The Red King Page 18

  Rory looked away from him, discomfited.

  “You teach me something new every day. More than the fighting, or the ship, or the other, more sensual lessons, you teach me how to live with the horror of living,” Andrew said.

  “I’m teaching you to be a whore and a murderer,” Rory said, softly.

  “And I am your willing pupil. Do you truly think I would stay if I didn’t want to?”

  “You asked me that before,” Rory reminded him, pushing the empty cup back to Andrew.

  “You did not answer.” Andrew filled the cup and slid it back, but it stayed between them, untouched.

  “I think that you are led by your desires and that my teaching has clouded your reason,” Rory declared, looking into Andrew’s eyes.

  Andrew drew back as if offended. “Am I your slave then? Do you hold my life in your hands?”

  Not knowing how to answer this, Rory took the wine. “In a manner of speaking,” he muttered before drinking.

  “I was under the impression that I had passed your test,” Andrew said, his voice both bitter and amused. He leaned closer again, elbows on the table. “Rory, if I were slave to my desires I would’ve stayed with Etienne. His vast education would have surely satisfied any yearning I may have had, many times over. I am not a slave.”

  That bit of information raised Rory’s ire, but he kept silent and drank his wine.

  “What I am,” Andrew continued, “Is certain that Maarten needs to be stopped. His corruption has touched enough lives. If that means murder, I gladly submit to bear that guilt if it will save another family of innocents. If it means whoring…at least I have a proper teacher.”

  Rory scowled at the insult, but accepted the truth of it. “You once told me you won’t kill just to please me.”

  “I will not do it to please you. I’ll do it because it needs to be done.” Andrew tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Is that what this is about? You think I agreed because of some misguided devotion, just to make you happy? This must some ruse, another test, yet I cannot determine the point of it.”

  “I promised you my story,” Rory told him, meeting his angry stare.

  Andrew took a deep breath. “Yes, you tell me your story now; relate the awfulness of your life to me as if you read it from a book, yet I have seen it before me. I’ve heard the pain in your voice and seen the terror in your eyes as you relive it. Still you look at me as if you expect me to…what? Turn from you? You expect my feelings towards you to change.”

  “How can they not?”

  “You say you killed twenty men; how many did you save? How many more have you saved since that night?” Andrew asked, more calmly. “If what you seek is to drive me away, this is not the way to do it.”

  “I seek to protect you!” Rory shouted, slamming the wooden cup down on the table. “Andrew, do you not see? Maarten is going to hurt you!”

  “That is the plan, isn’t it? Isn’t that why I am running for miles, swinging a stick at a tree, learning to fight? So that I can escape after the deed is done?”

  Rory pressed his lips together. He picked up the vial of seeds and held them in front of Andrew’s face. “It is a suicide mission. There is no way that you, or anyone, would be able to slay Maarten in his own keep and escape. These,” he said, giving them a little shake, “are to prevent the murderer from facing painful execution.”

  Andrew looked at the seeds and back at his face. “You’re sending me to die?”

  “It was,” Rory confessed, “the original plan.” They stared at each other. He set the vial back down.

  Pale faced, stricken, Andrew asked, “Did all of you; you and Fleming and Etienne, did you all know that you were sending me to die?”

  “No. That is my addition. They know, but they don’t understand the pervasiveness of Maarten’s evil. I do. It was my contingency to prevent further pain,” Rory said. “They believed it would be possible to leave, to fight your way free. I didn’t see how it could hurt for you to learn but in the end it would have made no difference.”

  Before Rory could say or do anything else, Andrew was on his feet. He flew at Rory and struck him across the face. It was not a powerful blow, but it surprised Rory enough that Andrew was able to hit him again. “How long were you going to wait?” Andrew shouted at him.

  Rory recovered his wits and had Andrew pinned against the wall in the blink of an eye. Andrew fought briefly, but there was no more heart for the fight. “I don’t know. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to tell you.”

  “Then why tell me now?” Andrew asked through his clenched teeth.

