Cethe

by Becca Abbott

  A voice interrupted them, calling querulously from inside the room. Michael’s smile vanished. “You’re taking care of Father, again? Why? Where’s his nurse?”

  She looked anxiously into the room and back. “Mistress Terry left two weeks ago. She went to Creighton to get more medicine for Father and while she was there, some of the villagers said terrible things to her. When she came back, she was in tears and promptly gave her notice. It’s awful, Mick! Chris had to go all the way to Fieldton to get supplies!”

  Michael’s heart sank. “Where’s Grandfather? What does he say about all this?”

  “He left the day before yesterday, but said he’d be back by tomorrow… ”

  From the room, the voice came, louder, more petulant. She gave Michael a helpless look. He grimaced. “I suppose I might as well say hello to the bastard.”

  “Michael!” she objected. “Please!” For the first time, she noticed Stefn. Her mouth formed an O of surprise.

  “Oh, yes. Lord Eldering, may I present my sister, Miss Anne Elizabeth Arranz? Annie, this is Stefn Eldering.”

  Her eyes got even bigger. “Michael! You might have warned us! There’s no room prepared!”

  “Lord Eldering isn’t fussy, are you, Stefn?”

  “No, my lady,” Stefn replied. He managed a smile. “Please don’t put yourself out.”

  “We aren’t staying long,” Michael added.

  “Oh, Mick… ” He heard her disappointment with a twinge and shrugged apologetically, giving her his most contrite look. She shook her head. “Say hello to Father,” she said with a sigh, “and try not to upset him. I’ll go see to your rooms.”

  “Don’t worry. I shall be on my best behavior. And Marin will take care of our needs, as always.” He gave her a gentle push. After another wide-eyed look at Stefn, she hurried away.

  Michael took a deep breath. “Stay here,” he ordered Stefn in a low voice. “Not a word about why you’re here or what His Highness and I are doing. And if you aren’t in the same place when I come back, you’ll spend the rest of your damned life naked and in chains.”

  Stefn took a seat on a chair nearby, leaning his back against the wall and closing his eyes. “Where would I go?”

  Michael didn’t trust him; absolutely, he did not. “Good,” he said warily and, with another narrow look, went into his father’s study.

  “I thought I recognized that voice. Dare I ask what brings you back this time?”

  To Michael’s critical eye, Phillip Arranz seemed smaller and frailer than the last time he’d been at home. His father sat hunched in his high-backed, wheeled chair, close to the fire. He was draped in shawls against any vagrant breeze.

  “I was concerned for your health, naturally. You look well, sir.”

  “Liar on both counts,” retorted Lord Phillip. “You’ve come only to see Father.” He broke into a spasm of coughing. Michael immediately reached for the glass of water that was kept close, handing it to him.

  Once, long ago, when he was a boy and had still cared about his father’s good will, Michael had tried curing his father of the debilitating illness besetting him, but witchery had little effect on anything but broken bones or torn flesh. Only high lothrian magic could cure the most deadly diseases, and no knightmage would dirty his hands on treating a h’nar.

  Lord Philip drank and handed back the glass with an unsteady hand. “You disappear for months at a time with your friends,” he continued, still breathless. “When you condescend to return, you stay a day or two and are gone again. If it were not for your brother and sister to see to the running of Blackmarsh, we would be in dire circumstances, indeed!”

  It was too much to hope for an invitation to sit, but for once, the pointed lack of courtesy didn’t bother Michael. He’d been sitting too long anyway. “How fortunate, then, that they’re here. I trust the funds I’ve brought will help ease your pain at my absence.”

  “In other words, you couldn’t care less,” his father said bitterly. “Well, enjoy yourself while you may, boy. The day is fast approaching when you’ll have no choice but to do your duty and come home for good.”

  “My work for Severyn keeps Blackmarsh afloat,” retorted Michael. “Or do you think we can live off our peat farms?”

