Edwin took the lull in conversation to share his opinion. “Do you have free reign to decorate Ledford Manor, Mister Milan?”
Katerina glowered. “I do believe you have confused yourself. Does your poor memory fail to remember that he is a Lord, not a Mister?”
Edwin curled his lip slightly. “Why of course. Lord Milan. It must be so nice to marry well.”
Milan tilted his head, quite enjoying how bitter this Mister Edwin seemed to be.
“Of course I can decorate the manor, as lord of the estate.”
“Lord in title, perhaps.”
“And in marriage, as you said. In bonding.”
Katerina seemed to be piercing Edwin with her eyes. “Speak plainly, Mister Edwin. What, exactly, do you mean by your words?”
“Whatever do you mean? I am simply curious. I meant nothing by it.”
“Well, then. If you mean nothing, might I suggest you don’t say anything at all? It would save us all the trouble of having to listen to you. Now, we really must depart. I find myself faint with the need for stimulating conversation.”
With an imperious toss of her head, Katerina led Milan and Gianna away, leaving a spluttering Edwin behind.
Milan turned to her. “Have I told you how glad I am not to be your enemy?”
“Why, Milan. You do make me blush.”
Gianna snorted. “What a boor. Let’s get something to drink.”
Milan agreed heartily but spotted Lord Raphael on their way to the refreshments. It was no surprise that he stood against a wall, staring broodily at the crowd. He looked unhappy, and whatever contention was between them, Milan did not like seeing people unhappy.
“Excuse me. I’ve just spotted my husband, and he looks quite ready to leave.”
“Oh, no! Leave him to suffer a little,” Katerina said. Gianna hit her arm in admonishment.
Milan shook his head with a smile. “We’ll get together soon, the three of us. Yes?”
“Yes,” Gianna said immediately.
They said their goodbyes before Milan walked up to him.
“This does not seem your favourite place to be, Lord Raphael,” Milan greeted. Lord Raphael looked at him but made no response. “Shall we leave?”
Lord Raphael stared a while longer before nodding. It was not until they were both in the crawler that he spoke.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked. Milan turned from the window to look at him.
“Yes, thank you.” Milan stared at Lord Raphael’s glove-covered hands. “My Lord…” he swallowed nervously. “I just wanted to ask about your gloves. Could you not…could we not touch, once in a while?”
The scowl that took over Lord Raphael’s face was instantaneous. “For what purpose? To what ends?”
“Th-the bond…”
“No. See, this is exactly what I meant—why do you get to decide what’s in my head? My soul? Is marriage not enough?”
“You know that’s not the only—”
“Enough!” Raphael whispered harshly.
Milan glowered, becoming incensed by not being allowed to even speak. “I know about Jack, Raphael.”
Raphael’s eyes widened, looking truly shocked.
“I know you loved him. I know I cannot replace him. That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“Enough. Enough, enough,” Lord Raphael said, looking truly shaken, but Milan couldn’t let it go.
“The bond—you agreed to it, you—”
“I can’t! You cannot force me.…You cannot—I won’t let you.” Raphael gripped the material over his chest as if trying to keep his heart inside. He looked like he was about to fall apart.
How much was this man mourning his past love? How much was Milan an intrusion into his life?
But, was Lord Raphael’s pain worth Milan also suffering?
“Please,” Milan whispered, reduced to begging. He was not surprised it did not work. Raphael shook his head, pressing himself against the door of the crawler as if Milan’s mere presence was driving him away.
They sat in silence for the rest of the ride. Milan had no more hope to cling to.
CHAPTER NINE
It was slow, the consumption. The first sign Milan was forced to acknowledge was his need to take a nap in the middle of the day or risk falling asleep on top of his books in the library. He tried to compensate by eating more in order to replenish his energy but was foiled by a poor appetite.
No matter how much he slept, he would wake tired in the morning. Even during his waking hours, he would become dazed sometimes, making it hard to concentrate like he once did.
