Rory, who had been watching the shadows play across the ivory skin of Andrew’s back, met that shrewd stare with a languid gaze. “Do you?”
“You think that it was no way to raise a boy, without wooden swords and stick horses to play at battle,” Andrew said, closing the distance between them. “I promise you that my imagination was well engaged, despite my lack of implements.”
He stood beside Rory, still smiling. The light that came in through the cabin’s small window caught in his hair and shimmered on his cheek. There was warmth in Andrew’s eyes as they searched his, warmth and desire. Rory swept his arm behind Andrew, holding him at the curve of his buttocks. “You were a happy child, even without a mother and father?”
“I had a family of unrivaled love. The brothers provided all of my needs; food, letters, warmth and love. Brother Marcus even carved me a small boat to float down the stream. A boat with a triangle sail,” Andrew said, his hand smoothing the sweat dampened hair from Rory’s forehead. “I was very happy.”
In Rory’s mind he saw his old room; full of luxurious furnishings and scattered toys and still his nightmare, his prison. He did not realize he’d frowned until Andrew touched his face.
“What is it?” he whispered, cool fingertips running along Rory’s cheek.
“Nothing,” Rory said. He saw the mutiny in Andrew’s eyes but it quickly passed.
Instead, Andrew grinned and caught his lip between his teeth. He pointedly glanced at the sticky mess in Rory’s other hand. “What is that?”
“Honeyed dates, a staple here that I think you will enjoy,” Rory answered, holding the gathered frond up between them.
“A date?” Andrew asked, carefully taking the bundle and setting it on the table. His hand was now sticky, too, so he carelessly cleaned his fingers with his tongue.
“Like a raisin or fig. They’re quite delicious,” Rory said. Watching Andrew’s lips make a perfect ‘O’ around each finger while he childishly relished the honey was both endearing and arousing. Rory cut the string binding the package and removed one of the fruits. He lifted it to Andrew, who raised his own hand to take it from him. Rory held the date up and away.
Andrew understood. He opened his mouth to receive it. He closed his eyes, humming a little under his breath as he chewed. “It’s very good. May I have another?”
“As many as you like,” Rory lowered his eyes to his lap. “Sit here.”
Andrew lowered himself onto Rory’s legs and draped one arm over his shoulders. His tender rear settled, thighs pressed against Rory’s cock, and he parted his lips to accept another date. The honey dripped early, catching on Andrew’s chin and Rory chased it with his own tongue. He followed it up to Andrew’s mouth, licking the remnants of nectar away.
Rory reached for a third but this time when he offered it, Andrew clasped his wrist and held it. Slowly, deliberately, he took the fruit and the top half of Rory’s fingers into his mouth. Rory’s gasp of surprise became a moan.
“I saw the way you watched me lick my fingers,” Andrew said around the date. He chewed, his mouth puckered and glistening with honey.
Rory was frozen with the need to have the boy again, now, as rough and fast as it had been before. Certainly a man, he reminded himself. He thought back to Andrew’s whispered affirmation: yes he wanted it, no matter what the cost. Having Andrew sprawled and shaking beneath him had nearly been too much to bear. Hearing his cries and feeling the clench of his body had brought Rory to consuming completion. He’d collapsed on top of Andrew as he’d come, smearing the mess between them as they’d settled onto the floor. It was a powerful memory, sweet and exciting in a way Rory had never experienced.
Andrew shifted, becoming aware of Rory’s arousal. He tried to stand but Rory’s arm was around his waist and he could not. He looked contrite and a little anxious when he said, “I don’t think I can do that again so soon. I’m sorry.”
With his still sticky hand, Rory cupped Andrew’s chin and kissed him for a long time. When he stopped Andrew was breathless and flushed. “Then let’s try something else.”
Rory felt Andrew trembling and kissed him again. He trailed his mouth down Andrew’s throat and then to his neck, carefully nipping at the tender skin. Rory loved the smoothness, the sweetness that had nothing to do with the honey left by his own hand. He opened his mouth wider and bit in earnest, causing Andrew to jump and moan. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in Andrew’s ear.
“No, it didn’t hurt,” Andrew said in a breathy rush.
