The Red King

by Rosemary O'Malley

  She nickered softly, flipping her long tail so it struck him in the head.

  Rory laughed and went to fetch blanket and saddle. “So eager! Is it me you are happy to see or is there some young stallion in the field behind the walls, hmm? He cannot be good enough for you.”

  Her head nodded twice, and she nipped at his burnoose while his back was turned.

  “Trollop, you’d rut with the unwashed? Wouldn’t you rather preserve your bloodline, your lovely heritage?” he asked, spreading the cloth over her back.

  Her head shook, tossing her mane irreverently.

  Rory gently dropped the saddle onto the blanket and bent to strap the cinch. “Aye, only for love, that’s what they all say until they find out love has no dowry.”

  “Fleming had a way with his words, didn’t he?”

  Startled, Rory turned to find Etienne in the stable doorway. His smile was gone, the light in his eyes greatly diminished.

  “Yes,” Rory said, nodding. He returned to the saddle, checking and rechecking as Etienne moved closer to him.

  “I’m quite…” Etienne began. He stopped, voice fading into pained silence. He cleared his throat. “I’m quite despondent, Rory.”

  “Don’t turn to me for comfort, Etienne.”

  “You would be the last person I would turn to for comfort,” Etienne answered, coldly. He reached out to pet Brighid on her lovely neck. “But your new boy, Andrew…”

  Rory turned then, facing him. There was no overt threat, but his intent was perfectly clear.

  “He doesn’t deserve your bitterness. Why not release him before the damage is done? You needn’t make the same mistakes you did with Fleming.”

  “Andrew came of his own accord. I did not force him.”

  “As did Charles. He followed you until his death. Do you want the same thing for Andrew?”

  “Never let it be said that you soften your blows,” Rory snarled, turning away.

  “At least I am honest. Can you say the same?”

  “I never lied to Charles, Etienne. I never promised him anything.” Rory began to brush Brighid’s hindquarter, smoothing her shining black coat. “He followed despite my warnings, and your pleadings, I expect.”

  Etienne sighed. “I never asked him to stay, Rory. I knew he would not. I didn’t want to…burden him with that sort of choice.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Rory straightened, met the other man’s gaze and said, “I’m sorry, Etienne. I never intended to take Charles away from you.”

  The stable was quiet except for the soft steps of Brighid’s hooves on the fresh straw.

  “Andrew told me he died smiling. Winking, in fact, which I do not find surprising,” Etienne said, lips curling just a touch.

  Rory was eager to finish readying Brighid to ride. “Do you want something, Etienne?”

  Sighing, Etienne moved out of the stall. “Is it always such seriousness with you now? You were once a man of passion.”

  “My passion got Charles killed,” Rory said softly.

  “It saved him, too.”

  Rory resumed brushing Brighid.

  “If I offer you a room here, until you go to Tipaza, would you accept?”

  “I don’t think that is wise.”

  “Because of Andrew? He seems unusually innocent, particularly in light of your agreement.”

  “Andrew is no fool. He is only young.”

  “He is very young, perhaps too young to be so engaged with you.” There was no mistaking the curiosity in Etienne’s voice. “I can easily see your benefits but what exactly is his payment?”

  “I do not wish to discuss this with you.”

  “Which is exactly why I persist,” Etienne said. “If the boy has no broker and you intend no recompense, then there is no agreement and you are merely leading him…where, Ruaidhri?”

  That gave Rory pause. Where indeed? he thought. It was no deal if all of their transactions were one sided, and Rory had yet to offer anything beyond safe passage and a unique education. “Hell and damnation,” he muttered.

  “You may wish to consider it. It may suit him now, but he will need more than your magnificent form, eventually. One cannot live on cock alone,” Etienne called as he left the stable. “God knows I’ve tried!”

  Rory cursed again, replaced the brush and took down Brighid’s bridle. He readied her to ride quickly, eager to escape the looming questions, and led her from the stall. He was pushing the stable door open when he saw Andrew across the courtyard.