  Another spate of coughing was the only response — Phillip’s inevitable response to unpleasant truths. After regaining his breath, the elder Arranz continued hoarsely, “The farms do well enough. Your brother is a good manager, as well as defender. He may not carry enough of the precious naran blood Father so desires…” The white lips twisted. “But he does the work you should be doing instead of pursuing his own dreams, dear boy. If there was any justice, it would be Christopher who was heir, not you.”

  Here we go.

  “But why am I surprised?” Phillip pawed at his shawls, bringing them closer around his emaciated form. “Your mother was just such a selfish bitch, always doing what she pleased, everyone else be damned! I hope the Church chooses you just such a whore for a wife! Now Marie, on the other hand… Ah, how I miss her.” The sunken eyes softened, becoming distant and mournful.

  Michael’s memories of his pureblood human stepmother were less inspirational. He said only, “Chris is more than welcome to my destiny, Father. Loth knows I don’t want it. But I apologize. As usual, I’m tiring you. By your leave?” He bowed and, without waiting for a response, started for the door.

  “Michael!”

  Michael schooled his features to impassivity and turned around.

  “How much?” demanded Phillip. “How much money did you bring home?”

  Michael closed the study door behind him with exaggerated care, ignoring his father’s angry demands for an answer. Even when the coughing started, he didn’t turn back, but started blindly, unthinking, toward the central stairs before remembering Stefn.

  The earl was asleep in the chair where Michael had left him, head fallen forward, dark hair a silken screen hiding his face. The memory of him bound and naked on the bed rushed back; the way his body had leapt under Michael’s touch. Dismayed at his own reaction, Michael shook Stefn awake.

  “Come with me,” he ordered.

  Stefn lifted his head, but not far enough to meet Michael’s gaze. He said not a word, but preceded Michael through the house to the rarely-used guest wing. A door stood open, lamplight showing from within. As they approached, Marin emerged from the room, arms filled with sheets. “It’s all set, m’lord,” he said to Michael with a wink. Grinning at Stefn, he strode off. Michael gave his cethe a shove forward.

  Marin had turned down the bed and built a fire in the fireplace. The curtains had been drawn tightly against the drafts coming through the rattling old windows. On the bed lay shackles. Stefn saw them at once, stumbling to a halt.

  “Strip,” Michael ordered, closing and locking the door.

  Stefn looked like he might protest, then he lowered his head again and, without a word, took off his clothes.

  “It’s too bad I don’t trust you,” continued Michael. “Sit there.”

  Lips tight, pale, his cethe reluctantly did as he ordered. He took a seat on a large, heavy wooden chair at the foot of the bed. Michael had him sit facing the chair’s railed back, legs spread wide to either side of it. He chained Stefn’s wrists through the rails. Then, pulling the chair around, Michael looked down at his hunched shoulders and bowed head.

  “Look at me.”

  Stefn slowly lifted his face. Michael bent closer, caught by the younger man’s beauty. He meant to tell Eldering precisely what fate awaited him should he try another escape, but, “Kiss me,” is what came out instead.

  To his surprise, Stefn’s head fell back and his lips parted. When Michael’s mouth covered his, tongue thrusting insolently and deep, the cethe made only a small, helpless sound. Hunger swept through Michael. Seizing that abundant mass of black hair, he helped himself ruthlessly to the sweet warmth and wetness. Only when he was dizzy and breathless did he back away.

  The youth,
sobbing for breath, lowered his forehead to the back of the chair. He was trembling and, through the rails of the chair-back, Michael saw his generous sex, hard and dark crimson.

  Desire swept through Michael in a hot flood, but with it came memories of their first coupling. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do it again, yet just looking at Stefn filled him with a need so intense he was powerless against it.

  On the nightstand by the bed was a suspicious looking jar.

  Marin, you son of a bitch!

  Seizing it, he found it did indeed contain ointment. At his command, Stefn raised himself off the chair and submitted silently to being prepared. When that tight passage was slick and ready, Michael slid onto the chair beneath him. Taking hold of Stefn’s narrow hips, he slowly pulled the smaller man down onto him.

