or in fact find out where exactly Cathal was from. He frowned, realization striking. "There weren't any couples as such in that book," he pointed out slowly. "Just the two men who...."
"I thought had a connection," Cathal finished, picking up another scone and chewing thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, was I wrong?" He sighed. "I was almost certain they might kiss when they were watching the stars on that last night before they went into battle, especially as there was a good chance that Alan might not return."
"No, you weren't wrong." Tomas ran his finger around the edge of his coffee cup, biting down on his lower lip. "I...." It felt weird admitting this to someone, but also a weight off his shoulders in light of his current project. "They were meant to, but I felt uncomfortable writing two men kissing." His muse had refused to talk to him for weeks afterward, but Tomas had refused to give in or admit to himself why considering changing the ending of the book made him so uneasy.
"Why?" Cathal's rather direct question wasn't what Tomas had been expecting. Actually he wasn't sure what reaction he had expected. His fingers going to his mouth, he remembered Cathal's lips brushing against his in passing when they had just met. But that hadn't been a kiss, just a.... "Why did it make you uncomfortable?" Cathal was staring at him intently. Tomas told himself there was not a right or a wrong answer to this. He would be honest, and if Cathal didn't like it, that was his problem.
"I...." Tomas swallowed, giving himself a swift mental kick. He could do this. "I thought if I wrote it, people might think I was, um...." Those bloody leprechauns stared back at him when he examined the tea towel. He chose to ignore them. "You know... gay."
Cathal looked at him blankly. "Gay?" Wherever he was from, he obviously had no idea what the word meant. Fuck, that meant Tomas would have to spell it out.
Another gulp of coffee did nothing to steady his nervousness. This was definitely not the reaction he'd been expecting, especially after the effort it had taken him to admit it. Speaking slowly, Tomas forced himself to meet Cathal's gaze straight on. "Gay," he repeated. "That I'm... interested in other men." Cathal was watching him very intently, as though waiting for him to elaborate. "Romantically and sexually," he finished somewhat lamely. There, it was done, and he was out.
"Oh," said Cathal, frowning. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand why this would be an issue. None of us choose who we fall in love with, and what does it matter whether it is with a man or a woman?"
Where the hell was he from? Tomas stared at him, trying to force his brain and his voice to work, ignoring the slow flush spreading through his body as Cathal's gaze didn't falter. "Some people don't think that way."
"I see." Cathal looked Tomas up and down. "So," he continued softly, "are you?"
"Am I what?" A strand of hair fell over Cathal's eyes, and Tomas wanted very badly to reach over and brush it from his face. He took another sip of coffee, feeling uncomfortable. It wasn't that he didn't like the way in which Cathal seemed to be focusing on him so intently, which was odd in itself, as he normally hated being the center of attention even in a one-on-one situation.
Cathal smiled, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Interested in another man romantically and sexually?"
Why couldn't he have just asked Tomas if he were gay? That would have been much easier to answer. Wouldn't it? Tomas licked his lips slowly, his mouth still dry. "I might be." His mind screamed at him not to be such a bloody idiot, but he ignored it and blurted out something else, something that was supposed to be safer and would change the subject. "It wasn't the only reason I didn't write them kissing."
"Of course it wasn't." It was difficult to tell whether Cathal was agreeing or teasing. "So...." Cathal was still watching him intently. He seemed somewhat flushed himself, or maybe that was wishful thinking on Tomas's part? After all, Tomas had only said he might be interested in someone. The statement wasn't specific enough to be an admission one way or another. "Are you going to tell me the other reason, or do I have to guess?"
Instead of answering, Tomas dug into his bag and pulled out his writing journal. Leafing through it, he found the scene he was working on and handed the journal to Cathal. "I have the same problem with this scene," he explained. Damn his bloody muse, who sure as hell wasn't going to take the same excuses Tomas had made last time, especially after what he'd just admitted to Cathal. "I umm...." He swallowed, noticing how Cathal seemed to be almost devouring the words he was reading, even though it was a snippet out of context. "I've never been kissed by another man," he finally said.
Cathal looked up at Tomas, his voice soft, wistful. "Neither have I." His head lowered again quickly, his attention once more taken by the words on the page in front of him. "I really like
this," he said finally, the journal still open on his lap. "They both feel so awkward and yet it's obvious they have some kind of feelings for each other." He blushed, pink dusting his pale skin to spread from his cheeks down his neck and throat to disappear into the top of his loose shirt. "At least it reads like that to me."
"They do," Tomas said, crossing his legs at the ankle and then uncrossing them again. "I just...." How could he explain this without feeling like a complete idiot? "I don't want to ruin it by writing something I know nothing about." God, why had he put it like that? Maybe it wasn't too late to just ignore this whole conversation and find a large hole to bury himself in.
"I see." Cathal wiped his palms on his trousers and then turned the page of the journal back and forth, his eyes scanning the words again. "Maybe I could help?" he suggested. "Can you tell me what the story is about so I can get more of an idea of what this kiss should, er... involve?"
"Involve?" Tomas's voice sounded strained to his own ears. He coughed, clearing his throat before speaking again. "Umm, it's about a writer who meets someone he thinks might be a muse."
"I see." Cathal nodded slowly. "Why does he think that?" He edged closer to Tomas, the book still balanced carefully on his lap.
"He's drawn to this person he's not long met." The explanation sounded somewhat weak now that Tomas had to actually explain it to someone else. "It's like they have a connection...."
"Like Alan and Roger in your other book?" Cathal frowned. "That doesn't explain why--" He checked the name. "--Deimos might be a muse though, but then I haven't read enough."
Tomas opened his mouth to explain more, how Deimos seemed to appear and disappear out of thin air, how he seemed otherworldly, how Mark kept thinking about him all the time. Cathal placed one hand on Tomas's knee, his breath warm against Tomas's face. "Cat? What are you doing?"