The Red King Page 16

  Andrew lifted his head to peek over Rory’s shoulder. He had to brush tangled hair out of his face first, but then saw the cove below them. There was a strip of pale sand between the cliff and the water, some trees and rocks lining the beach. Further out there were more rocks, a toppled bit of cliff that now served as a breaker to stop the waves from pummeling the shore. “We’re going there?” he asked, incredulously.

  “Yes,” Rory answered.

  “How are we going to get down there?”

  “I know of a path,” Rory said.

  “Oh. We aren’t going to gallop anymore, are we?”

  Grinning, Rory replied, “Not right now.” He put one hand over Andrew’s where it held his waist and squeezed. He found the path and guided Brighid down, crisscrossing the cliff face on the narrow ledge. Andrew had his face hidden once more, tensing at every falling rock. “It is not like you to be frightened.”

  Andrew said something against his back that he couldn’t hear.

  “Try saying that without a mouthful of my back,” Rory teased.

  He heard Andrew take a deep breath and then he spoke close to his ear. “I’ve only been on a horse once. It threw me. I was unconscious for a whole day.”

  “As you grow accustomed to her, you will find that fear will fade. Brighid is a remarkable animal and will treat you as you treat her.”

  Brighid nodded her head and took the last bit of the path at a faster pace. Andrew clutched Rory tightly and buried his face once more. “I will take your word!” he cried.

  Rory laughed and let Brighid run to the water’s edge. Andrew slid from her with one arm still around Rory’s waist. He took a moment to pet Brighid’s nose and stepped away. Rory jumped down, smiling wickedly. “Take off your clothes.”

  Andrew grinned and sat to remove his boots, eyes on Rory as he did the same.

  Rory raced into the water, diving beneath the surface. When he emerged once more, he saw Andrew standing timidly, in up to his knees. He had his arms across his chest. “It is a little cold!”

  “You will get used to it!” Rory called back.

  It took Andrew several minutes to move farther out, only making it up to his waist before Rory decided to take the matter in hand. He swam towards Andrew, staying low in the water as if he were stalking him. Andrew was smiling, but still unmoving, when he rose up from the sea before him.

  “You look like a merman.”

  “You,” Rory said, hands lifting to cup Andrew’s face “are far too dry.” He pushed, throwing Andrew off balance and sideways into the water. Laughing, Rory pulled him back to his feet. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he cried, when Andrew took a half-hearted swing at him.

  “That was unfair!” Andrew sputtered, pushing Rory’s hands away. He wiped the stinging water from his eyes.

  Rory ignored his batting hands and pulled him closer. “That is a good lesson to learn. Be fair in all things, Andrew, except fighting. There is no honor in battle, only life or death.”

  Andrew looked up at him, frowning, with water dripping from his unruly hair. “I had hoped for swimming, not fighting.”

  “Does the water feel too cold now?” Rory asked.

  After a moment of consideration, Andrew said, “No.”

  “Then let us go farther.”

  Rory walked backwards, leading Andrew by his hands. “Look at my eyes,” he said, watching carefully for signs of panic or dismay. Only when the water began to touch his chin did Andrew flinch. “Here, hold on,” Rory coaxed, putting Andrew’s arms around his neck. Still holding his gaze, Rory kicked away from the sand. With a few strokes they had gone out into the deeper water.

  Andrew held on, close but not overly tight, his body smooth and slippery beneath the water. Despite the fire stirring low in his belly Rory did not hold him, but let him become accustomed to the feel of the water. “Aren’t you getting tired?” Andrew asked.

  “I’m a strong swimmer, and if I get tired, I’ll float.”

  “Float?”

  “Yes, float. See?” Rory stopped moving, his arms finally circling Andrew’s waist. They bobbed for a moment; a swell lifted and lowered them with no disruption. Andrew showed no sign of alarm. His eyes were still on Rory’s. “Do you trust me?” Rory asked, reaching up to take Andrew’s hands.

  “I do,” Andrew answered without hesitation. He let Rory pull his arms away and they separated.