  The earl cried out, body arching as, stretched to his utmost, he was impaled on Michael’s swollen cock. Michael nearly fainted at the exquisite tightness gripping him. Reaching around, he found Stefn’s erection and grasped it tightly, using it to force Stefn up and down at his pleasure.

  Climax roared over Michael. He heard the guttural sound that was his own voice before the ecstasy overwhelmed him. When he regained his senses, he was leaning heavily against Stefn’s back. His hand, lying limply around the cethe’s softening cock, was wet. He turned his head slightly, lips brushing Stefn’s ear. A shudder ran through the slender youth. Face hidden, Stefn panted for breath, trembling.

  He whimpered when Michael finally left his body. Doing up his breeches, Michael’s head spun. This time, using Stefn had been pleasure unlike any Michael had experienced. It was almost like a drug! A dim, rational part of him was alarmed. Walking around the chair, he lifted the younger man’s lowered head. Eyes washed with tears met his gaze. Lips, puffy and bitten, quivered.

  Again, Michael couldn’t help himself. Once more, he kissed his cethe, swallowing Stefn’s moan. Then, because he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t happen all over again, he resolutely turned his back and somehow got out of there.

  The next morning, Michael found Annie in the breakfast room, poking at a bowl of porridge. She brightened at the sight of him. “There you are! Father has been asking for you!”

  He groaned.

  “Oh, Mick.” She gazed at him sorrowfully.

  “I don’t have time to argue with him, Annie.”

  “Do you have time to argue with me?”

  Michael looked around. Chris came in, uniform jacket folded neatly over his arm. He hung it on the back of his chair and went to the sideboard.

  “Not really,” Michael said. “I’ve brought money. Isn’t that all you care about?”

  “Mick! Chris!”

  They were distressing Annie. His brother scowled, slamming a piece of toast on his tower of eggs.

  “I know about the new tax,” Michael continued. “And I brought enough to cover it. We don’t have to sell any more land. Not yet, anyway.”

  Chris looked a bit happier, carrying his plate to the table before returning to the sideboard for t’cha. “What about the farmers?”

  “I have money for them, too. My investments have done well.” It was true, after a fashion.

  “Why aren’t they taxed?” Chris wasn’t stupid.

  “Because, officially, the money is Severyn’s. Our agreement is private.”

  “You trust him that much? What if he decides just to keep the money?”

  “Sev?” Michael shook his head, incredulous. “The same man who used to run tame in this house, who teased you and carried you around on his shoulders?”

  “So what? He’s a human. In the end, they’re our enemies! When it comes right down to it, Mick, and he has to… ”

  “What about Lord Eldering?” asked Annie hurriedly. “Should I have something sent up to him?”

  “No!” Michael covered his reaction with another sip of tea. That would be the last thing he needed: his seventeen year old sister coming upon the bound and naked Eldering! “Marin will see to his needs. You stay well away from his room.”

  “That’s another thing!” Chris said. “What the devil is he doing here?”

  “That, little brother, is none of your business.”

  “You bring a Hunter into this house and it’s none of my business?” Chris’ voice rose, face reddening.

  From the corner of his eye, Michael saw Annie’s eyes get round with shock. Pushing back his chair, he stood up. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a small bag and set it in front of her. “Take what you need for household expenses and use the rest to buy whatever you like — one or two of those silly novels you like so much, for instance.”

  Anne’s eyes lit up, all else forgotten. She opened the pouch at once, spilling the coins onto the tablecloth.

  “Chris, a word?”

  The brothers left their sister eagerly planning to spend her largesse. Outside the breakfast room, Chris stopped and turned to face Michael. “Damn it, Mick! What’s going on? You come waltzing home, unannounced, in the company of an Eldering, no less! You hand out gold like candy! If I were to ask Grandfather, all he’d say is to mind my own business, but what trouble are you bringing us?”

  “None, I hope. Where is Grandfather, anyway?”

  “How should I know? I’m not as pureblooded as you, remember? I have no witchpower.” Chris shrugged angrily. “I hear through the servants that he intends to go back to Tantagrel with you! Good riddance, I say!”

  “Not to his face, I’ll wager!”

  “And when was the last time you defied him?”

