The Red King Page 14

  Now he had his chance at revenge before him, in the form of tender, innocent, beautiful Andrew. He gave Rory hope even through the loss of Fleming. Rory could feel it inside of him, blooming at every smile, at every kiss. It was delicate, but it was the first true optimism he’d felt, possibly in his life. That hope could sustain him through the pressing weeks of training Andrew, preparing him.

  That thought disturbed Rory’s peace. It rippled through that warm feeling, the one he thought of as hope, like a stone skimming across still water. This could not change the end. It must conclude as desired or all will have failed. He wondered how he could find such peace even as he lied to Andrew. And himself.

  Andrew stirred, distracting Rory from his thoughts. He opened his eyes, found Rory watching him and smiled. For a moment, all was well, and then Andrew remembered. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

  Rory was not, but he lied, “I am. Don’t worry for my sake. I am hungry, though.”

  “Me, too,” Andrew answered, eyes brightening.

  They ate and talked at length about small things, at first. Rory described the race that won him Brighid and the ensuing brawl involving the Turk he took her from. He then followed with the story of the taking of a ship bound for the New World, laden with newly captured at Senegal to be sold slaves. “It is not just Moors and Turks taking captives for their labor, though Europeans sneer and name them savages. So much for civilized men.”

  “It goes against all of the teachings of Christ himself,” Andrew commented, chewing on a piece of dried lamb. “The instruction given from the prophet we chose is not followed. Instead, words and rules listed a thousand years before his birth are kept to the letter. I cannot fathom how it is justified.”

  “Did your abbot teach you that?” Rory asked, smiling.

  “No, that is my own thought,” Andrew answered, eyes blazing.

  They were silent for a moment. Andrew eyed Rory, curiously, to which Rory raised a brow. “Ask.”

  “I don’t need to ask. It was Maarten, the one who took you.”

  Rory nodded.

  “And he kept you for many years.”

  “Thirteen.”

  Andrew swallowed and closed his eyes. When he opened them he asked, “How much farther to Tipaza?”

  “If we travel all night we can be there by sunrise,” Rory said.

  “We should make ready, then.” He reached for his trousers.

  Rory was surprised there were no more questions. “Is that all you need to know?”

  “I have many questions, but I told you I would wait until we reached Tipaza,” Andrew answered, rising to his knees to tie the drawstring. He then lowered to his hands, leaned closer to Rory and kissed him on the cheek. “And I would not color my memory of this place with such horrors.”

  “Agreed,” Rory said, smiling softly at him.

  They broke camp with no difficulty, working companionably together to lower and stow the tent. Andrew had teased about the assistance. “I raised it alone, why help now? Shouldn’t you be loading the food and tending to your princess?” he asked, throwing a glance in Brighid’s direction.

  “It is my pleasure to help you lower your...staff,” Rory responded, slyly.

  Andrew blushed but laughed. They finished the work in easy silence and started the journey the same.

  Andrew was no doubt used to occasional ritual silences during his time with the holy brothers and seemed comfortable. Rory was unsettled, though he could not decide why. Aboard the Taibhse he often went silent, sometimes sunk in thoughts of his revenge, other times in simple appreciation of the wind and sea. Yet now he wanted to prod Andrew to talk, to chatter as young men often did, while Rory himself could think of nothing to say. He regretted promising Andrew the story and at the same time wanted to tell it all, right away.

  The road to Tipaza was much as Rory remembered -- a little drier this season, a little poorer for provisions with most of the fruit trees already picked bare. Andrew made no requests, for necessary pause or rest. He seemed determined to keep up with Rory and, hiding a smile, Rory reduced his own pace by half as the stars began to appear. As the moon crested Brighid showed signs of distress and Rory soothed her, promising a clean stable and pears and rutting stallions if she would just proceed until dawn.

  When Andrew began to doze in the terik Rory caught the camel's bridle to lead it. Esme gave him a baleful look while working her jaw as if ready to spit, but Rory held her gaze until she broke, looking in the opposite direction. Andrew might be a changeling who gentled animals with a touch, but Rory had never cared for camels. Control himself as he might, most beasts recognized the bitter fury inside him. Even Brighid’s heart had taken patience and time to win.

