His legs spread so wide that he had to be hurting, Scarlet emitted a harsh cry. He cracked his head back against the oaken chest, arched his body and then held rigid, even as Brien observed the green and, as yet, reedy shoot that grew out of the Green Man’s leaf-clad loins. Dexterous and animated, the tiny green stem stroked its way down the cleft in Scarlet’s tautened arse, and its clever purpose became all the more obvious. Even from yards away, Brien could see the streams of white sap that the Green Man smeared into the boy’s crack. Like a human finger, the shoot prodded and caressed Scarlet’s entrance, carefully lubricating it for the intrusion ahead.
Oh Lord, how much more of this can I take? Brien’s body ached for Scarlet, but Scarlet was clearly not his. He watched as, after lengthy ministrations, the shoot eased its way into Scarlet’s tight opening. His mind filled with imaginings of that pulsing, velvet channel. How sublime would it feel about his cock as he took Scarlet, claimed him, plunging deeper and deeper, harder and harder? Brien felt like weeping.
The Green Man had not ceased in his solicitous attention to Scarlet’s prick. The wooden hand now pumped to the same accelerating rhythms as the shaft that plundered Scarlet’s arse, and it was evident that the young woodsman was being pushed toward the very brink of orgasm.
Yet Brien sensed he was not there quite yet, and that the great Green Man must have more to offer than this. Yes, the most dreadful part of this strange coupling was yet to come.
Brien’s gaze remained glued to where Scarlet’s rounded buttocks were penetrated by the tree, bounced back and forth by the increasingly ferocious power of the fucking. Slowly but surely, the shoot within him began to swell. From a slender girth of less than half an inch, the shoot transformed to over two inches wide—and did not seem to stop in its expansion. And as its terrible cock grew and grew, the Green Man fucked Scarlet ever faster and harder, striking into the much smaller body with a massive, earth-wrenching power.
His eyes wide, his lips contorted into a perfect O, Scarlet screamed. His cock quivering and jolting in the tree’s busy hand, he ejaculated a stream of ivory liquid through the still night air. Almost simultaneously a roar ripped toward the heavens. The Green Man gave one last, strenuous thrust, his enormous cock impaling so deeply into the little woodsman that Brien feared Scarlet would be ripped apart.
But upon Scarlet’s weary countenance, Brien discerned the merest quirk of a smile. Tears streaked down the lad’s cheeks; his whole body trembled and shuddered. And then he fell limp. A thousand gentle branches caught his drooping form and pulled him into a wooden cradle against the great chest of the Green Man.
His cock still agonizingly hard, all Brien could do was look on and yearn for Scarlet until his eyes lulled mercifully shut, and a blank, dreamless sleep overcame him.
Chapter Six
The first thing Scarlet became aware of was the smell of wood smoke, tinged with the crisp bite of dew. It also occurred to him that, despite the homely crackle of a nearby fire, he was cold again. He was alone, with no strong arms around him.
Just who did he expect to be holding him?
A chill trickled down Scarlet’s spine. He could sense he was no longer held in thrall in the dreamlike realm of the oak, nor was he safe in the arms of the great Green Man. There was nobody else Scarlet desired to hold him…was there? His eyes snapped open and latched on to Brien, who was pacing beside a crackling wood fire. Looking his way, the captain frowned.
“I’ve not got much breakfast for you. Nearly had a coney. The little blighter wriggled out of my hands.”
So was that why he looked so moody? Brien crouched down beside him, and Scarlet’s alarm spiked. Brien seemed even larger than he had yesterday, his rugged handsomeness enhanced by a day’s extra growth of stubble. “How are you feeling this morning?”
In all honesty, Scarlet wasn’t quite sure. Pushing himself onto his elbows, he realized his head was throbbing and heavy, and…oh! Oh yes, his arse felt pretty damned sore because he’d been taken and hard. He was pretty sure it had not been the captain who had fucked him. Thank the spirits!