Milan was sure that Melissa noticed. She would ask him if he had eaten, or how he had slept, and looked worried when he would let her help him more and more with his daily routine. Even talking became tiresome for Milan—all he could do was brush her away and depend on her propriety not to press for answers.
Not that he had any. Not that she would want to hear them, anyway.
**********
The ground was wet and muddy after a night filled with rain, but Milan didn’t hesitate in dismounting Saturnus and walking towards Laura’s house after tying the mare to a post. He had recognised her in town from their first meeting with Lord Raphael by the pig pens, and Milan had insisted on giving her some spices he had brought from his homeland. It was one of his favourite blends to rub on pork, and he didn’t doubt she would agree.
Milan was just about to knock on her door when he heard a commotion not far from the house. He walked around it to see that something was happening by the pens and hurried towards the noise.
What met him was nothing short of chaos. Laura, along with two men, were running around, trying to corral no less than fifteen pigs which had obviously made a bid for freedom. Milan gaped for a moment before jumping into the fray. He ran towards the nearest man, who looked surprised to see him but readily accepted Milan’s help. The two of them managed to wrestle a pig back into the pen, but that was only the start.
“Lord Ledford! My goodness—your clothes!” Laura exclaimed when she saw him. Milan looked down. Indeed, his clothes were already covered in mud.
“Never mind that. Tell me how to help.”
Laura hesitated for a moment, but the sound of squealing interrupted any doubts she might have voiced. “Let’s form a circle around them as best we can. It’ll be better to corral them than to fight these stubborn things.”
Easier said than done. Milan was amazed at the speed of the creatures, considering their size, but they were quick and smart. It took the idea of enticing them with food to get them to cooperate, and even then, it took more than an hour to get them all back where they belonged.
Milan leaned against the wooden fence of the pens, feeling like his legs would wobble out from under him. “My goodness. Is that what exercise is?” he panted.
“That wasn’t exercise. That was torture,” one of the men replied.
Milan laughed breathlessly. “Torture by porcine. How delightful.”
“I need a stiff drink,” the other man said.
Laura snorted. “I need three.”
“And I need a nap. This mud will do,” Milan said, only half joking.
“The bar it is. And you’re coming with us, My Lord.”
“Oh, I—”
“Nonsense. We deserve it.”
Despite being on the verge of collapse and utterly filthy from the chase, Milan could not find a way to get out of the invitation without causing offence.
They rode into town, where, as Milan suspected, they became quite the spectacle. Milan couldn’t help but join in the exaggerated telling of the wayward pigs when they arrived at the bar and everybody gaped at their mud-covered state. Despite how tired he was, Milan had to admit it was great fun to be treated so casually. He suspected he had made great strides in being seen more like one of them than an untouchable lord.
It was almost dusk when he managed to escape. He had drunk little, knowing his body couldn’t take it. Even so, it took a
n embarrassing three times to get on top of Saturnus and only succeeded because the stable hand helped him.
Night was falling quickly, and Milan tried to keep up a galloping pace, but his body couldn’t take the strain. A few minutes in even a trot was too much, and he made Saturnus walk slowly, slumping over slightly and hoping nobody would cross his path and see.
Halfway there he had the mare stop so he could rest for a moment. His head was swimming oddly, his breath coming in short, even though he was barely exerting himself. He knew he should have left the bar earlier and was now paying the price.
Damn the bond. Damn his physiology.
Saturnus started shifting in place as if concerned about the long pause, and Milan urged her forwards. It would not do to fall asleep there and freeze to death like a fool.
Milan was unsure about how he arrived at the manor but was relieved to see he had somehow made it, when Mary rushed to greet him from the stables. Milan practically fell from the mare, causing Mary to yelp.
“I’m all right,” Milan said. “Although, I’m afraid I’m a tad too exhausted to rub her down.”
“Of course. My Lord, should I call someone? Do you need—”
“No, no. I’m quite all right. Thank you, Mary.”
