Free Bee Among the Clover by Fae Sutherland, Marguerite Labbe Page A

Wulfgar to relinquish something he considered his. He wasn’t sure he liked this week’s turn of events either, though. He was back in Wulfgar’s bed, both of them were, together. In many ways it felt as if Wulfgar had broken his promise not to share him, yet he knew that the thane didn’t see it that way.
What unsettled him even more was ever since that afternoon, Aron’s behavior toward him had changed. At night when they would return to the pallet, he had taken to drawing Roman into his arms. It wasn’t the same as when Wulfgar used to keep him in his bed at night. That closeness had always troubled him, and the pallet had been Wulfgar’s concession to his preference for his own space.
When Aron held him, however, it was bothersome for a whole other reason. He didn’t want to like it, yet he did. He had a kinship with the young man. Their situations were so similar, and his embrace in the night was comforting. The resentment he harbored during the day seemed to melt away when Aron pulled him close, wrapping a fur around them both, and he found himself able to sleep easily. That alone was disconcerting.
    Roman paused underneath a tree with a low-hung branch and hopped up, pulling himself into the bare, snow-covered branches where it would be hard to spot him. He found his favorite resting spot, a place where two branches came together forming a seat, and settled back, wrapping the cloak tighter around himself.
    This country was so different from his homeland. In Rome, it snowed, but soon afterwards it was dark gray, mixed with soot and dirt from people and animals tramping through the streets. It was even worse in Londinium, where most of the streets weren’t paved at all. He had only been at his father’s villa for a few short months when he’d been captured in that ill-fated venture. This was a whole different world. One to which he didn’t belong.
    Roman’s thoughts returned to Aron, though he tried to force him from his mind. Aron seemed to be just like the others, and the trouble was, he wanted him to be different. He wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to talk with somebody who understood his situation or because of another reason he was reluctant to admit even to himself. There was a spark of recognition he rebelled against and tried to deny.
    There were a hundred reasons he could give for why he ought to ignore that spark. Despite the fact their circumstances appeared to be similar on the surface, there was still a major difference. He was a slave and Aron was a thrall. If Aron gave him an order when Wulfgar wasn’t around to naysay it, he’d have to obey. He wondered if that thought had occurred to the other man yet. The knowledge that Aron had power over him rankled to his core.
    Roman tugged his journal out of one pocket and a stopped inkpot and quill out of another, balancing the inkbottle in another nook on the tree. It was going to snow again soon, but he still had a couple of hours to himself before Wulfgar bellowed or sent Aron after him. The only time he could really lose himself was when he wrote, and he desperately wanted that peace of mind right now.
    One of the many reasons he chose not to stray from the hall overmuch was because while most respected Wulfgar and his property, some did not. He’d rather be cloistered for days on end inside Wulfgar’s room with his books than chance running into Osric alone. However, today he was safe. Osric would stay in the yard sparring with the others until dark fell; then he would seek out the comforts of the hall. He was nothing if not predictable.
    And Aron spent his days emulating him and the other battle-lords. Roman sighed as his thoughts strayed back to the other man. Wulfgar was more than pleased with Aron’s passion. Aron didn’t submit. He came to the bed on his own terms, demanding as much as he gave, and it fascinated and enthralled Wulfgar.
    He wondered if Aron realized yet how this next year was going to change his path. And it