On the other hand, he also had vivid memories of what had happened earlier in the day, reminding him that there were plenty of other reasons he should be feeling a little battered. He recalled how Brien had saved him, and how desperate he had been for it to be Brien who did so. How he’d craved the faederswica! Silently Scarlet thanked Holgaerst once more. Embodied in the great Green Man, the spirits had seen fit to heal and reclaim him for the oak, when they could so easily have let him slip toward the realm of Niogaerst.
“Lost your tongue?” asked Brien. “Maybe you should lie back down. I have bread in my saddlebag. Won’t be too fresh, but…”
“No, thank you.” Scarlet’s throat felt dry, his voice hoarse, but he had to think fast, to say something. Taking food from the traitor might just cast him straight back into the mire. “Thank you for helping me yesterday, but…but…”
He scrambled to his feet—far too hastily. The world reeled about him, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He felt Brien catch him, pulling him flush against his chest.
“Hey, hey, there’s no rush. You were badly hurt last night, although…you seem to be somewhat better this morning. The cut on your head is healing well, and the beating seems to have left you with nothing worse than scratches.”
Brien’s snort was incredulous, and Scarlet cringed. He had little choice but to let the captain hold him for a moment. Brien rubbed his back, kneading the nape of his neck with his thumb. It felt so good that Scarlet almost melted into him. To pull away from this would be agony, but he had to do it.
He braced his hands flat on Brien’s chest, straightening himself. “I really have to go now. Once again I thank you…but…”
The menacing glint in Brien’s eyes answered before his voice did. “After all the effort I went to in order to get you back, Scarlet, I’m not letting you escape again.”
“W-what do you mean?”
Brien raised his forearm. It was very thick, sturdy sinews covered with a crisp lattice of dark hair, but Scarlet’s attention was snatched from this impressive sight by the metal-studded cuff about Brien’s wrist, from which extended a long leather strap. Looking at his wrist, Scarlet gaped at an identical partner cuff, which smothered his leather bracelet and acorn charm beneath it. Somehow, during that unwonted embrace, Brien had tethered them together. Brien then manoeuvred Scarlet, pulling his wrists out in front of him, and bound his arms with rope, palms kissing like before.
“I fashioned this from parts of Smithy’s saddle. Let’s see if you can bewitch hemp and leather as easily as you can the foliage, eh, pixie?”
Heat rose in Scarlet’s cheeks, and he tugged at his bindings. Already there was no give, and still feeling heavy-headed, he hardly had the strength to put up much of a struggle against the larger man. Oh, Mother Goddess of the Earth, just as he thought he’d been forgiven…and then this? What if yesterday had been a final warning, a last chance for him to prove his mettle? Although it had hardly been much of a chance, he reassured himself, and escape from this man was getting harder and harder by the moment. If that was even what he wanted…
Of course that was what he wanted. He didn’t want to die a horrible, painful death or consign himself a fate far worse. Scarlet had to remember whom he belonged to, or next time the Green Man may turn his oaken back on him, and his blood would drain beneath the peat and the mud and into the realm of Niogaerst. He stiffened his sinews. But damn it, it was so hard to repress that faint tingle of excitement as rough rope and even rougher hands bound him snugly once more.
Finishing his work, Brien rose so they stood with the toes of their boots touching. Scarlet glared up at him, jutting out his chin defiantly.
“Let me go!”
“I can’t do that. So let’s get one thing straight. You didn’t take the papers, did you? Look, in the name of the Lord, I saved your life yesterday. Can you be honest with me about this one thing?”
/> Scarlet found he couldn’t lie to Brien, not when they stood this close. “No. I didn’t take them.”
“I thought not. Now somebody was watching us yesterday. Somebody helped us fight off Hastings and his men. I think it was your fairy, or maybe my sister? Even if you don’t know where she lives, there must be somebody living in the forest or its villages who does know.” He paused in order to flash that ravishing grin. “And who better to lead me to the fairy than a pixie?”
Yes, there were indeed people who might know where to find Jemima: the druidesses. And Brien wanted Scarlet to lead him to their temple? Scarlet strove to conceal his rising panic.
“If you help me find my sister, I’ll even let you keep your pretty clothes.”
“My clothes?”