  Tipaza stretched across three hills, butting up against the sea. The Roman town was a ruin, abandoned for a thousand years. Berber tribesmen recognized the site as valuable for the remarkably preserved aqueduct and still bubbling artesian wells that once fed the baths and fountains with fresh water. A few settlers of mixed decent had laid claim to the land just east, an elbow of rock and sandy beach that extended into the water. It was a small village, simple and plain in comparison to the grand ruins beside it, but it was a warm and welcoming sight after their long ride.

  “Andrew,” Rory called, laying a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. “We’re here.” Rory pointed. “There are the ruins and beyond it, the village.”

  Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, Andrew was at first unfocused, still groggy from his half-sleep in the saddle. As they descended he began to observe the remains of the city with greater enthusiasm. He spurred his camel past Rory, only to slow as he approached the long broken road and roofless portico. The sun broke the horizon and flooded the city with light. The stone turned reddish-gold and shimmered with the reflection from the sea beyond the columns.

  “It’s magnificent,” he said breathlessly when Rory drew alongside him.

  “There will be time for exploration,” Rory answered. He was facing Andrew, delighting in the golden light shimmering in his tousled hair.

  Andrew turned his eyes towards him and asked, “Will there?”

  The expected excitement was not there, however. Rory met his gaze and they were caught again, staring at each other as if they could open their heads and hearts to see inside and spare the worry of speech. That was, at least, what Rory wished. “We shall make time,” Rory offered. “If that is what you desire.”

  After a moment, Andrew nodded and smiled. “Right now, I would most enjoy being rid of this saddle.”

  “Follow me,” Rory said, and led him towards the village.

  The houses were small stone structures, some made of quarried rock from the ruins. Their simple construction did not preclude certain luxuries; lush colorful rugs, decorative shutters, awnings of brightly colored wool, painted tiles around windows and doors, even potted plants. The street was clean, free of the human and animal waste prevalent in the city. It was a lovely place, already busy with the daily activities of a flourishing village. Rory felt the welcome immediately, his ease transferring to a smile aimed at Andrew.

  An older woman with nut-brown skin and pure white hair, sat outside of an outlying home grinding meal for the day. She saw him and let out a cry. “AIIIEEE! Ruaidhri! Ruaidhri has returned!!” She lay her work aside and rose to greet them.

  Rory leapt from Brighid’s back and took her in his arms. He hugged her tightly, smiling as she rambled at him in an endless stream of Berber. Others came, crowding around him to welcome him with genuine warmth. It lifted his spirits, brought his hope back to life. Speaking to them in rapid Berber, Rory assured all that their questions would be answered soon, but that he and his apprentice would eat and rest first. At his mention of an apprentice, they all turned as one to look at Andrew.

  Andrew did not notice their stares. He was kneeling, watching with great interest as a small boy made hand gestures. After a moment, he leaned closer and opened his eyes wide. The child held An
drew’s face; his little fingers were dark against Andrew’s skin. Then they both smiled widely at each other and the boy gave him the traditional welcome of kisses on both cheeks. He looked to Rory, still smiling, and was surprised to find everyone’s eyes on him.

  “Oh! Hello,” he said, standing.

  “My friends, this is Andrew,” Rory announced, unable to keep the affection from his voice. He watched the little boy bring Andrew into the circle and was gratified to see them welcome him with warm attention. Andrew grinned and blushed as he was passed from person to person to receive embraces from all. He finally stood before Rory, a little breathless, face still pink.

  “Do they welcome all strangers so enthusiastically?” he asked.

  “They believe in a child’s truth, that they can see men’s souls more clearly. You were accepted by the boy, so they accepted you,” Rory told him. He was not surprised that Andrew passed the boy’s muster, but he was pleased it happened so readily. “I must ask him if he found any fault in you, at all. Your soul is disturbingly unblemished.”

