“I long for a real bed, Andrew. To sleep.”
Andrew nodded. They lay down together, facing each other but not touching.
“Never do that again,” Andrew said, and closed his eyes.
Rory did not sleep for a long time.
Chapter Twelve
Upon waking, Rory found Andrew draped across his chest and thighs, still sleeping soundly. Soft breath caressed his skin where Andrew’s face was pressed and there was an insistent hardness at his hip. The rigors of youth would not be denied it seemed, even after the unusual amount of attention recently paid to his ardor. Rory wanted nothing more than to pull Andrew on top of him, to kiss and rut until they were both spent, but Andrew woke before he could act.
Rory had already become fond of watching Andrew’s face, of seeing the sun in his blue eyes and his sleepy grin. He waited for Andrew to blush as he became more aware of his body’s demands. What he got, though, was a frown. Andrew pulled away immediately. He sat up, pressed a hand to his cock and closed his eyes as if he wished to will it away.
“You needn’t do that,” Rory said, sitting up behind him. He bent to press his lips to the nape of Andrew’s neck but was denied the pleasure by Andrew moving farther away from him.
“No.”
It was his instinct to take Andrew, regardless of his denial, but his mind declared it folly. “Must I insist?” he asked.
“If you want my cooperation, my willing participation, you will not.”
The announcement took Rory by surprise. His internal litany of curses returned. “Andrew, I have asked your forgiveness. You told me yesterday you would grant it.”
“I said I would try. What happened last night went far outside of what I believed our arrangement to be. It ceased to be an accord and returned,” he paused, taking a breath before continuing, “to the more vulgar status of captain and captive.”
“Indeed,” Rory sighed. He moved past Andrew to rise, meaning to dress and leave the room. Instead, Rory turned to face him. “I say again, it was a grievous error. It was meant as a gift, enlightenment, so that you could decide your future with all options before you.”
Something occurred to Andrew. Rory saw the realization of it in his face. “It was a test, wasn’t it? A test to see if my loyalties would suddenly change when presented with some other pleasure.”
Faced with the truth of it, Rory conceded. “Yes, it was. It was conceived by Etienne but condoned by me. It is not so far-flung to imagine a youth of your passions to be lead by them. We have to be certain you are committed to the cause.”
“So, Etienne is involved in your plan, as well? Again, you show me no confidence. If you want my help, Rory, I have to know everything. You can’t expect me to do your bidding without explanation and you cannot require trust from me when you do not offer the same,” Andrew said, his words heated. He stood and began to dress himself.
“When the time comes…” Rory began, but Andrew stopped him.
“The time has come and gone, Rory. If my devotion to you and your cause is not evident in my actions there is no more proof I can give. Put me back to work on your ship to pay my shot if you think me so incapable of understanding.”
Rory took Andrew by the arms and stared hard into his eyes. ““I will tell you, I swear it. But not here, not now. I wanted to wait until …”
“Until what?”
“We’re home,” Rory finished, slightly surprised at saying it.
Andrew quieted. “Home?”
“Tipaza is a ruin, an old Roman village long since deserted. There is another beside it; mostly Berbers, a mix of others. It’s very small,” Rory continued, loosening his grip on Andrew’s arms, “but beautiful and peaceful.” He soothed the places his thumbs had dug, running his palms over the spots with care. He watched the anger fade from Andrew’s eyes.
“It comforts you, this place,” Andrew said, nodding as if he understood.
“Yes.” Rory was once again grateful for Andrew’s intelligence and in his heart vowed never to take it for granted again. “I ask that you wait, please. It is not an easy thing for me, telling this tale.”
Again Andrew nodded, sighing deeply as if tired. “Yes, of course. Will it always be so, always this struggle? You would achieve so much more with openness, Captain.”
Rory smiled a little and took his chin. “You are correct, again.” Slowly, he lowered his head, offering the choice.
Andrew stepped into the kiss, closed mouthed, but pulled away before it could deepen. “I’m hungry,” he said. He returned to his clothes, still serious. Still distant.
