The Red King Page 20
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“Tell me about Fleming and Etienne.”
Rory looked down at Andrew where his head rested on Rory’s shoulder. They lay in the soft grass surrounding a pond, fed by a broken section of the ancient viaduct which drew melting snow down from the mountain. The sound of the falling water had lulled them into silence after the shouts and laughter of their icy bath. When Rory had suggested they warm and dry in the sun, Andrew had pulled him down and pressed close, shivering against him until the chill was chased away.
At his pause, Andrew tilted his head up to meet his gaze. “Unless it is too painful a subject,” he said, apologetically.
“No,” Rory answered, settling back into the grass. “But it is not that interesting, I assure you.”
“Mm-hmm…” Andrew sighed, the sound carrying a note of amusement. “Start with your first meeting of Fleming.”
Rory smiled up at the sky. “I found Fleming in a King’s ship, in stocks. He’d been put there by his own captain, to stay for three days.”
“What for?” Andrew interrupted.
“What else? His mouth. He never could resist a barb or jest, it caused him no end of trouble before and after we met. On the second day, the ship was been taken by a group of vrijbuiters, Maarten’s own men and not the mercenaries that he uses now. When they found him, they used him for pleasure and threw him in the bilge, still bound by the stock,” Rory said. He kept his voice even as he related the tale, but he remembered the fury and pity he felt when he found the man, nearly unconscious and naked, waist deep in the foul water.
Andrew shivered beside him.
Rory tightened his arm and pulled Andrew closer. “It was my first crew as captain and we were brutal with the freebooters. After taking the ship for ourselves, we released the remaining Navy crew and brought Fleming up to be released. The captain had been killed and the mate refused, even though he’d been in the stocks for three days and the water for almost two of those. I nearly ran the man through, but he eventually threw the keys down. I knelt to unlock Charles and his first words to me were, ‘You’re a damn sight prettier than the last one who rode me. Give us a kiss first and make merry’.” Rory smiled at the memory.
“I see what you mean about his mouth.”
“It never ceased, not while he was awake.” Rory chuckled, ‘Sometimes, even while sleeping.”
“He talked in his sleep?” Andrew asked, laughing.
“It is how we came to be lovers. He slept in the hold as the men do and some of them heard him…ah, call my name in his dreams.”
Andrew’s forehead wrinkled as his brows shot upwards. “I had a dream about you in the hold, too. Do you have some sort of witchcraft placed on the ship?”
“It has my blood and my sweat, my piss and shit, soaked into the very wood. If there is such a thing, I would say yes,” Rory said. He lifted his hand and stroked Andrew’s hair. “There’s a little of your blood and tears, as well. Perhaps I shall dream of you now.”
Andrew rose to his elbow. “If you think you’re sailing off without me, you are much mistaken.”
“I would never set you from my side, Andrew.”
Andrew smiled at that and rested his chin on his hand. “And Etienne? When did you meet him?”
“Before Charles, we liberated a passel of youths from a raiding ship. They had no skills, no tongue that I could understand, so I took them to Algiers. Not to sell, but to see if any of the scholars or libraries could use them. Most were taken, two were not. I was walking them back to the ship, trying to think of something to do with them, when they became very excited by the questionable art on the outside wall. They ran into the villa before I could stop them. When I followed them into Etienne’s great room, he was reclined on his couch, was naked from the waist down and receiving fellatio from one of the boys I had brought. He’d apparently thought to prove what skills he had without the niceties of introduction. Etienne looked at me and asked, “How much do you want for him? And his brother, there?”
“And did you sell them?” Andrew asked, his eyes twinkling as he imagined the scene.
“Absolutely not! I told him that if they wanted to stay I had no claim on them.” Rory closed his own eyes, remembering. “He held up one hand and made me stand there while he came in the boy’s mouth. Then he pulled his thobe down, patted him on the head and said he would do nicely.”
Andrew squirmed a little, adjusting his hips where they pressed to Rory’s. “And that did not arouse you?”
“I had no patience with brothels. I considered them no better than the galleys. Etienne did not keep slaves, I was to discover. He wanted artists, true connoisseurs of the sins of the flesh, not weeping milkmaids and underfed boys. I only went to Etienne’s for pleasure one time, and that was with Charles. We were drunk, tired of the ship, and wanted a bed more accommodating than the tavern. Etienne…took control of the situation. It was a lengthy period of drink and opium, whores of all sorts, and Etienne himself joined us. I think he was already taken with Charles, but, sadly, Charles was already in love with me,” Rory finished.
“Was that the only time they shared?” Andrew asked, sadly.
“No, they spent many calls to port together. After I shunned Charles, told him I could never love him, he stayed with Etienne for a fortnight,” Rory said. He felt the press of promises and vows upon him, now broken and burned. “That was when they hatched this infernal plan.”
Andrew kissed his chest. “I think, perhaps, that’s enough of stories, for now. I can hear the sadness in your voice.”
“He was my first and best friend. I miss him daily.”
“I’m sorry,” Andrew whispered, placing a gentle hand on the side of Rory’s face. His thumb stroked Rory’s freshly shaven cheek, tracing the sharp line of his beard. “I would take it away, if I could.”
