Chapter 8 #3
“Lean on me now, lad,” the laird said as he put an arm around his waist. To the pair of clansmen he said, “Why do you stand there? Fetch the healer.”
The last thing Kiamh wanted was to spend a night in the infirmary being forced again to listen to healing harp song. “I’m well, my lord. ’Tis but hunger that weakens me.”
“Bring food for the lad to the guest chamber,” Fifer ordered as he swung him up into his arms. He then carried him out of the hall and through the passages, his handsome face dark with anger.
Kiamh knew the cause of his temper, for he had been eating very little since their last encounter, and had shed even more weight than he had while a captive.
As a druid he could survive on a tiny amount of food for a very long time, and becoming even more frail would cause Fifer to suffer guilt over not attending to him as before.
The fact that he had grown exhausted in truth just made his ruse all the more convincing, he thought as he pressed his cheek to the laird’s chest and closed his eyes.
Darkness swallowed him, lifting only with the touch of a large, gentle hand on his brow.
“Och, my lord.” He opened his eyes and feigned alarm as he glanced around him. “What happened? How did I come to the bed here?”
“You swooned in my arms.” Fifer looked down at him, still holding his palm against his brow. He then reached for a mug and brought it to his lips. “Drink. ’Tis broth to settle your stomach.”
Had he boaked? He couldn’t detect the stink of it on the air.
After taking a sip Kiamh grimaced. “Forgive me, I cannae drink now.”
The laird sighed. “You’re little more than bones and skin now, lad. Why do you starve yourself?”
“Sadness plagues me since last we spoke, my lord. ’Tis spoiling my appetite, I fear.
” He pushed himself up, remembering to use his good arm, and gingerly touched his swollen bottom lip.
“At present my accident caused a wound here. I must ask your cook to make soft foods for me until my mouth heals.”
The laird caught hold of his chin. “Show me.”
Kiamh took hold of his hand and brought his fingers to his face, using them to tug down his lip to expose the bite mark.
“When I fell my teeth cut into my flesh. I’m glad, too, for I might have done thus to my tongue.
” He drew back, using his teeth and lip to caress Fifer’s fingertips before releasing his hand.
“I wish I could do something to repay you for all your kindness to me.”
The laird went very still, and just for a moment Kiamh was sure he would kiss him on the mouth.
“’Tisnae needed, lad,” Fifer said, rising from the side of the bed.
“I wish you only to regain your health and find a new home. ’Tis a baker in the village that needs an apprentice, and shall provide room and board in return for his labors.
In time he may turn over his shop to them.
’Twould provide you with a trade and a home. ”
He’d rather send him to waste his life making barley trenchers and oat loaves than give into his own desires, Kiamh thought, bitterness filling him.
“If ’tis your command, then aye, I shall go.” He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes, allowing two tears of frustration to slide down his cheeks.
The laird loomed over him without speaking, and then kissed first one cheek and then the other. Kiamh didn’t dare move as Fifer’s mouth drifted to the corner of his for a fleeting moment before he spoke.
“Your affection doesnae escape me, lad,” the laird said, his breath kissing his lips now. “I wish I deserved such, but I’m no’ what you think. I cannae take you as my leannan fireann.”
“So I reckoned, my lord.” He let his shoulders slump as if dejected. “You’re a powerful man, and I’m but an outcast with no kin.”
“’Tisnae about our stations.” The laird pulled him closer, holding him tucked against his chest. “I darenae indulge myself with you, for you’re wounded and lost, and wanting much more than I may give.”
“Ever shall I accept that which you wish to give, my lord.” He knew this was the moment that with any other man he could reach for his cock and stroke him until he spilled. Instead, he looked up into Fifer’s eyes, and let his own brim with tears. “You’re my every dream now, no matter what comes.”
For a long time the laird gazed at him, and then nodded and eased him back onto the bed. “We shall speak of such another time. I shall bid Cook to coddle some eggs for you. Rest now.”
Fifer left the guest chamber slowly, almost dragging his steps as he gazed back at him several times. Once he left, Kiamh reached for his own cock, which had grown so stiff only two strokes made him spill.
His desire for the laird provided a necessary proof of his affection, a pretense he would have to carry on until he completed his scheme.
The MacAlen and MacRune seemed evenly matched, but when their clan war finally began Kiamh intended to secretly help Fifer and his men so they would prevail.
Then he could finally have what he’d wanted for so long.
As he rose to change his trews, he smiled. Very soon Fifer would be his, too.