  He regretted saying it when Andrew’s smile faded. “No, it’s not. I’ve killed a man and intend to kill again. The mark on my soul is black. Blacker still, for I have not repented.”

  The little boy returned and took both their hands. He chattered at them and pulled, indicating they should follow. Andrew did not look at him, but Rory could see the wretchedness on his face as they allowed themselves to be led. He leaned in to whisper to Andrew as they walked. “Your soul is a pure, white light in a dark world. It will take a thousand worse sins to taint it.”

  Andrew turned to him. “What sins would those be?”

  Rory grinned, slowly, devilishly. “Give me food, first, for strength, and I will show you.” He was rewarded with another flush and the sight of Andrew’s teeth set to his lip.

  They were taken to another house where Rory introduced Andrew to Idir. He and Rory were similarly built, but Idir’s brow was heavy, his eyes soot black and dark hair shorn short to combat the heat. When he spoke, Andrew was surprised to hear very good, if thickly accented, English.

  “Yes, I speak many languages. I am Egyptian, raised as an Englishman in France. I returned to my home and tragedy befell me, but I found my wife and now we are happy. The tale is long and sad and very romantic. I will tell you tonight. Now, we will feed you both. My wife will insist, you are so thin!”

  Idir introduced his wife, Titrit, and two young daughters. Titrit was unveiled and very pretty, and happily prepared a meal for them. “They are not kept separate, as in Algiers?” Andrew asked, softly.

  “They are not Muslim. Titrit is Berber and Idir is Christian,” Rory said, reclining on a cushion. “Titrit’s people lived here when the Roman village was new.”

  “I will tell it better than you, Ruaidhri,” Idir scolded, coming into the room with a familiar looking silver pitcher and small etched glasses.

  Andrew took the tea when it was offered. He looked at the glass, then at Rory.

  Shrugging, Rory said, “A gift from my last stay. Etienne never missed it, he has several.”

  Again, Andrew’s smile provoked his own.

  “Pirate,” Andrew teased, softly.

  “A salute to old friends, new friends, the health and life of our families, and honored ancestors. May God’s blessings be on all,” Idir said, raising his glass.

  Titrit entered carrying a tray, followed by the two young girls, one with cloths and one with a bowl of water. Rory put his hands in the bowl, washing away the dirt and sweat from their travel. Andrew watched closely and copied his actions, then waited as the smaller of the girls dried both of their hands. Andrew’s face lit up when he smelled the offerings on the platter. He leaned closer to where Titrit set it, eyeing the steaming, opened white and brown shells with a mix of interest and distrust. Rory withheld his laughter and waited.

  “It was meant that you would come today. We were blessed with an abundance of food and could not eat it all ourselves. It was the same for the whole village. It was as if God himself was telling us to be ready!” she said, smiling as she presented the meal.

  “What are they?” Andrew asked. He gingerly picked one from its bed of couscous.

  “They are clams. They are dug from the beach as the tide retreats. They were like the stars today, uncountable!” Idir answered. He took one and tore its soft white flesh from between the two shells, which he then popped into his mouth.

  Ever observant, Andrew followed suit, his eyes widening as he chewed. He took another.

  Rory chuckled and took some for his own plate. He watched Andrew as he spoke with Idir and Titrit, attentive to their every word. Their daughters smiled shyly and giggled when Andrew spoke to them. Titrit led them away, gently scolding them on their behavior as Idir told him, “Tadefi nears womanhood. I believe she finds you…agreeable.”

  The bloom returned to Andrew’s cheeks and he stumbled over his words. “Oh, she, oh...I am not…”

  “No, no, no, it is good. She is not yet ready and, as much as I love our mutual friend,” he said, with a nod to Rory, “you are his apprentice and I would not have her married to a man who rides the seas. Too much separation. Too much danger.” He grinned at Andrew. “You are safe from the bridal bower.”

  Rory laughed heartily at Andrew’s expression of surprise and embarrassment. “He’s quite agreeable, Idir, but I have prior claim. At least, until his contract with me is up. After that, who knows?” Rory winked at Idir but caught Andrew’s frown from the corner of his eye. It was difficult to not reach out, to touch and kiss and smooth it away.

