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

would. Roman could not see Aron returning to his father’s croft and going back to his mundane life after this. Aron had a spirit and a fire in him Roman had seen before, something that was suited to something far more than raising crops. He didn’t know what the future would hold for Aron, but he had little doubt it would be more than he had been before Wulfgar had come to the crofter’s.
    Roman stabbed the quill on the page of his journal in irritation, almost breaking the nib and leaving an untidy smear of ink. Despite his best efforts, he could not keep his mind off the young man who had invaded the comfortable world he had made for himself. Roman had no way of knowing that as much as he thought of Aron, the thrall thought of him equally in return. If he had known, he would have run in another direction as quickly as his legs could take him. He detested upheaval, and Aron was the source of all his current turmoil.
A
RON watched as Roman disappeared into the copse of trees, staring after him before looking away, jaw clenched.
    He couldn’t explain what was happening, or begin to unravel his own emotions. He was angry, petulant, ashamed, but under all that was something else just as disturbing. He liked it. Liked what Wulfgar did and, even more, liked what he and Roman did. He didn’t want to, the gods knew he didn’t, but it seemed out of his control. It was as if that afternoon a week ago had opened a floodgate and all those feelings he’d been fighting against would never go back again, now that they were free.
    Even more than his own pleasures, Aron was twisted up inside over Roman. The slave was a beautiful thing to watch, even more beautiful to touch and taste. At the end of every night they’d return to their pallet, and after a few moments of battling with himself, Aron would reach for him.
    They never talked about it, he and Roman; no words were ever spoken there in the darkness when Aron would pull him close and hold him as they fell asleep. What disturbed him most was that it had no sexual basis at all. He didn’t hold Roman because he craved the feel of his sleek, lithe body naked against him, and he didn’t hold him because he enjoyed the sensation of Roman’s tight buttocks against his cock.
    What bothered Aron was he didn’t know why he held Roman at all. He’d try to stop himself, convince himself tonight he wasn’t going to reach for him, but before the snores from Wulfgar’s bed could begin, he’d break his resolve and drag Roman into his arms. Aron didn’t even know if the slave wanted him to hold him. He didn’t ask.
    Aron watched the men-at-arms with little interest, his mind occupied with thoughts he neither could resolve nor cared to ponder, but unable to help himself. Of everything, the one thing that kept nagging at his mind most was Roman.
    At first, he’d resented the slave for many reasons, not the least of which was his easy submission to Wulfgar and his seeming incredulousness at Aron’s defiance. There was also the fact that he thought Roman felt displaced, as if Aron were taking his position. Which was ridiculous, but Roman had a way of making his displeasure known in his quick glances of cool disdain and the way he would hold himself apart, his attitude and stance unwelcoming. The other man wasn’t pleased at all with sharing Wulfgar’s attentions each night.
    Oh, Roman enjoyed the sex, he was too well trained not to, but he’d much rather Aron went away, that was clear in Aron’s mind.
How he wished he could. Whatever pleasure could be gained from his own captivity, it did not outweigh the fact that Aron would leave if he could. He wondered if Roman would do the same if it were offered. Somehow he doubted it. He thought Roman had been a slave too long and didn’t see how he would manage to go back to freedom.
Amidst all of these thoughts was the irrational urge to make his way to that copse of trees and find Roman, touch him. Yet another desire that ate at his pride.