Rory smiled as he continued down, mouth painting a line of red from Andrew’s shoulder to his arm. Andrew watched teeth scrape across the sensitive skin at his wrist and shuddered. “Oh, Ruaidhri…” he murmured, his voice thick.
Before Andrew could finish the thought there was a sound outside the cabin, a wailing cry that rang throughout the area. It was followed by a reply, distant but of the same cadence. Andrew jumped, alarmed by the suddenness with which it pierced the quiet cabin. “What’s that?”
“Shhh,” Rory soothed. “It is the call to midday prayer.”
Andrew listened for a moment, head cocked to one side like a curious bird. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Rory said, pleased with the young man’s ready appreciation.
They listened for another moment and it was Andrew who leaned in to take Rory’s mouth.
The call went on as they kissed and, though Rory knew otherwise, its otherworldly song felt like a blessing. “I need you on the table,” he said, pulling away just enough to speak. He helped Andrew stand, hurriedly taking the dates from the surface and dropping them into the empty wash bowl. Rory reached for Andrew’s belt and Andrew reciprocated, but Rory stopped him. “Not yet,” he whispered, letting the strap fall open and Andrew’s breeches drop to the floor.
Rory’s eyes drank their fill of Andrew leaning back on the table, naked. His pale skin was faintly luminescent, his frame slender but still hollowed with muscle, not childish at all. Andrew’s cock was the same red as his lips, thick and stiff where it lay on his belly. Its head peeked through the foreskin and gleamed with moisture. Licking his lips, Rory put his hands on the table and leaned over.
Forgoing the soft and ready mouth Rory bent to Andrew’s chest and licked a wide swath from ribs to nipple, taking that knot of flesh with his lips and teeth. Andrew groaned and reclined fully, his hands gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were white. Rory nipped again, catching the other nipple. Andrew’s hips jutted forward and a drop of filmy white fluid fell on his stomach. Andrew raised his head to see, and Rory held his gaze while he bent to lap the wayward trickle from his flesh.
Andrew groaned when Rory followed to the source of the leak and licked the glistening tip.
With a smile, Rory took the whole of Andrew’s cock into his mouth. He was still but let his tongue work along the underside, nudging the foreskin down to run along the sensitive vein throbbing there. When he pulled back, sucking as he withdrew, Andrew thrust eagerly, desperately. Rory gripped his hips, pressing down as he took the whole of it in again, just as slowly. Andrew sobbed and Rory lifted his head. He found Andrew looking at him with watery eyes and bright red cheeks. Releasing Andrew’s cock, he asked softly, “Are you all right?”
Andrew nodded; his mouth slack.
Rory grinned. “Put your hands on my head, Andrew. Hold on.”
It did not take much longer. By the end, Andrew was upright, curled over Rory as he moved. Rory moaned with him, loving the tight grip of Andrew’s hands in his hair and the hardness pressing into the roof of his mouth and throat. When Andrew came Rory swallowed hungrily, nose pressed to the damp, dark curls at the base of Andrew’s cock and his fingers brushing softly across the tight skin of the sac beneath.
Andrew fell back again, chuffing like a lion, unable to catch his breath. He shivered and groaned as Rory pulled his mouth away to press kisses across the top of each trembling thigh. Andrew released his hair and Rory shook it free, letting it fall
around his face as he moved up. They kissed, the tastes of come and honey mixing in their mouths.
Putting one knee on the table, Rory swung his other leg over and set it on the other side of Andrew’s hips. “Touch me now, Andrew. Put your hands on my cock.”
Andrew made short work of the belt and pushed the breeches down. He gripped that massive thing, so dark and purple with need. Both hands squeezed, and he bit lip as he pulled up Rory’s prodigious length. Rory moaned and covered the hands with one of his own, guiding until Andrew had the speed and intensity he desired. Rory let go and put his hand back on the table, letting Andrew finish the deed. They watched together as Andrew worked his cock until he groaned and thrust and then it spilled across Andrew’s stomach and chest.