It was tempting to tease, for Rory to relieve the tension by jesting about the feast he could offer, but he held his tongue. Andrew was far too troubled by what had transpired. Once again, Rory had received his comeuppance. He was man enough to admit, at least to himself, that Andrew was teaching as much as he was learning.
Rory reached for his own belt and breeches, forgoing shirt and boots in the comfortable halls of Etienne’s villa. He waited for Andrew, reflecting on his words and the promise in that short kiss. It was evident that Andrew had embraced his freedom, took his free will seriously. Rory supposed that the trade, honesty and communication for a willing and eager pupil, would be prosperous for them both. He watched Andrew struggle with his boots, only feeling his fond smile after it fairly split his face, and told him, “If you can finish before the sun sets, we may yet break our fast.”
Andrew looked up and said in a dispassionate tone, “I didn’t ask you to wait for me.”
“I am practicing consideration,” Rory said, leaning his shoulder against the wall.
Andrew lowered his head but not quickly enough to prevent Rory seeing the twist to his lips. “It is a worthy endeavor.” He stood and made his way towards the door.
“Truly?” Rory met him halfway, stepping in his path.
Andrew was not smiling now, but his eyes no longer held any anger. “I believe there will be sufficient reward for your trouble,” he said, softly, and walked around Rory.
Rory followed him, realizing as Andrew made his way purposefully through the connecting rooms that Etienne had likely shown him the entire villa. “While on your explorations, did Etienne show you his chambers?” Rory asked. He could not keep the strain of envy from his voice.
“He did, in fact,” Andrew answered. “We had a lovely supper and I went to bed, where you found me.”
“Is that all?”
Andrew stopped. “No, he offered more. I declined.”
“Why?” Rory asked. They were standing very close together in a narrow corridor, the only light reaching them from the open windows in the room ahead of them.
“Because I do not fear what I feel and I do not need to prove myself,” Andrew answered.
Rory was struck by his openness. Andrew didn’t lie, he wasn’t afraid; it was evident in his soulful gaze and the gentle way he took Rory’s fingers in his as he spoke.
“I fear what I feel, Andrew. I fear it controls me,” Rory confessed in a whisper.
“There are times when you must let it. You cannot control everything and you will do yourself harm in trying,” he said.
“I could hurt others…I could hurt you.”
Andrew sighed. “You could have hurt me a hundred ways since our first meeting. You did not, until last night.”
“I was plagued by doubt,” Rory began but Andrew spoke over him.
“Your doubt was provoked, intentionally, by Etienne. He insists that I am fickle, lacking in fortitude?”
Rory shook his head. “He only wants to be sure. He is on my side.”
Andrew frowned, squeezing Rory’s fingers. “Our side, Rory,” he said.
The raw emotion in Andrew’s eyes moved Rory. He was could only stare back, allowing his own eyes to show as much as his shuttered heart would allow. After a moment, Rory nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Andrew released his hold and made his way down the hall. When Rory put a hand on the small
of his back, he did not protest.
They found the eating couches empty save for Etienne. He lounged on a cushion, dressed in crimson robes and was being fed bits of fruit by a dark haired, dusky skinned youth in a sheer ivory caftan. “Ah, bonjour mon sucreries!”
Rory scowled at him and Andrew said nothing.
“And what plagues you two this morning?”
“A rat, monsieur,” Andrew answered, taking an orange from the spread of fruits, nuts, and grains on the low table. He flung himself down on the adjoining couch and set about peeling the skin and pith away.
Etienne eyed Rory, who ignored him in favor of the honey-sweetened couscous and lamb. “A rat, you say?”
“Aye, a great, grey haired beast dug his way into the center of our room and left a pile of his droppings. It was quite disruptive,” Andrew continued, with great aplomb.
Rory coughed, hiding his grin behind a hand. He looked to Etienne, who had a delighted, surprised expression on his face.