  Etienne was leading him away, to the private rooms in the rear of the villa, a gentle hand at the small of Andrew’s back. Rory could hear Etienne extolling the beauty of the architecture, his deep, velvet-smooth voice visibly easing Andrew’s nerves. He was warming to the conversation, responding with his own comments on the archways along the gallery. Etienne saw Rory over Andrew’s shoulder and slid his hand down just a little more.

  “Andrew!” Rory called, louder than he had intended. His voice rang back at him, echoing off of the high walls.

  Turning immediately, Andrew caught sight of him and smiled bright enough to dim the sun. He left Etienne under the arched gallery and ran to greet him. “This is Brighid?” he asked, slowing as he approached.

  Rory returned the smile, unable to stop it. “It is.”

  “She is lovely,” Andrew said, reaching up to stroke the white blaze above her bridle. His eyes were shining when they turned to Rory again. “Your secrets are not amusing, you know. Why do you ask me to share my thoughts when you won’t do the same?”

  “Forgive me, Andrew. It is a fault I have yet to overcome,” Rory said, his fingers briefly grazing Andrew’s cheek. “And forgive my earlier callousness as well. I wasn’t prepared for Etienne’s wit and his assumptions caught me off guard.”

  “I’ll try.” Andrew grinned. “But even Job lost his patience, eventually.”

  Rory quelled his sudden, urgent desire to kiss those lips and carry Andrew to the nearest couch with difficulty. “Will you be comfortable here? I think it will be safer than an inn. Etienne has guards and a certain reputation, and the rooms are far more luxurious than any tavern I’ve ever visited. We’ve been offered a place to rest and I would accept, if you feel you can remain.”

  “If you say it is safe I am satisfied. I can’t say I’m comfortable, exactly, but I will try.”

  “Stay in our room, especially after dark.” Rory mounted Brighid, settling into the saddle with ease. “And be mindful of Etienne. He’s…devious.”

  “You’re leaving?” Andrew did not sound upset, but it showed in his eyes, in his fading smile.

  Rory put a hand to his cheek. “Brighid needs a run, and I have more to do before the night ends. I’ll be back.” Before he rode out into the street, he called to Etienne, “Make sure he’s safe. Keep your clients away from him.”

  “What about myself?” Etienne shouted in return.

  Rory narrowed his eyes. “You know better.” He kicked Brighid into a trot and left to the sound of Etienne’s laughter.

  Rory let Brighid have her head once they exited the east gate, circling behind the city but staying close to the wall. He bent low over her neck and relished her speed, her strength. Riding, specifically at a swift and thundering gallop, was a pleasure he carried from childhood, one of the few memories he retained from before he was taken. All others; details of the little town, the faces of his family, even which cottage had been his home…all buried by the years that followed.

  Always there, but shuttered tightly, those memories awakened slowly over the sound of her hooves. He remembered bits of the raid that had eradicated his village; the fire, the blood. He knew everyone had been killed or captured. And he still woke to the sounds of screaming, his nightmares not as frequent but remaining torturously vivid. His personal Hell had begun as soon as he was noticed; tall for his age, thin, with pale green eyes and fiery hair…they all marked him special. They made him a prize.

  The parallel to Andrew was too much. I
t caused him pain deep in his soul, sharp and raw, and he reined Brighid up short. She reared, her hooves slashing at the air, and pealed angrily from the pull at her bit.

  “Whoa, there, love! I’m sorry!” Rory exclaimed, leaning close to stroke her neck, soothe her agitation. “I’m sorry, my love. Easy, easy, it was my fault. It will not happen again.” In his heart he longed to comfort a pale, frightened child. When he tried to envision Andrew, he saw himself. He pressed his face to her neck, listening to her labored breath and the racing of her blood beneath her skin.

  Brighid settled, pawing at the ground as if she wanted to run free again. To make up for his sudden, unconscionable cruelty, he let her go again. This time, he thought of nothing but the muscles beneath his knees and her ebony mane flying back towards his face, the warm sun and the smell of burnt rocks on the horizon. She ran herself out as they neared the last gate, having circumvented the city nearly back to the Bab El Oued. Dismounting, Rory walked her through the streets, letting her cool and return to her steady, normal breathing.