Scarlet scanned down his body, startled by the matter that, what with everything that had happened, he had not noticed that Brien must have dressed him in his silk and muslin finery while he’d been sleeping. His old clothes had been ripped to little more than rags yesterday, and yes, Scarlet was grateful to have the new ones back. He even muttered a quiet “thanks,” although his throat felt very tight.
So Brien had handled him naked. Was that another good reason why he felt so sore? Yet the notion of the rogue molesting his helpless body as he slept filled him neither with the revulsion nor the fear for his life that it ought. He suppressed a tremor of thrill, even as a previous worry reared its head: could taking the clothes as a gift from the faederswica be as dangerous as taking food? Then again, he hardly wanted to have to streak around the forest with nothing on.
Brien draped the remnants of Scarlet’s wool smock over his shoulders like a cloak. “That ought to keep you warm. It’s crisp this morning, even for March.”
“Thank you. But…but I can’t help you find anybody.”
“I don’t believe you. I know when you’re lying. You wriggle and cringe and chew that pretty bottom lip of yours. And for Christ’s sake, look me in the eye!” Brien grabbed his jaw, squeezing hard. “Now, I’m not letting you go until I’ve found my sister, so you might as well start doing what I damned well tell you to!”
Scarlet gave a resigned nod, avoiding biting into his lip. “There’s a group of druid women whose village I can take you to. I don’t expect your sister will be there, but they might know where to find her.” Brien narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing him so closely that his stomach fluttered. “If I show you the way, do you swear you’ll let me go?”
* * *
“You sure you’re not hungry, boy?”
Glancing back over his shoulder, Brien offered Scarlet the last crust of his loaf, which Scarlet declined with a shrug.
“You’ve got to eat something. There’s nothing of you.”
“When I’m hungry, I eat. I’m not hungry.”
Scarlet’s tone was surly. Stuffing the bread back in his pack, Brien tried not to focus too hard on how damned attractive that was, as was the sight of Scarlet following behind him, bound wrists tethered on the end of the leash. He occasionally dragged his toes at Brien’s brusque pace, but the woodsman followed willingly enough. Given his bondage, Scarlet was impressively graceful and sure of foot. Furthermore he had provided directions without the need for prompts every time the path had divided.
Not that there had been too many crossroads lately, not since the sun had passed beyond its apex in the sky. Their path now wound so tightly between high banks, dense brambles, or spreading roots that Brien had long since been forced to leave behind his valuable stallion. He’d tethered Smithy in a clearing with a decent amount of grazing fodder, and not a little reluctantly, he’d proceeded with Scarlet on foot.
A strand of sticky spider’s web flew in his face. Brien spat it away and stole another glance back at Scarlet. Was that a hint of a pout he spied? Bloody hell, he had to stop fawning over every little thing the boy did. He was never going to fuck him—at least, not without taking Scarlet against his will. And he wouldn’t do that, however much his body ached for him.
Brien swallowed hard, trying to smother the image of Scarlet’s shimmering buttocks, his beautiful, writhing body being screwed senseless by the great Green Man. How the hell did he manage to be jealous about something that happened in a dream? Because it had been a dream, just as all the other strange things that had happened when Scarlet was around had to have rational explanations—even the appearance in the dream of that strange birthmark on Scarlet’s lower abdomen.
Brien had checked for the mark when he’d dressed Scarlet that morning and blanched to discover that it was as real as Scarlet’s severe-seeming injuries had been slight. He’d calmed himself with reason, nevertheless, sure that he had noticed the mark when Scarlet was strung up to the tree outside Carseald Hall. He’d had many greater priorities as he’d fought for both their lives than giving thought to such a minor detail, but it must have lodged itself in his mind all the same.
And damn it, he could not endure this silence any longer. He had to learn something more about his little torturer.
“So, boy, why do you choose to live here?”
No answer.
“Have you lived in the forest all your life?”
Scarlet sighed, as if finding his voice was a labourious effort. “Yes.”
“I don’t envy you, chum. It must be hard.”
Brien glanced back. Scarlet’s gaze slid to his boots. Brien resigned himself to the matter that, once again, he wouldn’t get a detailed or coherent response out of this mysterious young man. Then, without warning, the floodgates broke.