Milan ignored the front door, instead entering through the mudroom by the kitchen, startling one of the staff, who stammered a greeting before rushing off. Milan stood there, looking down at his clothes and boots covered in dry mud. His brain wasn’t working. Was he supposed to take them off there?
“Lord Milan!”
Milan looked up to see Melissa and Ingrid hurrying towards him.
“Oh, hello. I think—a bath?” He stepped further into the manor, managing to make his way out of the servant quarters whilst the two women hovered around him, asking him questions he couldn’t decipher.
He blinked in confusion when something stepped in front of him. He looked up to see the glowering face of his dear husband.
“Oh. Hello.”
“Where have you been?” Lord Raphael growled. He really did do that a lot, like a wolf or a bear. Milan laughed quietly to himself. That did not seem to please the bear at all.
“Sorry,” Milan said and promptly fell into darkness.
**********
Milan did not feel well. That was the first thing he noticed. The second—that he was in his bed, with no recollection of how he had gotten there.
He turned his head to see that Lord Raphael was standing stiffly by the bed.
“You’re in my room,” Milan rasped out dumbly. Lord Raphael had never been in his room before.
Lord Raphael said nothing, of course, but did grab a cup filled with water at his bedside table and offered it to him. Milan stared at his hands. They were bare.
It all crashed over him.
The slow way he was wasting away. The exhaustion, the nausea, his poor appetite. How he couldn’t even manage to ride back from the village without collapsing.
Milan slid an arm from under the blankets and touched the tip of his finger against one of Lord Raphael’s knuckles. There was a moment of relief and warmth before the hand flinched away.
A wave of exhaustion swept over Milan. He was sinking into the pillow, into the bed, into the floor. He was drowning.
Milan looked up at his husband still standing there as if he had any right to be by his side.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Milan whispered.
Raphael took a sudden step back, slamming the glass on the table. He narrowed his eyes at Milan. “Is this all a farce?”
Milan gaped at him for a moment before an ugly laugh left him. “Is what a farce? Our marriage?”
“Your illness,” Raphael countered. Milan stared at him.
“Are you quite mad?”
“You’re trying to manipulate me.”
Milan stared at the ceiling, shaking his head in pure wonder. He was married to a madman. “Leave me,” Milan said eventually.
Raphael stood there for a moment longer. “I will send the doctor in,” he said before leaving.
Milan stared after him, shocked at Lord Raphael’s audacity, to call a doctor when he knew perfectly well what was wrong with Milan. Typical Alpha—he knew nothing would happen to him, even if the doctor knew what he was doing.
“I would rather have this meeting in private,” Milan said coldly as Lord Raphael entered with the doctor—a short, stout man with thinning hair and spectacles. The doctor immediately huffed at Milan.
“Settle down. Your Alpha has a right to attend the consultation.”
Milan clenched his teeth, propping himself up on a few pillows, but Lord Raphael raised his hands and turned around.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said, shutting the door behind him. The doctor gave Milan a chiding look. Milan tried to control his anger.
“Well. Let’s get down to business then. I am Dr. Fitch. I do believe you’ve overexerted yourself, Lord Milan,” was his astute diagnosis.
“Have I?” Milan asked sarcastically.
“Indeed. Lord Ledford tells me you rode into town and came back quite late.”
“I ride into town regularly, and I’ve never fainted before.”
Dr. Fitch made a disapproving noise. “Yes, and that’s exactly the problem. It is good to keep active, but Omegas are required to do light exercise, not to go gallivanting into town every day. Surely you have duties in the home that need your attention.”
Milan managed not to lunge at the doctor and strangle him. “That’s absolutely absurd.”
Dr. Fitch gaped for a moment. “Pardon me?”
Milan sighed. This was a battle he wasn’t going to win. “The problem isn’t my delicate constitution, Doctor. These are the symptoms of a neglected bond.”
Dr. Fitch stared at Milan, seeming completely flabbergasted. “Now, young man,” and there went Milan’s title, “that is a diagnosis you are entirely unqualified to make.”