  “Your first obstacle is overcoming your fear of the water. It is instinct to want to stay above it, to fight it,” Rory told him, keeping his voice calm. “Once you stop fighting, “he said and let go of one hand, “you will find that the water will support you. You can trust it to hold you up.” He released the other hand.

  Andrew blinked, sank just a bit, and righted. His face split into a brilliant grin. “If I make a Biblical reference, will you still kiss me?”

  “No,” Rory lied.

  Andrew pouted until he dropped into the water up to his nose. His eyes widened but he did not flail. He made a circle in the water with his arms and came back up, spitting and coughing. Rory pulled him back. “I’m sorry,” he sputtered, his arms going to Rory’s neck once more.

  “You’re doing well. This is the most difficult part but I promise after a few days you will be able to move about freely. You will not be able to cover long distances, but you will have the basic skills to learn,” Rory assured him.

  After a moment, he released Andrew and slowly pulled away. He waited awhile, letting Andrew accustom himself again, before pulling him back. He repeated the action a dozen more times, each interval apart becoming longer. The end of the lesson came when Andrew, holding onto Rory a bit more tight than necessary, slipped his thigh up between Rory’s. “I like this part,” he sighed, resting his head on Rory’s shoulder.

  Rory pressed them closer together, laying his cheek against Andrew’s hair. He was struggling with the finely spun contentment wrapping his heart, softening the sharp edges of his long built battlements. What could he do against it? Andrew had already breached the walls. Now he offered to help clear the ruined pieces and rebuild. Should he shun the joy Andrew offered? Would he be able, even if he wanted to?

  The questions were chased from his mind by the feeling of Andrew’s lips opening against his neck. Slowly, those lips slid up under his ear, tongue joining to lap at the salty water lingering on his skin. Rory shivered and groaned, his turmoil forgotten for the time being, and tilted his head to the side to offer Andrew more. With increasing zest Andrew explored, his kisses becoming more forceful with every sound Rory made. He opened his mouth wide to bite, gently, on the pulsing vein at the juncture of Rory’s shoulder.

  Rory spun them around with a powerful kick and sent them back towards the shore. He did not stop until his feet were in the sand and he could plant them firmly. “We should go back. The water is lovely but not the best place for this,” he told Andrew, setting him down.

  Before he could pull away Andrew had his mouth. “I do not need the oil, not for what I want to do,” he said, his hungry eyes boring into Rory’s. “All I need is a place for you to lie down.”

  They found a mostly flat rock at the base of the cliff face, out of view from the path above. It was not quite long enough for Rory to lie flat but he reclined against the cliff as if he were lounging upon a throne. Andrew ran his hands down Rory’s torso, mapping every curve of muscle, every scar. His mouth soon followed, hungrily tracing those details with tongue and teeth until Rory slipped a hand in his hair and pulled him up for a kiss.

  When Andrew’s fingers wrapped around his hard and ready cock, Rory groaned and covered them with his own. Andrew pushed his hand away and lowered himself to his knees. Without teasing, without preamble, Andrew took him into his mouth, moaning around it as his tongue danced wicked patterns beneath the head. His unskilled attentiveness was more arousing than any seasoned whore. He slid his lips down, not too far, but his cheeks hollowed with the force of the suction he used as he drew back. Andrew used the flat of his ton
gue to lick across the head, his eyes opening briefly to meet Rory’s.

  Rory was breathless from the sight and almost pained by the sensations. His hands balled into fists at his side to keep them from holding Andrew’s head steady and fucking his mouth with abandon. The resistance was rewarded by the next descent, farther down the shaft, with a pause as Andrew adjusted his breathing. His hand kept measure, lowering as he did to mark his progress and soon he had more than half past his lips. It was maddening and Rory could not contain his reaction.

  He thrust, crying out, “Oh, Christ, Andrew, please!”

  With a quick, shaky breath Andrew held his cock steady and set to with a quickened pace. Rory watched as his lips swelled and reddened and his face flushed from the exertion. Andrew’s eyes were closed but his face was drawn and Rory thought perhaps he was repulsed, but Andrew moaned before he could make a move to stop him. It was not the sound of someone unwilling but was full of want and hunger and pleasure. Rory was thrusting again, up into heat and wet and unable to stop. “Andrew, Andrew I’m close…pull away…stop…” he was saying, not wanting to spill there but Andrew pressed forward, moved faster, took a deep breath and waited.