  His hands loosened on Andrew’s arms but did not release. Staring down into Andrew’s eyes, bright with tears and pain and accusation, Rory answered, “Because I can’t allow it to continue.”

  The tears spilled, sliding down Andrew’s cheeks. “Why?”

  Rory felt tears of his own. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse and rail against fate, God… everything. He gritted his teeth and clenched his hands on Andrew once more, resting his forehead against Andrew’s. It hurt that he would find this feeling, here, now, for the one person he had begun to believe would indeed kill his tormentor.

  “Let me go.” Andrew began to struggle. When Rory did not move he said, more loudly, “Rory, let me go!”

  “No,” Rory answered, and looked him in the eyes. “The matter is this, Andrew; I would rather spend eternity at his mercy than to live with the knowledge that he ever touched you.” He leaned in, intending to press a kiss to Andrew’s trembling lips, but met only a scraped and bruised cheek.

  “Don’t do that,” Andrew said, head turned to the side and eyes closed.

  Rory ignored him, moving down to mouth at Andrew’s neck. “Andrew,” he murmured, “Forgive me.”

  Andrew remained unmoved, quiet and shaking, while Rory slid arms around his back. He worked one leg in between Andrew’s thighs and pulled them closer together, wanting only to ease the troubled thoughts with sweetness, pleasure. He felt Andrew move, wrap his fingers around Rory’s arms and moaned softly. His own anticipation was warming, his cock thickening and aching for a touch.

  When the pain hit he made no sound. Rory doubled over, hands going instinctively to cover his burning, throbbing groin. He looked at Andrew, who had a cold, furious look on his face, eyes glittering like ice. Andrew pushed at Rory and he fell back, panting, dropping to one knee to ride out the agony and nausea.

  “I told you not to do that,” Andrew spat at him. “You continue to take my choice from me; by omission, by force or by my own weaknesses. You’ll not do it again.” He wiped his face with his sleeve and walked around Rory to leave the room.

  Rory almost called out after him. Instead he rested there, on both knees, cursing himself for a fool.

  ***

  The shadows were lengthening and the ship was growing quiet as the men loaded themselves into the boats to go ashore. Rory sat at the table, cup and cask empty. He knew he should rise, find Andrew and return to the gathering village for the supper. The newly arrived staples and spices, dried meats and fruits promised to make this quite a feast, but Rory could find no appetite for food. Instead, he felt a constant twist on his heart and his stomach that he knew did not come from the blow to his manhood or the copious quantity of wine he imbibed.

  It almost went unnoticed that he had lost the means for his revenge but it did not escape Rory, entirely. He wanted to regret that loss, wish instead that he had not told Andrew the inevitable end, but he could not. He no longer believed he could have allowed it. Andrew had become too necessary, too vital to his existence.

  As though he had not trial enough, his mind’s eye showed him Andrew’s face; wearing an unfamiliar mask of hard fury as he left. It may have even been hate. Rory tried to convince himself that it was unavoidable, as he’d told Andrew it would be, but in his heart he could not justify the duplicity.

  Rory had never hated himself more.

  “Captain?”

 
Malik’s deep voice carried a note of hesitancy. He stood in the room and Rory had not even noticed he was there.

  “Yes,” Rory answered, emotionless.

  “A word, please,” Malik requested, formally.

  “Go on.”

  Taking a breath and staring at a point above Rory’s head, Malik assumed as bland a voice as he could. “Andrew has requested to join us, as a crewman.”

  Rory closed his eyes. “Is there a problem with this?”

  Malik glanced at him, astonished, but quickly returned his eyes to their original focus. “Not with the other men, no.”

  “With you, then?”

  Malik breathed deep once more. “Yes.”

  There was a pause, as if Malik was waiting for permission to continue. “You may speak your mind, Malik,” Rory told him with more patience than he felt.

  “Andrew appeared at my side in such a state that I had to take him below decks to prevent him taking a boat or leaping from the bow to swim to shore. I do not know what happened to cause it, but I do care for his well-being and at this time, Captain, he is not well.”

  “And what do you think I can do about it?” Rory asked, sharply.