  They arrived at their destination as appointed. He left Brighid with a boy to attend her with water and some sweet hay. As the evening call to prayer began, Rory entered the tavern. It was filled with sailors, from his own ship and others, gathered to pay their respects to the memory of Charles Fleming. He drank, saluted his fallen friend, but could not find it in his heart to smile and jest. Still he drank, and waited to forget.

  ***

  It was late when he returned, the sounds of the nightly festivities at Etienne’s private brothel ringing out through the louvered shutters. Rory avoided detection by entering the back of the stable, carefully maneuvering Brighid through the single door. He had her ensconced in her stall and her bridle off when he heard the door open again.

  “You left him alone for a very long time,” Etienne’s voice said behind him.

  “Etienne,” Rory sighed. “What are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be with your guests?”

  “My patrons,” Etienne corrected. “They are quite busy at the moment, I assure you. We need a moment.”

  “Please, not now. My head…”Rory feigned illness.

  Etienne clucked his tongue. “I’m old, Rory, not feeble.”

  “What is it, then?” Rory asked, unbuckling the cinch.

  “I had a lovely supper with Andrew. He’s a remarkable young man; bright and compassionate and exceedingly broad minded. I admit I was shocked when he told me his story.”

  Rory pulled the saddle off of Brighid’s back.

  “He informed me that you are his first, and only. Do I need to explain to you how dangerous this is?”

  “He’s not ready, I know that. We haven’t had enough time to prepare him. That’s why I’m taking him to Tipaza,” Rory said.

  “That’s not all. What if your touch ceases to be what he craves? What if he sees another, a boy his age, perhaps, and longs for his kisses. Or suppose a girl, comely and trim, smiles at his pretty eyes and offers to lift her skirts for his pleasure. You place far too much value on your cigare, especially in light of what little you offer by way of candor.”

  “You’re saying he will not follow through with the mission because I will bore him?” Rory scoffed. He laughed at the thought. “Andrew would consider it dishonorable not to do as he promised. Of that I’m certain.”

  “I’m saying, you arrogant bastard, that he is inexperienced and he is taken with you. With your normal reluctance to share your heart and mind, it all hinges on what you do share. How long do you think it will take you to drive him away with your coldness?” Etienne said, stepping closer to make his point.

  Right again, damn him, Rory thought. “What do you suggest?”

  “I suggest you tempt him now. Show him other pleasures; give him a girl, a boy, give him drink, opium…all the pleasures a man could want. Then ask him to follow your plan. If he stays, he may yet be our weapon,” Etienne told him, his voice low. His face was serious, miserable; Rory could plainly see that using Andrew distressed him. “An ally is more useful than a thrall, and more reliable.”

  “You’ve put some thought into this,” Rory said, frowning.

  “I made promises, too, Rory. I will not renege on them because of your feelings. I would expect the same from you.”

  Rory looked away, down to the straw beneath his feet. “Do you have anyone in particular in mind?”

  Rory entered the silent room. One lantern cast a red tinged glow across the figure on the bed. He was undressed, covered by a silk sheet that draped the peaks and valleys of his body. In his sleep he stirred, rolled onto his back and flung both arms out. He was covered just to his hips, chest bare and smooth and calling for a touch.

  He stepped aside, allowing the girl entry. Holding his finger over his lips, he nodded in the direction of the bed. She looked, smiled brightly, and shrugged out of her robe.

  “Oui, ah, oui… avec plaisir,” she whispered.

  Her golden hair fell to her hips and her skin was the color of fresh cream. She was soft and sweet and curvaceous, even Rory wanted to run his hand across her dimpled bottom. When she rested one knee on the bed to lean over Andrew, he saw her sex was hairless and shimmering with moisture. He wondered if it were excitement, or oil, or even the remnants of her last customer. The thought stiffened his own cock, but he held himself in check.

  She slowly pulled the silk cover away, licking her lips as she bent forward. When she took Andrew in her mouth, he woke. He sat up quickly, gasping, but she covered his mouth with her fingers. “No! No, please, you can’t…”

  “Andrew,” Rory said, stepping closer.

  “Rory!” Andrew’s eyes were wide with alarm.

  “Lie still,” he ordered.