  “About a week ago,” murmured Michael, thinking of Eldering and the reckoning to come. “And I’m not going back to Tantagrel.”

  The sound of a clearing throat brought the brothers up short. At the end of the hall stood Dex, their grandfather’s valet. Seeing he had their attention, the servant approached and bowed. “Lord Michael, welcome home,” he said. “His Grace wishes to see you.”

  Chris swore under his breath. He pushed past Michael and strode back to his breakfast.

  “Tell Grandfather I’ll be with him in a moment,” said Michael.

  Marin was seated in front of Stefn’s room, keeping guard. He sprang to attention when Michael arrived. “Been getting noisy in there,” said the big man with a grin.

  Michael unlocked the door and went in. Eldering’s slim, nude figure straightened in the chair. Shadowed eyes met his. Michael watched Stefn press his trembling lips together. The collar sparkled in the light streaming through the dusty windows. “Hello, my beauty,” Michael said. He unlocked the shackles. “How was your night?”

  He expected no answer and there was none, not even an angry glare. Michael left Stefn rubbing his chafed and swollen wrists. Pausing long enough to give brief instructions to Marin, Michael steeled himself for the coming interview and went to face his grandfather.

  The duke’s apartment was sacrosanct; one visited by invitation only. His handful of personal servants, fiercely loyal and discreet, were treated like royalty themselves below stairs.

  Situated in the front of the house, the apartment overlooked the marsh stretching away below. Tall windows admitted copious amounts of light, but down on the marsh the morning mist was still thick.

  Michael found his grandfather in his sitting room, finishing his breakfast. Still attired in his dressing-gown, Lord Damon waved Michael toward a chair at the table.

  “Good morning, lad. You look well.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I received Severyn’s note two days ago. Well done, both of you.”

  Michael took the offered seat and smiled at Geena, Lord Damon’s elderly maid, as she set a cup of expensive, imported spiced t’cha before him.

  “Did you have much trouble?”

  “No. Shia is secure for now.” Michael paused to sip at the fragrant tea. “Everything went according to plan for the most part. There were a few surprises, but not all of them bad.”

  The duke received the information about the hidden room and its treas
ures with a bitter smile. “So, not only did they kill and rob innocents, they cheated their own masters, as well. What a charming clan.” He shook his head. “At least now the treasure can save h’naran lives instead of enrich their persecutors. What about the Eldering boy? Christopher reported you’ve brought him. We must make preparations for the Binding at once.”

  Michael shook his head. Setting down his cup, he said, “It’s already done. I saw no reason to wait.”

  “No reason?” The duke’s expression darkened. “Did we not decide you would bring him here for the ceremony?”

  “We did,” replied Michael evenly. “But it was you who told me that naragi always Bound their cethe where their clan had roots. Our roots were in Shia long before they were in Blackmarsh.”

  Lord Damon frowned. “Even so… ”

  “I’m sorry, Grandfather, but I needed to Bind Eldering sooner rather than later. He is not a particularly docile man.”

  “The heir of a Hunter commander?” Lord Damon laughed harshly. “I can imagine.”

  Michael hesitated, then, “As to that, my cethe is Stefn, the youngest son. Allen is dead.”

  “I see,” The duke said after a long, disappointed pause. “What other alterations have been made in our plans?”

  “None, sir.” Michael met the cool gaze squarely. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, but Allen Eldering, heir though he was, had all the appeal of a slab of beef. The prospect of intimacy with the oaf was more than I could stand.”

  “Oh, please! A cethe is a slave, nothing more. Take lovers as you wish to satisfy your lust. Besides, he’s a sin-catcher, is he not? They’re notoriously frail. Will he have enough power to serve you if war breaks out? Will his body withstand the demands placed upon it?”

  Michael remembered Fornsby. “He’s stronger than he looks.”

  “I hope so,” replied the duke grimly. “The measure of a naragi’s strength is directly connected to that of his cethe. I hope we don’t all live to regret your fastidiousness.”

  Would there ever come a time when Lord Damon failed to make him feel like a disobedient child?