  “I am not a clever man, but I am not a blind man, either. I saw you two arrive happy with life and each other,” Malik said, looking him in the face for the first time. “When next I saw him, Andrew was…broken. And you stay in your cabin, brooding, not joining to help speed us to the reward of our day. It does not take a clever man to find at least a meaning, if not a cause.”

  “Make your point.”

  Malik didn’t speak until Rory, goaded by the mild disobedience, lifted his face and stared in the other man’s eyes. Despite the invitation, Rory meant to intimidate Malik into silence, to force a retreat. But for their first time since he’d known Malik, his frank displeasure had no effect at all.

  “I cannot believe Andrew has earned the pain he suffers. I believe you have misused him. Therefore the only remedy, Captain, is for you to ask his forgiveness.”

  Rory went cold. Fleming would have torn out his tongue before saying such a thing. Rory was no longer a slave to be ordered about. He was Captain. He was Ruaidhri. He was master aboard this ship, if nowhere else. Before he knew it he was on his feet, fists clenched, the last effects of the wine burnt away.

  “I did not hear you,” Rory said in a soft voice. “Repeat yourself more clearly, and with care.”

  Malik lifted his chin. “Recall your inamorato and ask his forgiveness at once, before you put the torch not only to Andrew’s happiness but your own.”

  It was on Rory’s tongue to pronounce sentence – the brig, the lash, even expulsion from the crew. He stared at Malik and Malik stared back, breathing a little quick, pulse visibly throbbing in his massive neck, but otherwise steadfast.

  Rory let out a choked laugh. He sat down again. “Andrew inspires such affection, does he, that you would risk all? Insult me to my face?”

  “No, Captain.”

  Rory waited with his eyes on the table. Once again he was forced to lift his gaze before the other man would speak.

  “It is you who inspires such affection. You are the bravest man I know, Ruaidhri. Alas, you are not the wisest. But if you can summon the courage to hear the truth, perhaps you can summon the courage to act upon it.”

  Rory stared at Malik until he could bear the other man’s gaze no longer. Then he sighed.

  “Bring Andrew to me. Please.”

  ***

  Andrew stepped into the cabin taut with expectation. His eyes were red, his face swollen, but his mouth was set defiantly. Rory saw the shade of his younger self, brought before Maarten and steeled for the hours or days of pain that would come. Andrew stayed in the shadows, out of reach.

  “Step forward.”

  Andrew squared his shoulders and moved closer. He met Rory’s eyes directly, brows down, scowling like a cornered wolf. It was that same look, glittering, hateful, that Rory had never wanted to see again. That he’d feared to see, as Malik pointed out.

  “I understand you have asked to join the crew.”

  Andrew gave a curt nod of the head.

  It was on his tongue to correct Andrew severely, to inform him that if he were to join the crew he must learn to correctly address its captain. Then Malik’s words “the bravest man, but not the wisest” returned to Rory. Then he looked at Andrew’s face, saw the raw red of his eyes and the fierce clench of his jaw. Of course, Andrew restricted himself to a nod. If he spoke he would weep, and while he awaited recriminations, punishment, banishment or even violence, he had doubtless sworn to himself that he would not weep.

  Rory gathered himself. He wished the intoxication hadn’t faded so quickly. “I … am grateful,” he managed to say. “Malik told me your first inclination was to leave. For you to remain is quite generous.”

  Andrew blinked. His teeth found his bottom lip.

  “Throughout my boyhood and early manhood, I enjoyed many things as Maarten’s slave but I was never given a choice. When I was clapped in irons, I was given pain and labor and occasional respite, but never a choice.” He took an unsteady breath. “Only when I became Ruaidhri did I make my own decisions. But in the bargain, as Captain, I took iron control. The only choice aboard this ship is mine. It has always been natural to me. That does not make it right.”

  Andrew was staring at Rory so acutely, he found himself looking away. He had not planned the words, they were coming of their own accord, and if he paused to gauge Andrew’s reaction they would halt altogether.