“Indeed! Well, I shall have a servant come to clear the mess,” the silver-haired man said.
Rory coughed again, loudly, surreptitiously shaking his head.
“No matter. It has been dealt with,” Andrew said, sharply, glancing from Rory to Etienne. He pried a section of his orange apart and popped it into his mouth.
Etienne chuckled, staring admiringly at Andrew and rather piteously at Rory. “I don’t know what you have planned for your day, Ruaidhri, but do hope it entails leaving him with me.” He waved his servant away, saying, “Nadir, get them some tea.”
The boy bowed and left, but not before he flashed great dark eyes and a sweet smile in Andrew’s direction. Andrew noticed and watched him leave with a suspicious expression. Rory saw him clench his jaw and briefly considered warning Etienne, but he decided to let the Frenchman face Andrew’s anger as unprepared as he had been.
Andrew turned to them with an angry snarl. “Is he another test? If I pass this one, will you lead me to the sheep I saw in the market yesterday?”
This caused both Rory and Etienne to laugh, loud and long. Etienne was still laughing, wiping tears from his eyes, when Nadir returned with a tall silver carafe and a stack of small, gold trimmed glasses. “Oh, Andrew, I’ve met the sheep and they do not deserve you. But if you choose to part company with this one,” he gestured towards Rory. “I promise to introduce him to an obliging ewe.”
Andrew settled, some, and went on his knees beside the round table laden with food. He cast Etienne a disparaging eye. “If it would help your ‘cause’, why not do it now?”
Rory chucked and scooped another bit of meat and couscous into his mouth. “No, Etienne, hold off. There is no need. Besides, I prefer the little wolf’s howls to the bleating of sheep, even if it means I must bear a bite on occasion,” he said around his food.
“La petit loup…yes, I can see the resemblance,” Etienne remarked, avidly watching Andrew take a piece of lamb between his teeth, scowling at them both.
Andrew picked another piece of meat from the platter. “What’s your part in all of this Etienne? I had believed that all of my lessons were to come from Rory, but perhaps he needs assistance with the more difficult instructions?”
Rory tried to look wounded, but he could not prevent his smile.
Etienne took his side. “Now, Andrew, don’t be hurtful,” he said, patting Rory’s knee, comfortingly.
“I wish to know.”
“It’s not my tale to tell, Andrew,” Etienne rose from the couch, taking a glass of sweet mint tea. Before he reached the door he said, “If you’re staying, show him the library.”
***
The library was not a large room, but its walls were lined with shelves reaching nearly to the ceiling. Each shelf was spilling over with scrolls, handwritten texts, and printed pamphlets. There was a large, open window to provide ample light, a table and chair, and a low couch piled with cushions in the far corner. It was Rory’s favorite room.
Andrew’s hands hovered over the items he perused, as if he were afraid to touch them. He showed particular interest in the printed material, his fingers finally landing on a stack of small booklets. “I went once to Pluscarden and saw their library. This rivals even that one.”
“Etienne is a man of letters. He values the processes of the mind and believes in its power, not the power of an unseen All-Knowing presence,” Rory said as Andrew eagerly scanned one of the pamphlets.
“He doesn’t believe in God?” Andrew asked, looking at Rory with wide, shocked eyes.
“He calls himself a deist. He says he believes in something, but that it doesn’t control his life,” Rory answered, perching on the corner of the table. “He told me once that if God controls men’s actions then he would rather be a beast in the forest, for the beast is honest.”
Andrew was troubled by this notion. “But God made us. He gave us our reason and our will.”
“And cast us upon the wind to find our own way.”
Rory expected an argument, some protestation from the young man, but was yet again surprised.
“When I asked Father Armand about pain and death and why we must have both,” he began slowly. “He told me that men were responsible for their own actions. He said if they followed the commandments given to us by God and His Holy Son that all of our choices would be made for us, but it was still up to us. I didn’t understand at the time, I was only a boy, but perhaps it’s the same idea.”