Rory trailed his fingers up Andrew’s arm. “No, I would not have it gone for good. His memory is too precious.”
“Just for now, then?” Andrew asked, forefinger moving across his lips.
Rory looked into Andrew’s eyes and curled his fingers around his wrist. “Perhaps,” he murmured, pulling it to his mouth. “For a bit.”
Andrew trembled when Rory licked at his pulse and groaned when he set his teeth there, letting them scrape across the tender skin. He moved his mouth down, covering the inside of Andrew’s arm with sharp toothed nips. Before he reached the bend Andrew had thrown one leg over him and was moving up to kiss him. Rory stopped him from climbing atop, fully.
“Lie on your belly,” he said into Andrew’s mouth.
Complying, Andrew tucked his hands under his cheek and waited.
Rory straddled his thighs, letting his half-hard cock rest in the cradle made by Andrew’s ass and legs. He bent low, putting mouth on Andrew’s back and repeating the kisses, suckles, and almost too hard bites. When Andrew moaned and tried to arch up Rory pressed down on his shoulders. By the time he reached the curve leading to Andrew’s ass the man was shaking and gasping, rubbing against the grass as much as Rory’s weight would allow.
“I will take away the sting,” Rory breathed, parting Andrew’s cheeks to allow the hot breath into the crevice.
Andrew was clean, fresh, and tasted wholly of himself when Rory dipped his tongue into the space between. He licked from bottom to top, repeated. Only when Andrew was moaning, holding tufts of grass pulled from the soil did he press his tongue in, delighting in the surprised cry of pleasure Andrew released. He withdrew, laughing low and wicked when Andrew made a disappointed squeak, and said, “Up on your knees.”
When Andrew was ready, on his elbows with his ass high in the air, Rory spread him again. This time he pushed his tongue in as far as he could, sliding it out and back in a lazy rhythm. Andrew pressed his face into the ground, unmindful of the soil and grass. Rory slipped one hand down, between Andrew’s legs, and grabbed his cock. He brought Andrew to a shuddering, groaning completion, catching and turning him onto his back before he collapsed.
They settled again in the grass, this time Rory pressed to Andrew’s side and draped across his chest. While Andrew sleepily combed fingers through his hair, Rory said, “I could stay here forever.”
“Aye, as could I,” Andrew replied.
“Could you? Truly, could you stay here in this far off place, with me?” Rory asked, raising his head to look at him. “The rest of the world beckons. You could visit the great cities, the history of civilization spread before you. Or the new world, places unexplored that bear no marks of this or any other culture. You would stay with me?”
Andrew sat up. “Where you are, I will be also. Only death will separate us, Rory. Even if you try to send me away I will not leave you,” he said, holding Rory’s face and looking deeply into his eyes. “I love you.”
Rising with him, Rory copied the action, his fingers sliding into Andrew’s hair to hold him close. “I will never send you away. Through you I have discovered life, real life, and everything that comes with it. I love you, Andrew. There is no power on this Earth that can change that.”
They kissed and kissed again, sealing the import of their words on each other’s heart.
PART THREE: ANDREW
Chapter Nineteen
“It would take more firepower then we have to attack a fortified hold, even a small one. The Taibhse is fleet as the wind and has her own strengths, but she is no match for a keep. Her nine-pounders would bounce off like pebbles.”
“How much firepower would be needed?” Andrew sat on a crate, surrounded by the crew, all of whom were serious and intent on finding an answer.
Yousef pursed his lips, considering. “We’d need forty guns, at least half of them twelve-pounders, and the men to fire them to even stand a chance.”
A murmur ran through the circle of men. “The Taibhse cannot hold that much poundage. It would sink her,” Jack commented. The men agreed and talk broke out on all sides.
“What if we had another ship?” Andrew spoke loudly, being sure to carry his voice above the rising din.
They all stopped and looked at him. “What’s that you say?” Jack asked, curious.
“If the Taibhse could take another ship, one of comparable or greater size, could we do it?” Andrew repeated, looking him in the eye.
“We would need another crew to compliment a second ship,” Yousef said.
“Then a larger one, needing only a supplemental crew to support our numbers,” Andrew offered, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
“The captain has saved that many three times over. If the word goes out, a crew would be had,” Jack said, head closer to Yousef as if he wished to keep it between them. He straightened and looked to Andrew. “What are you getting at, Andrew?”
Andrew took a deep breath. “The plans have changed, out of necessity. The captain needs your help.”
“Changed how?”
“The original plan was a suicide mission,” Andrew said, answering Yousef directly.
“Suicide? Then what the Hell have we been doing all this time?” Jack asked, angrily. “More important, what have you been doing?”
Andrew ignored the pointed question and took a deep breath. “It was a deception; only at the end would it be known to all. It was kept that way to prolong hope, your hope, and the deeds you have done in the interim only served to strengthen that faith. Now Ruaidhri needs your strength and your cleverness, or the mission is lost.”
The men were silent for a moment, and then all of them raised their voices at once. Andrew stood and held his hands high, trying to call them to silence. There was no change in the commotion until a booming voice called from the gunnel.