  “When I found you, you were nothing to me, not a person. Just a lovely vessel I could use for the vengeance that claimed my heart and also to warm my bed, slake my lust. Beyond that, your life had no value. To a man who cares for nothing, not even himself, whose sole purpose is vengeance, no one else will ever have meaning. I did not treasure my own existence. So I couldn’t treasure yours.”

  Still unable to look at Andrew, to risk seeing that glittering contempt, Rory turned his back and stared at the wall.

  “But by the time we reached Etienne’s I began to know you. He suggested you might be seduced away and – and I think I half wanted that. I wanted you to melt in some whore’s arms and demand release. By then I knew you to be brave, intelligent, generous, and open-hearted. I couldn’t even despise your devotion to God,” Rory added, smiling in spite of himself. “If you stayed with me, you would die. So I hurt you. I angered you. Yet you remained.”

  “The dreams that I have been having, they are different now. The one on our journey over land was the first time I could feel it. It was days later that I realized you were responsible for the awakening of my…my heart. That meant reliving the pain that you have seen, that you have talked and held me through. I have never …” Rory broke off.

  Then he forced out the words the way he’d once forced broken feet through iron shackles. “After escaping Maarten, I have never lost control that way in another man’s presence. Yet you did not shame me. And even when I told you my own truth, all the degradation I suffered, you accepted me. At that moment I could not send you to die. So I confessed, and the consequences were well-earned. Even the blow you struck me was deserved.” Back still turned, Rory drew in his breath. The final words he had practiced; they, at least, came easily. “Therefore, I call it generous of you to remain. I ask whatever forgiveness you can grant me. If you find it impossible, if you cannot follow me as captain, I will return you to Etienne or anywhere else you wish to go.”

  Rory waited. He knew Andrew was still behind him, yet the other man did not speak. Remembering Malik’s stubbornness, Rory felt his own determination rise. He’d said all he could, as best he could. He would not turn and be answered with that look, not again, not now. If Andrew had nothing to say, he could go.

  Rory felt Andrew draw up beside him. Light fingers touched his forearm. He kept his body loose, as he’d learned so long ago. Taut muscles did nothing to dull pain and often led to broken bones.

&
nbsp; “Ruaidhri.”

  Rory met Andrew’s eyes. They were still swollen. His nose was a bit red. He was the most beautiful thing Rory had ever seen.

  “It’s time we returned to the village. The feast will have started without us.”

  ***

  They did not speak on the way to shore, nor during the meal. Rory struggled to respond to Idir’s conversation and Malik’s outrageous tales while Andrew was cosseted and fed by every woman in the village, particularly the widows and grandmothers. Soon he looked like himself again, bright, happy, and unconsciously flirtatious. Rory had little interest in food, but he forced himself to eat a reasonable portion. Seeing Andrew in good spirits again was more fortifying than any meal.

  Malik smiled and nodded his approval. Rory returned the nod, hoping his gratitude was evident in his eyes.

  Before the singing had concluded Andrew stood. He kissed the cheeks of Titrit and the other women, bowed to Idir and looked at Rory. He said nothing, but the expectant look in his eyes had Rory on his feet. They walked back to the house without speaking, Rory moving slowly and Andrew striding ahead. When Andrew entered, Rory remained outside, pretending to busy himself with Brighid. Once Andrew slept Rory would enter, find a different spot to put down a blanket and try to rest.

  “Rory.” There was an odd matter-of-factness to Andrew’s tone. Something was different.

  Rory turned warily, raising his eyebrows.

  “Come to bed.”

  Rory studied Andrew. The other man was smiling a little, that same gentleness in his eyes. The only thing that had changed was the tone. He wasn’t addressing Rory as captain, or mentor, or Ruaidhri. He was speaking to him as an equal.

  Rory followed Andrew into the house, dim with the light of only one lantern. He let Andrew lead him to the bedding. Andrew began to strip as if to swim, pulling off boots, trousers, and shirt in quick succession. Rory didn’t move. He wasn’t surprised when Andrew stretched out nude, his cock half-erect and nipples tight and hard.