“Your abbot did not believe in the preordination of man? How very…protestant of him,” Rory teased.
Andrew sent him a sour look. “He was, perhaps, a bit,” he conceded after a moment. “Our teachings were not entirely in keeping with the Roman Catholic doctrine, though officially the order was Cistercian. There was much of the old ways, what little remained from before the council at Nicaea. There were a few who kept them, hiding in smaller cloisters, or alone. Most of the others left to join with the Benedictines. It was…safer, I think, and certainly easier than waiting.”
“Safer than what?”
“It was the Covenanters or the Inquisition; either one could have ended us. The Covenanters would not care if our castellum was small, our numbers few. They sought to drive all remnants of Rome from the country. The Tribunal still sent its emissaries to us, even up to Christmas past. It would have taken very little to put an end to our existence. Entire villages had been cleared, in the years before. The remains of their structures and their wells still stand,” Andrew said. He was very serious and sad, as he spoke. “Every day we woke facing risk of expulsion or death.”
Rory had no idea the threat had been so close to them. He knew the terror of the Inquisition was still very real, spilling from its native soil to terrorize even in the dawning of the new age. The Covenanters he had not heard tell of, but the passion of Cromwell and his followers was not to be underestimated. Why then did this small group of monks march out of the relative safety of its home and into the land of the Inquisitorial Council? “You were on your way to Spain when you were taken. Was your pilgrimage so important that you would risk the peril?”
“A messenger came with a Papal dictate. We were given no choice. It was sudden, we only had one week to prepare,” Andrew said, sitting in the chair.
Rory was suspicious of this message, immediately, but could not isolate the thought that disturbed him. When he looked to Andrew, he saw misery and fear, and the desire to comfort was powerfully compelling. He pushed all qualms aside and laid a hand on Andrew’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “No more talk of this. You sit in one of the finest libraries in the city. I’m sure he will have something that will engage your mind.”
“I’d rather come with you,” Andrew said.
Surprised, Rory stepped back. “You would rather crawl through the streets with me than stay here, amidst all of these texts?”
“This is part of my other life,” Andrew whispered, voice trembling. “I don’t want to be cloistered, anymore. It’s too much like a punishment. It’s too
lonely.” He cleared his throat and stood. “I’d rather be out there, with you.”
The admission made Rory smile. He couldn’t stop it from spreading across his face. Inwardly, though, he cursed as much as rejoiced. He knew that Andrew was still vulnerable in the dangerous streets and that made him a distraction. “As much as that would please me,” Rory said, his hands coming up to hold Andrew’s face. “You cannot come today. This mission puts me in a treacherous area and I would be hindered by your presence.”
Rory knew he’d said it wrong, implying that Andrew was a burden, but did not apologize. It would be better, he decided, for Andrew to remain unmindful of the depth of his affections. It was still not easy to watch his face fall with disappointment and a little hurt.
“This new world you went on about leaves much to be desired,” Andrew said, dejectedly. “It seems to be much like the old, only hotter.”
Rory took his face again and pulled it to his own. “I wager there is more of this,” he murmured, and kissed Andrew, deeply. When Andrew weakly resisted, Rory slid fingers to the back of his of head and gripped his hair, tilting him back. The surrender came quickly, the tension ebbed and Andrew’s body went lax and trembling. Rory ended the kiss with a brush of his lips and beard across that tender mouth before pulling away. “This is the last of my business. We’ll be gone in two days and in Tipaza the same.”
Andrew sighed, nodded.
“You’ll have your new world, Andrew, and my story. I promise.”
***
The streets leading to the High City grew increasingly unclean as they approached the eastern wall. There was no part of Algiers that was untouched by the criminal occupation it suffered, but this quarter was overcrowded with thieves, mercenaries, and the meanest whores. The sublime pleasures of Etienne’s house were the promise of Heaven itself compared to the filth and foulness of the east end. It was where the secrets were kept, though, and Rory needed to know the game.
The Red King Page 11