Milan spluttered indignantly before managing to calm himself enough to speak. “Dr. Fitch. I apologise for my earlier abruptness, but I assure you, I am more than qualified to know the state of my own bond. Lord Ledford and I have not touched in weeks, and we barely touched before that. Our bond was consummated only months ago—this is the only logical conclusion,” Milan explained as coolly as he could.
“If that were the case, then why would you let the bond become so weakened, being aware of these effects?”
“Me? I’m not the one doing this!”
“Now, listen here—”
“Oh, enough,” Milan growled. Dr. Fitch snapped his mouth shut, more in offence, it seemed, than anything else. “I do not require your belief, Doctor, or your treatment—there’s nothing you can do. But I will ask you this—imagine for a moment that what I’m saying is the truth. What could I do to prevent this…sickness?”
“Lord Milan, I don’t believe—”
“I’m not asking you to believe! Just…please. Imagine. A completely hypothetical situation. Imagine we live in a world where an Alpha would purposely neglect a bond. What could the Omega do?”
Dr. Fitch was silent for a long moment before sighing in capitulation, probably at Milan’s obvious stubbornness. “In this hypothetical situation…”
“Yes?”
“The Omega would be required to find a proper place in the household so the Alpha is pleased, as would be their duty, and—”
“Apart from that! Imagine there is nothing the Omega can do in that regard. Is there anything else?” Milan asked, pleading now.
Dr. Fitch huffed. “Well. If there was really nothing the Omega could do, their fate would be decided during the first heat after the consummation of the bond. If spent alone with such a weak bond, the bond would break…or, more likely, the Omega would die.”
And there it was. The truth of the matter.
Milan sank back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. There was no way Lord Raphael would spend Milan’s heat with him. But as dire as it seemed, as w
eak as his body felt at that moment, Milan felt some hope.
If he could only survive his heat, he’d be free. Lord Raphael would not be able to control him through the bond. Milan would be able to come and go as he pleased, even back to his home for months at a time without shaming himself and his family. He would have married, after all, and for all anybody knew, Lord Raphael and he would still be bonded.
“Thank you, Doctor. That was very enlightening.”
“I have to stress that few Omegas survive their heats in such a state.”
“Yes, well. Good thing it was a hypothetical situation.” Milan smiled at him sardonically.
Dr. Fitch sniffed. “Indeed. Now, I have left Lord Ledford some herbs for you to smoke in a pipe, as well as a tincture and some tea, to be applied and taken daily respectively. And, of course, no more rides into town unless accompanied—a brisk walk around the estate should suffice to keep you in shape. If you are restless, I have heard that Omegas find knitting or embroidery to be very fulfilling pastimes.”
“How wonderful. I’ll knit my dear husband a scarf.” And hope it chokes him.
“A very good idea,” Dr. Fitch said, completely missing Milan’s sarcasm.
“Thank you for your treatments, Doctor. I think I will rest now. Please tell Lord Raphael I’m not fit for company.”
“Good idea. I will make sure Lord Ledford knows which doses to give you.”
Milan didn’t reply, closing his eyes and turning away.
**********
Milan had feared that the exhaustion that had taken over him that day would become the norm. Thankfully, however, after a day’s rest, he had recuperated as much as he could. Still abnormally tired, but at least being able to function somewhat with only one nap a day.
Despite this, and his uncharitable feelings towards Dr. Fitch, he did take up the advice he had been given. He stopped going to town or riding Saturnus at all. He made feeble excuses to Katerina and Gianna’s invitations, claiming a passing illness, which he hoped would help him avoid their presence long enough to go through his heat, which was only a little more than a month away. He didn’t go as far as dedicating himself to embroidery, but he stayed inside the manor, ensconced in the library, not taking notes but simply reading or dozing in the cloudy sunlight that filtered through the windows. His only exercise was a slow walk around the estate.
Honeythorn: Alpha/Omega Page 9