“Quiet all!”
It was Malik; just arrived and climbing over the rail. Rory was there, as well, observing them with eyes narrowed, suspiciously. He looked directly at Andrew and asked, “Are you inciting mutiny, Andrew?”
The men all stood tall, staring straight ahead, so they did not see the slight lift to Rory’s mouth as he spoke. Andrew did, entertained the idea of smiling back, but decided follow his lead. “No, Captain. Never,” he said, as calm and serious as he could manage.
Rory took slow steps up to stand before him. His gaze was filled with warmth and humor, but his words were sharp. “I must warn you, the penalty for mutinous activity is the lash.”
Andrew knew it was not a flogging, but death. The teasing was exposed and there was a snicker to Andrew’s left. He suspected it was Yousef.
“I assure you, Captain, we speak of a matter of great consequence.” Andrew was proud of his serious, steady manner. He lowered his eyes. “Though, I will present myself for reprimand, if you deem it necessary.”
From behind them Malik groaned, “Oh, Christ. Here we go again.”
Laughter erupted around them and Rory and Andrew succumbed to it, as well. Andrew resisted the urge to pull Rory’s smiling mouth down to his but did not stop himself from whispering, “We shall discuss the lashing, later.”
“You are the damnedest thing,” Rory told him under his breath. Then to his men he asked, “What’s the meaning of this, then?”
All of them looked to Andrew. Rory turned his head. “Andrew?” he asked, expectantly.
“I had questions regarding the capabilities of this ship, Ruaidhri. They were happy to oblige me,” Andrew answered.
“I see,” Rory said, casting his eyes around the crew. He turned back to Andrew. “And why did you not come to me for these answers?”
“You seemed disinclined to respond to my inquiries,” Andrew said. He did not by manner of speech or expression show that he was relentlessly distracted by Rory’s hands and lips at his every attempt. At least, that was what he hoped.
Rory looked very pleased with himself.
“We speak of our plan, Ruaidhri,” Yousef said.
All of the playfulness left Rory’s expression. “Our plan?”
“Aye, Captain, our plan,” Yousef insisted. He lifted his chin and said loud enough for all to hear. “We all got our grievances, don’t we? We’re in ‘til the bitter end and to the last man.”
There was a chorus of “Ayes” around them.
Andrew held his breath and watched as Rory turned in a slow circle, scanning the faces of his crew. For a fortnight Andrew had been trying to draw the information from Rory, but every question was skillfully avoided. When Andrew had seen Jack at the fire last night, he’d requested a meeting. It had been difficult to convince the men to discuss anything without Rory present, but Andrew’s insistence and their trust of him held sway. He had wanted to wait until he had a more cohesive idea, something complete to present as a possibility, before telling Rory. This early interruption could be the end of his plotting, but he would wait and see before using his only argument.
“Andrew has told you that I have ended the mission.”
Yousef spoke up again. “Yes, Captain.”
“Did he tell you why?” Now Rory looked at Andrew.
Yousef cleared his throat. “Yes, sir, and…”
Rory slanted his eyes to him but did not turn his head. “Speak freely.”
“I’m glad of it, and I would wager every man here feels the same.”
Rory’s eyes returned to Andrew. “Then what is this gathering about?”
“Ruaidhri,” Andrew began, speaking clear and loud so that all could hear. “We have an idea. It is not yet fully formed, but it may offer another chance.”
“Tell me,” Rory ordered, folding his arms across his chest.
“If a broad enough diversion could be presented to the keep, could not a small group of men steal inside and do the deed? It would entail great cunning and a heavier, more powerful ship, but any sort of external attack would draw the attention of all inside,” Andrew said, concentrating on saying the words slowly, clearly. He wanted Rory to be certain that this was not some flimsy dream.
“You think to take a slott; a medieval fort meant to withstand the North Sea, repel foreign invaders, and protect the city beyond?” Rory asked. His voice held no emotion but there was something hard in his eyes.
Andrew shook his head. “Not take, distract. If the denizens of this fort are fighting an external force something internal could strike. Reports have it that this slott, as you would call it, is only half standing, having been damaged by invaders and neglect long before Maarten appropriated it. If this is so, then how fearful would those within its walls be when battered by cannons?”
“And what of those men we send inside? Will they not also fear for their lives?” Rory asked.
“All they need do is enter, do the deed, and retreat. The remaining rooms are not vast, it wouldn’t take long,” Andrew answered. He waited, holding his breath again, as Rory processed what he had said.
At last, Rory spoke. “Our ship cannot hold the weight of guns the size of which you speak.”
“Then we use another.”
“And where will we find a crew for this other ship?” Rory asked. His words were clipped, as if he were angry.
“I believe you have willing crewmembers here. And how many more would come forward if word was spread; eager to help the Red King?”
“Spread the word too far and you shall lose your advantage,” Rory countered.
“Then offer the ship you take to the men aboard. Surely some were pressed into service; still more might be tempted by the offer. Give them the chance to be masters of their own fates in return for their help.” Andrew stopped, panting a bit. The simple act of speaking the idea out loud had made his heart race. He could see Rory turning it in his mind, staring at him thoughtfully.