Chapter 5 #2
They would need to discuss who from Agnes’s household would be coming with her should they merge their houses, and who would remain at la Cleve. There were so many things to consider – people, wages, lives. The castle and land would be his by law, and they would need someone to look after it.
He was sure they would be able to find some way to deal with it.
Perhaps after their marriage Agnes would want to return; no doubt she would resent being tied to Ash for so long and would want her own space.
He would grant her that much – it would no doubt cause talk, but rumours had shadowed him for so long that he couldn’t find the room to care for one more.
It was strange, thinking so plainly of his own future. He was making choices for a man who did not exist.
The evening waned. As had become customary, Agnes challenged Ash to a game of chess – and as was equally customary, he groused about the offer for several minutes before refilling his mug and joining her.
It was tricky to focus with the fire burning so warmly and the ale swirling his head. Trickier than usual. But he was getting a better grip on the game in just these few days, and Agnes – for all her sarcasm – was a patient teacher.
Reasonably patient. She knew, somehow, when he was pretending to be bad and when he truly was being inept. It was infuriating.
She went first, as always, and for some time the game passed in contemplative silence. But when Ash, his mug empty and his eyes drooping, went to grab for the nearest piece and move it whenever the damn thing fit, she gave a small, pointed cough.
He looked up at her, hand poised above the piece. She didn’t say anything, just raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.
Something shivered down his spine. Ash flexed his fingers, sat up straighter, and tried again.
She beat him, but she had a smile on her face as she did. As he passed her to retire to his chambers, she stood, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.
‘Very good.’
Something tightened within him, something that felt familiar yet foreign.
‘Are you going to pat me on the head and feed me a scrap of meat from your skirts as well?’ he teased.
She didn’t remove her hand. The feeling grew, seeping lower.
‘Only if you think it will improve your chess skills.’
‘It certainly cannot make them worse.’
She shot him a smile, gave a brief nod, and left him to head back towards his chambers.
He took the stairs quickly, feeling strangely untethered.
It was an odd, floating feeling – one that he couldn’t define.
He slumped onto the bed. He was too warm, his face and skin flushed, fingertips tingling.
It was the ale, he thought, and the heat of sitting so close by the fire. Nothing more.
Litillwitte settled himself into his usual place against Ash’s leg, peering up at him.
‘I am all right,’ Ash muttered, more to himself than the dog.
He readied himself to sleep, splashing his face with cool water then scrambling beneath the coverlet. Litillwitte heaved himself up beside him, his warm bulk comforting, even if he made the whole room stink of wet fur.
Agnes flicked back into his memory, unbidden. The look she had given him across the chessboard. The heat of her hand against his shoulder. The smile. The teasing. Something new and slithering coiled in his belly, a feeling he knew. A feeling he didn’t.
Slowly, Ash passed into the dark. And then—
A low voice purred in his ear, almost melodious, almost like thunder.
‘Ashel …’
Hands gripped his wrists, his legs, his ankles. His head was buried in pillows, face pressed against the linen, mouth open in a gasp.
‘God, Ashel, my Ash—’ A delicious hardness pressed against his backside, teasing him. ‘Yes.’
There were slippery sheets beneath his hands, ones that he couldn’t quite grasp, no matter how he tried. The voice came from everywhere: behind him, under him, right beside his ear in a warm rasp.
Ash sunk lower into the bed. The person behind him still gripped him, digging fingers into the most tender of flesh. He ground himself down against the sheets with a groan that formed in his throat but never escaped his mouth, his words caught.
‘You’re so good, Ash, so good—’
Ash tried to open his eyes, but when he did, all he could see was red-tinged darkness.
‘Please—’
The word came out with no sound at all, his mouth opening and closing in a silent beg. He didn’t know what he was asking for – to be entered, to be granted release, to be able to open his eyes and see …
He needed to see him. He tried to twist around, but his arms were stuck to the sheets as if pinned there, as if the bed and his flesh were carved from the same immovable stone.
‘I am here, Ashel.’
Ash knew he was. He could hear him, he could feel him, but it wasn’t enough. He had to see.
He wrenched harder at his arms. There was a sound behind him. A touch, light as a cobweb, to his face.
Ash forced his eyes open.
Woollen blankets. White-knuckled hands. He pushed himself back, turned in the grip that still held him, wrapping his legs around a waist more familiar than his own.
Oliver stared down at him, his expression all dark lust and glowing devotion. He looked like he always had.
Except the right side of his head was a tangled mess of blood and hair.
‘There you are,’ Olly said. ‘I thought you’d forgotten me.’
Ash’s heart thudded unpleasantly in his chest. ‘Never.’
Olly sighed, then leaned closer, till their lips were brushing.
‘Olly?’
‘I love you.’ Blood smeared across Olly’s lips.
‘I love you too,’ Ash whispered. ‘Of course I do.’
The blood seeped lower, spreading across his face. ‘Do you?’
He heaved Ash up, then took his hands. His skin was like ice. He placed a frozen kiss to the backs of Ash’s fingers.
When he pulled away, there was something nestled in Ash’s palm. He unfurled his hand.
Olly’s ring. Ash looked up at him. ‘Olly …’
The blood oozed further, coating him, covering him thickly in darkness. He jerked back, as if something had hooked around his middle.
‘Olly!’
And then he was gone, flung backwards into the blackness. Ash lifted himself up, ready to give chase, but his legs were wrong and twisting around each other as he scrambled down the bed. He pulled himself to the edge, using all his strength. Below was nothing but a huge, dark void.
‘Olly!’