“It’s not so bad, living here. Spring to autumn, foraging for grub is easy, and in winter I get by. There are always nuts and fruits to be found, if you know where to look. If the frost hits really hard, I boil slippery elm bark, but sweet birch tastes nicer. Then I barter firewood in the villages for, oh, all sorts of stuff. Sometimes I get bread and ale from the druidesses, but I like their elderberry wine best.”
“So the fairies make bread and wine, eh?” Brien chuckled to himself and reflected on the pleasing melodic lilt in Scarlet’s voice. When the lad wasn’t shouting or arguing with him.
“They are druidesses, not fairies. They’re human.”
“Actually I have no doubt about that.” Brien pictured a gaggle of withered old hags huddled around a cauldron and swearing the devil at any decent citizen unfortunate enough to stumble across their path. The prospect of meeting the druidesses held little interest for him beyond getting him one step closer to the deeds. On the other hand, his curiosity about Scarlet was now greater than ever.
“Do you have any family?”
“I…I have a mother.”
“Will she be worried that you’ve been gone so long?”
Scarlet gave a bitter laugh. “Hardly! She’s not set eyes on me for…over twenty years.”
“Twenty years?”
Scarlet stared at his boots again, his usually flawless brow creased into a frown. “She was young when she had me…and my father didn’t love her, whoever he was. He probably was some passing pedlar. He never even knew about me. And…well, the poor girl, I think she tried. But Old Brigit told me I was an ugly baby, a red, sniveling bundle of skin and bones. I was sickly and I cried all the time, nothing worth loving, you see? I know why my mother left me. It’s so much easier…to claim such a burden is not yours, to pretend the fairies took away your own beautiful child. My mother probably told the village elders I was a changeling, and…then…then…”
Brien could fill in the rest easily. His own mother had often clicked her tongue over shocking stories about woodland folks, too poor to feed yet another mouth, and who sated their guilt at deserting a baby in the forest with the belief that the fairies would take it. Some even deluded themselves that the child was not their own and instead a cuckoo “changeling,” substituted by the fouler spirits who had already taken the “real” child—a pretty, plump baby they could have loved. Brien understood it was not so much myth as a way of coping with the grind of poverty.
But Scarlet, so it seemed, had somehow survived what constituted a death sentence for an unwanted child.
“So Old Brigit found you and brought you up?”
“Brigit told me it was the fairies who found me and brought me to her.” His voice grew tight. “But it was probably just a…somebody. Or maybe it was her? Did you ever meet Old Brigit? She was kind to me…most of the time.”
The name did ring bells, although Brien knew about Old Brigit only by reputation. She had lived as a hermit and had usually been spoken of, in whispers, as a wild woman or a witch. That hadn’t stopped the poorer folk frequenting her woodland hovel in pursuit of her inexpensive herbal remedies. Jemima had once brought him a vial of Old Brigit’s poppy extract to ease his pain when he’d fallen from his horse and broken his wrist. It had worked. Then again, he’d frequented enough opium dens since to know that the “magic” in that potion was hardly a secret.
“I remember her. She’s dead now?”
“She passed two winters ago. I’ve been alone ever since. I missed her at first…but not that much. She always said I was a bad ’un!”
Something in Scarlet’s laughter chimed dark and feckless. But, Brien supposed, one might as well laugh at one’s misfortune. Although in the light of the lad’s survival, he decided Scarlet’s life might have been more charmed than unfortunate.
“Why don’t you leave? You’re a young man, and you’ve got your health. There is a world beyond the Greenwood, Scarlet. There’s towns and cities, roads to be travelled, oceans to be crossed. There’s art, music, beautiful women, delicious wines…”
“We have the elderberry wine,” Scarlet interrupted. “And beer flavoured with ginger and honey.”
“Believe me, boy, you’ve never lived.”
“Only because I’ve never had the chance!”
The lead pulled taut. Brien turned quickly. Scarlet had frozen, as if rooted to the spot, and glared at him with a burning reproach.
Bound for the Forest Page 6