  Shaking his head, Andrew started to speak. “No! I…”

  “Be quiet.”

  The girl was gentle but insistent. She put her hands on his shoulders and pressed him back, then straddled his hips. With a practiced undulation she took him into her, Andrew’s startled shout was evidence of his shock. The girl began to ride him. She whispered sweetly of his beauty as she stroked his face. Andrew was tearful, trying to brush her fingers from his cheeks, telling her over and over “No, no please.”

  Rory moved closer and stood over them, watching, waiting. Andrew’s face was flushed, wet, eyes on Rory even as he neared his completion. He groaned and his hips jerked in a brief, staccato rhythm for just a moment, and then he went rigid. The girl was still astride him, her hips grinding slowly down on his pelvis. Rory knelt on one knee beside them and they both stilled. “She’s still wanting, Andrew. You have to touch her, like this,” he said, taking Andrew’s hand and bringing it to her slippery fold.

  “No, Rory,” Andrew begged, but Rory guided their fingers over her cunny and she squealed. Rory continued, curling his fingers where they wrapped with Andrew’s, causing her to writhe against Andrew’s cock and bring him to erection once more.

  “Look how you swell for her,” Rory whispered.

  “No, not her,” Andrew whispered. He pulled Rory’s fingers down a little more, fitting them around the base of his cock. Now the girl was bobbing happily, lips curved in a beatific smile as Rory held Andrew steady.

  “My way is not the only way. Most men prefer this,” Rory said. “She’s flawless. Magnifique,” he added in passable French.

  The girl began riding Andrew solely for her own pleasure, all the way up to the tip and down again hard, thighs taut as she squeezed inside. He was panting again, a young man helpless against his own long-ignored needs but still focused on Rory.

  “Why—” Andrew broke off, making an incoherent sound as he climaxed. The girl dismounted, clucking to him in French, patting his hair and kissing his cheeks. Her naturally pale form was as flushed as Andrew’s. Clearly she rarely enjoyed a youth so fresh, lovely, and virile. Rory, who’d already paid her, thanked the girl and sent her away. Then he pulled off his boots, cast away his clothes, and slid into the bed. Andrew sat up and drew away. Reac
hing out to touch his back only caused Andrew to throw himself from the bed.

  “Don’t!” He was angrier than Rory had ever seen. Even bearing the howls and calls of the crew had not engaged his fury at this level.

  “What wounds you so that I cannot touch you?” Rory asked, frustrated by the reaction.

  “What wounds me? You cannot fathom what wrong you have just committed?” Andrew asked, face red and eyes blazing.

  “No more wrong than I committed on the ship. From my view you found your pleasure equally each time,” Rory answered coolly.

  “You…you forced this on me!” Andrew seethed, teeth clenched so tight Rory could see the tendons of his jaw working. “You took my choice away from me! It was as base, as vile as the threats made by Acklie; and by you, once, too. Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

  “You know so little of the world. I won’t be responsible for twisting your desires. Not without at least offering the alternative.”

  “You can’t!”

  “Can’t what?”

  “You can’t twist my desires, they’re mine and not under your control.” He shook his head as if Rory had deliberately insulted his reason. “I was raised by simple men, not simpletons. Why do you always take me for a fool? What would it have cost to offer me the temptation instead of this…cruelty?”

  The sense of it weighed on Rory’s heart. He could not argue the point, or the intelligence behind it and he felt worse for bungling the entire affair. “I thought only to give you all the pleasures you’ve denied yourself.”

  “It would have been pleasure, had you offered it. Instead, I felt like a toy, something to be thrown away once it has been used,” Andrew whispered.

  Rory rose from the bed and embraced him, his arms pressing them tightly together. “Forgive me, again. Please. It was a mistake.”

  Andrew pulled back enough to look into his face, as if searching.

  Rory frowned, staring down into Andrew’s eyes. “I am sorry. I didn’t think…it wasn’t my intention to cause you distress,” he said, after a long pause. Andrew looked conflicted, his reticence to forgive warring with his forgiving nature and spilling fully into his expression. The silence stretched between them, tense and unyielding, until Rory broke with a neutral request.