  Rory stood and stretched, then, deciding they needed to seek their bed. Andrew, despite his commitment and determination, still needed rest. “Please give Titrit my thanks.”

  “Of course, of course,” Idir said, standing with him and taking his hand. “You are tired. Please, return this evening for the supper. We will exchange stories, yes?

  “Yes,” Rory said, embracing him. “There are many stories to tell.”

  ***

  “This is yours?” Andrew asked. They neared a small building, designed much as the others in the village but hidden in the trees between there and the ruins. It was not outfitted with carpet or lanterns, remaining plain and practical. Behind it was a sturdy wooden shelter; a stable, and Brighid’s quiet noises could be heard from within.

  “I began its construction over a year ago, only just completing it on my last visit. It’s still unfinished, but it will house us for now. Privately,” Rory said, standing to the side of the door as Andrew entered. He followed and noted a few extra items that were not theirs.

  Their baggage had been kindly unloaded while they ate. The thick woven rugs were spread in one corner of the single large room and the bedroll spread invitingly atop it. There were cushions, too, and window hangings to block the sun and keep out the midday heat. There was one lantern, a skin full of water, and a bowl of dates and nuts. There was a drape for the door, too. Rory unhooked it and let it fall.

  Andrew turned to him. “We are alone.”

  “Yes, we are,” Rory answered. He waited. He knew what he wanted; he wanted it every time he looked at Andrew, every time he heard his voice. Andrew came closer, slowly raising his arms to circle Rory’s neck. “Andrew, you needn’t…”

  “Shhh,” Andrew quieted him, licking his lips as he pulled Rory down.

  The kiss was so sweet. Rory moaned, letting Andrew slip his tongue in to swipe across his lips and stroke the top of his mouth. He did not take Andrew into his arms, though it was difficult. Rory restrained his desire to crush him close and simply rested his hands on Andrew’s hips.

  After a moment, Andrew pulled away. “Is it…not…” he asked, his uncertainty appearing as tension in the line of his body.

  “I didn’t want to seem insistent,” Rory said against his lips.

  “That did not stop you before,” Andrew said, smiling.

  Drawing back so that he could look into Andrew’s eyes, Ror
y smiled in return and said, “If I took you every time I wanted to you would’ve never left my cabin.”

  “Please Rory,” Andrew whispered, turning serious.

  “What do you want? You’ll have to tell me.”

  Andrew trembled. “I want you. I just want to feel you. I cannot get enough of feeling you.”

  Rory’s fingers tightened at Andrew’s hips. “Hellfire,” he muttered and covered Andrew’s mouth with his own.

  They stumbled to the corner, kicking up the carpet, the bedding, falling on it only to roll off of it a moment later. Rory set Andrew atop him, hands pulling his thighs apart so Andrew straddled him. Moaning, Andrew began to thrust against him, rubbing their hardened cocks together with urgent, hungry movements. Rory kissed him, fiercely, fingers wound tight in his hair, and let Andrew rut against him without resistance. When Andrew began to grunt, his breath coming harsh and shallow through his nose, Rory lowered his hands to curve at his hips once more.

  Rory thrust up and Andrew pushed himself back, hands on either side of Rory’s head. He looked into Rory’s eyes, mouth red and slack and rolled his hips, once, twice, then threw his head back with a long, low groan. Rory continued to thrust up against him, pulling Andrew forward so that his cock would press into Andrew’s lovely round bottom. Andrew finished with his own climax and met Rory’s gaze once more. He sat back, putting all his weight on Rory’s groin, and asked, softly, “Can you fuck me like this?”

  Despite their fatigue, despite being fully clothed, Rory’s climax was almost blinding. He stiffened, his entire body shot through with stunned pleasure. Andrew rolled his hips again and he groaned, shuddering as his muscles finally released. He stilled, leaving Andrew sitting on him while both of them caught their breath. “Christ, Andrew, I will fuck you any way and any time you wish. You’ll get no more denials from me,” Rory said, his hands still trembling on Andrew’s thighs.