  Rory gasped and came, calling Andrew’s name. Andrew did not stop, even as he choked on the jism flooding his mouth and running down his chin. “Oh, God…Andrew,” he said, his voice rough, sounding strangled.

  Rory finally pulled him off and Andrew’s eyes flew open. They were bright, dazed, and full of need. Rory lifted him and placed him astride his lap. With two fingers he wiped through the spill from Andrew’s chin and offered it to him, saying, “Wet them.”

  Andrew sucked them as thoroughly as he had Rory’s cock, which gave another lurch in sympathy. Rory reached down between Andrew’s parted thighs and pressed, searching and probing until he felt Andrew jerk. His other hand closed on Andrew’s erection and he pulled and pressed, rhythmically then in tandem. Andrew rose up on his knees, fingers digging into Rory’s shoulders for support. “Kiss me,” Rory told him and it was messy, full of hungry tongues and biting teeth. Andrew’s hands tangled into Rory’s hair to tug and twist and with a shout he found his release, his cries spilling into Rory as his come covered them both.

  They did not sleep. They lazed drowsily against the rocks as they watched the sun turn from golden yellow to orange and then to deepest red as it dropped into the sea.

  Nor did they speak. Andrew seemed content to lie pressed to Rory’s side, holding him tight as if he would never release him and Rory was content to imagine, for a moment, a life where he never would.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Keep your wrist straight, always. This part of your hand must stay aligned with your arm.” Rory held Andrew’s arm, demonstrating the form. He closed Andrew’s hand and pressed his fingers to the first two knuckles. “Use this part of your fist. If you hit any other way you will do as much damage to yourself as you do to them. Focus your energy right here.” Rory released him and held up his own hand.

  Andrew concentrated, drew back and jabbed his fist forward. The sound it made when it hit Rory’s palm was flat and satisfying. He did not smile but looked to Rory for instruction.

  “Good. Again, as hard as you can.”

  They worked like this for close to an hour and then switched to Andrew’s left hand. It was tedious, exhausting for Andrew, but to his credit he did not waver from his focus. Rory watched his face, the lines in his body. Andrew had to learn this part correctly.

  “You have it, but you’ll need to work on your strength in order to be able to slow your opponent. The more you do; the swimming, the running, even the chores you’ve taken on- the stronger you will become and the more pain you can cause.”

  Andrew nodded, serious and intent. He had not spoken much this day but until now they had been too preoccupied with work for it to matter. Rory missed his voice, his chatter that never seemed to be mindless no matter of what he spoke. “Why so quiet today?” he asked, watching Andrew flex his fingers.

  Staring at his hands, Andrew said, “I am tired.”

  Rory knew that. For the ten days they were up before first light to begin. Rory had pressed for Andrew to swim, run, and swing a staff, along with going out with the village men to fish. Even during the heat of midday, when the rest of the village was quiet behind drawn drapes, they would be locked in contest. Rory emerged the victor, always, and yet Andrew was never frustrated by his losses. He was completely dedicated, Rory realized, more than he’d ever imagined. After the third time in the water, Andrew was able to move about with confidence. When they ran, Andrew was keeping ever closer on his heels. In the evenings after supper, Andrew was so tired he would be asleep on the bedding as soon as he lay down. Still, it was not Andrew’s usual way to be so silent. “Is that all?”

  “Isn’t it enough?” Andrew snapped.

  The tone of his voice surprised Rory, used to the endless patience and good nature Andrew possessed. He looked more closely, noting the lines on Andrew’s forehead and the tension in his shoulders. “Not for you, Andrew. What troubles you?”

  Andrew did not look at him. “I had a dream,” he said, but did not continue.

  “You have comforted me through my dreams, some of my worst. I would be honored to return the favor,” Rory said, stepping up closer to him.

  In a voice that was not exactly angry, more distressed, Andrew looked him in the eye and said, “In my dream I was trying to kill a shadow, I thought it was Maarten but when I looked at his face, it was you.”