Panting, shaking, Rory watched Andrew run his fingers through the slippery mess. His eyes were heavy lidded; dark and focused on the still dripping knob-head over his belly. Andrew brought his hand up to his face, rubbed his finger and thumb together and then touched them to his tongue. Rory groaned. “I must get you dressed or we’ll never leave.”
Andrew had the cheek to smile at that as he pulled Rory down for another kiss.
***
Dressing Andrew did not provide ample distraction. Rory wondered at the wisdom of such close cut pants and flimsy fabrics. At the time, concern for the heat and sun and Andrew’s reaction to both had weighed his decision. Now, as he eyed Andrew’s trim thighs, round ass and flat stomach, all prominently displayed in brown broadcloth breeches, he wondered if the billowing robes of the Berbers would have been the better choice. The muslin shirt was no better as his shoulders and chest were perfectly visible with the sunlight shining through it, and Rory could easily make out his small pink nipples.
Andrew was delighted, however, with the lightness and comfort of the garments. The boots were a touch snug, even with stockings to help get them on, but with time the cowhide would give and fit perfectly. Rory helped him with the red sash and the proper wearing of the wide leather belt. The last was a pure white, hooded cloak, which Andrew eyed skeptically.
“Another layer in this heat?” he asked as Rory draped it across him in the appropriate manner.
“The hood covers your head to protect you from the sun’s rays. You’ve been fortunate thus far and haven’t felt the burn that comes from over exposure. Trust me, wear the burnoose, especially during the afternoon,” Rory said. He turned and pulled aside one of the drapes to reveal a similar cloak on a peg. It was beside a mirror, framed in ornate gold. It caught Andrew’s eye, and he stepped closer to see. He had a curious expression on his face, chewing his lip with consternation.
Something occurred to Rory and it was so strange and implausible that he had to ask. “Andrew, have you ever seen yourself?”
“In the cistern, and once when the stream froze over,” Andrew answered.
Rory reached for him, gently tugging him across to stand before the glass.
Andrew was silent. He studied his reflection with a critical eye, frowned, released, frowned again, and then raised his brows high. He touched the fading bruising under his eyes, beside his nose, and then ran a finger across his lips. Grimacing, he bared his teeth and looked satisfied by their appearance. At last he pushed the hood of the burnoose away to stare at his dark, unruly hair. It stood up at all angles and he ran his hand through its dense but short growth only to see it all point skyward. Mashing it down with his palm did not help.
“I’m meant to seduce someone? I look like a puppy,” Andrew said, still staring at himself.
Rory laughed and let the cloth fall back into place. “I would send Malik but he doesn’t warm to my instruction so readily.”
“I suppose he wouldn’t fit in the bed,” Andrew said with a grin, watching Rory drape his own cloak around himself.
Rory laughed, his head flung back and smile happy and wide. “You prove a constant surprise, little wolf.”
Andrew blushed, pleased.
Before they left, Rory fitted Andrew’s belt with the small dagger he’d been taught to throw. “Stay with me in the city, Andrew. I don’t want to lose you,” he said. The darker purpose of his mission threatened to shadow his heart, but he pushed it aside to revel in the excitement he saw in Andrew’s eyes.
Chapter Eleven
“Ah, Ruaidhri, where do you cast your nets that you can pluck such fare from the sea?”
Rory slipped his arm around Andrew’s waist. “Mind your manners, Etienne, and your hands.”
“Tsk, still don’t trust me?”
“Not a whit.”
Etienne smiled with still sensual lips. Rory found him quite dashing, aged or no. The man’s hair was the color of fine polished silver and hung in soft waves around his long face. Etienne remained trim and fine, and looked quite regal in his blue and gold caftan. He was sharply intelligent, as well, and could argue a point as effectively. But a pimp was a pimp, and this one had run the trade in Algiers since before Rory was born.
“Une sage decision, mon amie.” Etienne’s smile was then directed at Andrew, with bright blue eyes twinkling. His gaze swept Andrew with more than admiration; he was tallying the boy’s gifts and laying a price.
Andrew gave him a shy grin, which Rory did not think would diminish the proprietor’s aspirations.
“I suppose you’re here to fetch her?” Etienne took a lengthy draw on his pipe.
“Her?” Andrew looked at Rory, one eyebrow cocked.
Rory noted the hint of jealousy in Andrew’s voice and moved his hand up to cup the back of Andrew’s neck. “Her name is Brighid and you will like her.”
“And what does she do?” It was said softly, but the implication was there.
Etienne laughed. “You’re as effusive as ever, I gather? You really must learn to share, Rory. Not everything needs to be a secret.”
“We have an agreement, Andrew and I. He’ll know what he needs, when it’s time.”
“Oh, so he’s already in the business! Wonderful, it makes things so much simpler.”
Rory felt Andrew stiffen beside him. With a glance he saw the set to Andrew’s jaw, the purse to his lips. He tightened his fingers on Andrew’s neck and pressed closer. Andrew tried to shrug his hand away but Rory persisted. When Andrew turned to face him, Rory saw his red eyes. “It’s the truth, Andrew. I’m sorry if hearing it spoken upsets you.”
“You ask me to be honest with you and yet you lie by omission. You share truths with others and leave me to look the fool,” Andrew said, reaching back to dislodge Rory’s hand. When it was gone he stepped aside. “How would you feel?”
Rory straightened, aware of Etienne’s interest but unwilling to face what would surely become an interrogation. “I have not the time or the inclination to play nursemaid to your feelings, Andrew. Stay here.”
Sweeping past Andrew and ignoring his hurt, angry glare, Rory exited into the courtyard. He paused to listen for any steps that might be following. When he heard nothing he rested for a moment, shaded by the tall desert palms lining the enclosure. Etienne’s words had disturbed him, caused a cold swell of shame in his chest. That shame was doubled in the face of Andrew’s challenge, the flotsam of his reticent nature. He had not thought of Andrew’s reactions, of his feelings as he accompanied him through the day. Rory had only wished for his company.
It had been a blissful start. Andrew was alight with excitement, observing and noting everything around them as they passed through the market. He’d been most keen on the open bags of spice, stopping to sniff the saffron, cinnamon, and cumin with such delight that Rory had gladly paid the vendors for ample quantities to be delivered to the ship. There had been more purchases at fruit stands, tastes of dried apricots, fresh oranges and more dates. When they rounded on the open air stalls for animal trading, Andrew had stared unabashedly at the exotica on display. He’d happily petted the noses of goat, ass, and cow alike, marveled at the towering camels. When a small, white furred monkey landed on his shoulder he’d laughed so loud and sudde
nly it frightened the animal back to its owner. The sound had shocked Rory, reaching deep into his soul and loosening something so tightly wound he’d felt weak from its release.
After ensuring full stores for their encampment at Tipaza, Rory had taken Andrew to the Great Mosque, to wait below the minaret and listen to the afternoon call to prayer. The silence that followed, as the Muslims finished their prostrations, had afforded them time alone. In the shadows they stood too close, touched hands in a manner illicit within the city walls. Rory had even leaned in to press a small kiss to the corner of Andrew’s lips, to his forehead. Then the streets had come back to life around them and drawn them back into the ebb of humanity.
Rory thought of Fleming and his warning that his vendetta would destroy him and Andrew both, and cursed his own weakness. It was unexpected and unwanted, and would make things far more complicated. If left unchecked, it could be their deaths.
The palms rustled in a bit of breeze off the sea, cooling his face and clearing his head. This was the best plan; no, the only plan left. It was imperative that any feelings for his bright, beautiful protégé not come into play. Rory could no longer allow Maarten Jans de Worrt to destroy anyone else; it was his raison d’etre. He moved towards the stables, determinedly ignoring the doubt, worry and pain festering in his heart.
“Brighid, my sweet,” he said, entering the stalls and calling to her softly, “Did you miss me?”
She whinnied, nodding her head excitedly. Her beautiful black eyes were radiant with love and she nuzzled at his burnoose, his throat. He patted her neck, stroked her blaze and pulled a fresh pear from inside his shirt. He spoke to her while she ate.
“I missed you, too, my love. How has Etienne treated you? Did you get enough exercise? I see they kept your mane clean and combed, at least. An improvement over the last.” He ran his fingers through her silky black tresses and rested his head at her withers.
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