  It was not unexpected, at least, not for Rory. It still felt like a dagger in his heart. He closed his eyes. “Good.”

  “What?”

  Looking at Andrew once more, Rory told him, “I will not draw the parallels for you, Andrew. I shouldn’t have to.”

  Andrew stared at him, open-mouthed. “You think to compare yourself with Maarten?”

  “You were brought into this against your will.”

  “I was not!” Andrew said, impassioned. “You offered me escape, more than once. I stayed of my own accord. I want to be here, with you, which is why I cannot understand why your throat would be in my hands!”

  “Because I have made you a killer and I’m asking you to kill again. It is against everything you know, everything you were taught. You may have agreed to this but it was not fairly tendered. You want to be here now, but when the time comes, you are going to hate me for it,” Rory answered. “It is good that something inside of you understands that.”

  Andrew stared at him, eyes blazing. “I will never hate you.”

  Rory stepped closer to him. It was on his tongue to argue, to tell Andrew he was wrong, but he did not say it. Instead, he ran a finger across Andrew’s bottom lip, swollen from his biting in concentration and effort. “You must learn not to do that. One hit, one fall, and you can tear your own lip off.”

  “I will try,” Andrew answered. His tongue swiped across it, following where Rory’s finger had gone.

  There was a shout and they both turned to the path to see one of the older boys. He shouted something to Rory who smiled and replied in Berber. The boy nodded and ran back towards the village.

  Looking at Andrew, he said, “The ship is here. Would you like to row out to meet it?”

  A mutinous gleam appeared in Andrew’s eyes. “Will I be doing all the rowing?”

  “Not if you can beat me there.”

  Rory gave Andrew a quick kiss on the lips before he sprinted away. Rory did not expect him to keep up, despite his commitment Andrew was not the fastest runner, but he did expect to hear at least following footsteps. At the edge of the village he paused, listening for anything that would indicate Andrew behind him. There was nothing. The drapes were lowered in the houses to keeping out the hot, midday sun, and all was quiet.

  One moment from backtracking to find Andrew, Rory was startled by a small herd of goats. They shot out from between houses farther up, bleating indignantly at their disruption. Andrew rounded the corner then, cas
ting one look over his shoulder as he ran for the water’s edge. Rory grinned and took chase. He was faster than Andrew and could overtake him easily, but he prolonged the chase and his own enjoyment.

  When they reached the moored fishing boats, Rory added a burst of speed and lunged forward. He caught Andrew around the waist and bore him to the sandy beach. Andrew recovered quickly and pushed him off, using his feet for leverage as he had been shown the day before. Rory expected the move, though, and quickly had him on his back with arms pressed into the sand and Rory’s knees pinning his shoulders.

  “How did you do it?” he asked, smiling.

  Andrew was panting, grinning back at him. He did not seem to mind Rory perched on his chest. “I found another path. It is overgrown, but it is there.”

  “Well done,” Rory complimented. He did not rise. “Can you throw me?”

  “I can’t even get my arms up, you’ve got them trapped,” Andrew answered.

  Putting his hands on his hips, Rory sat back a bit, resting more of his weight on Andrew’s chest.

  Andrew was still for a moment, but then his knees came up behind Rory and he wrapped his legs around Rory’s chest. He rolled, freeing himself and throwing Rory into the sand. “Is that what you expected?” he asked, getting his feet beneath him but staying in a crouch.

  “As ever, a joy to teach,” Rory said, smiling at him. He got to his feet effortlessly, unaffected by the strenuous activity.

  Andrew did not fare as well. He was out of breath, a bit shaky, and there were bleeding scrapes on his arms from being tackled. The worst of the lot was on his face high on his cheek. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, saying “So much for my pretty face. Do you have another plan if I turn into an unsightly troll?”

  When you are old, Rorik, and no longer beautiful, I will no longer want you. What will you do then?

  Rory shook himself, shocked by the sudden and clear recollection of Maarten’s voice. He felt sick for a moment, dreading another onslaught of visions, but it did not come. He ran his hand across his eyes, wiping away sweat and possibly tears.