Chapter 10
Lucas
Benoit had hinted at the carnal pleasures he had shared with Milord in brief conversations throughout the day, and I could not help but feel my own member harden in response.
I hungered to see Milord in her natural form, to touch her hair and skin, to place dove-soft kisses all over her body.
And I tried, oh, how I tried, to find a topic to converse on with Milord during the day’s ride…but my thoughts chased themselves relentlessly, and when I finally worked up the courage to speak to Milord, the damned horse caught out my lie and all but revealed it in the moment.
As much as I yearned for Milord, I had no choice but to run away.
I was unworthy.
I could but hope to prove my worth over time: racing ahead to order the bath, for example. Small gestures like that one, which might one day redeem me.
Seeing Milord clad only in that shirt stirred something deep in me, and I yearned to accept her invitation to accompany her that evening…but the shame burned a hole in my chest as I half-peered around the door…and I did what I did best.
I ran.
I had loosened the ties around my legs already, in preparation to spend the night at the inn. So it was only a fraction of a second’s work for me to dart away from the door that beckoned me into Milord’s chamber, that threatened my unworthy soul with continuing an unwanted deception.
But I ran straight into a barrier at the end of the hall, feeling like I’d just run into a mountain. The shock of it jostled me physically and emotionally.
Shaken, I looked up.
That barrier turned out to be Benoit’s chest.
I had no doubt that had it been any other man, I would have been able to shake it off and dart around him.
But Benoit was tall, wide, and strong. The jolt that came from touching him rocked me to my core, and I realized that he, too, had begun to impact me, making me want to be anything other than what I was: a coward. Unworthy. Untrustworthy.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the large man growled, putting out a hand to rest leadenly on my shoulder. His touch transmitted the rumble in his chest through to my skin, and I shuddered.
“I’m not worthy of Milord,” I choked out.
Images assailed my eyes, and I swayed momentarily.
Benoit’s grip did not waver, though I could not ascertain whether his intention was to steady me…
or hold me captive. Both thoughts had their appeal; while I suspected I already had the man’s friendship, I wondered what it would feel like to be held down by him, punished by him. Only at Milord’s whim, of course.
“You will let Milord be the judge of that,” he replied, and with that, he steered me back towards the room.
I considered running my feet so quickly that perhaps I could somehow evade Benoit’s strength…but that would most likely cause Milord even more distress, for two of her men to be fighting.
As though he’d sensed my intentions, Benoit murmured at my back: “Do not fight me, unless you wish to worsen the sting of rejection Milord is likely feeling. She is still young and untried, and I fear your running may have already caused her undue harm.”
That was the last thing I wished, of course, but I had been hasty in my actions.
I opened my mouth to explain myself to Benoit, but two things happened: we arrived at the door, and a glare from him before he thrust me inside made me realize that however I chose to account for myself to him, the impact of those words would pale in comparison with what I needed to say to Milord.
And there she was: slumped on the bed, her sky-blue eyes glistening with tears.
All my fault.
I raced to her side and fell to my knees. So close, and yet I dared not touch her.
“A thousand apologies, Milord,” I whispered. I had knelt so swiftly that the wooden planks dug into my kneecaps, but I deserved the pain. Her pale thighs were tantalizingly close to my face, and yet I steered my eyes away, focusing on the ground.
“You must know I would never desert you, never betray you, never hurt you,” I continued.
She sniffled. It was a small, pitiful sound, but adorable and love-inspiring, as with so many of Milord’s actions.
“I—”
She cut me off.
“You ran from me, Lucas!” she cried out reproachfully. “My own Fleet Foot, turning his feet in the opposite direction! Why show me such kindness in the day if you would run from me at night?”
To Milord’s credit, there were no more tears, but rather a steely look in her eyes.
“I did not wish to run from you,” I whispered, keeping my eyes down apart from the occasional hopeful glance up. “You did not misread the situation. I am not worthy of your affection, though I hope I may still serve in your company.”
It would pain me, to be so close to her and unable to touch her…to see Benoit remain in her intimate service, but I would bear it. She was better off without me.
Milord sat straight up and fisted a hand in my hair, at the nape of my neck where I had loosely tied my hair in a bun. She did not pull sharply, and I gathered her intent was not to harm me, but rather to make me pay very close attention.
“Lucas, you must listen to me,” she said slowly, enunciating each syllable. It sent a delicious thrill down my spine to hear her draw out my name while she touched me.
“I was afraid you had left me because I had done something wrong. That type of rejection has been,” she paused to exhale, as though gathering herself, “a recurring event in my life. And I cannot bear it,” she said, both her tone and her grip softening.
“Please do not make me suffer this fear again, the feeling that comes after you have left,” she murmured, and her tender words pierced my heart.
Taking this as permission to touch Milord—only to abase myself, I thought, not because I deserved pleasure from the contact—I crept forward on my knees until I was flush with the bed, and could lean my head on the thigh of hers that was closest to me.
“Milord, the only thing that could make me leave you is my own unworthiness.” I looked up, saw her open her mouth to protest, and rudely, I continued forward with my speech.
“I lied today, and it is among my greatest moments of shame.” She stayed silent. “It is matched only by the even greater shame of the events that inspired the lie.”
My skin began to prickle as I talked, as though it could retract and cease to be associated with me. As I would deserve: my own body turning away from me, as I had turned away from my people.
But there was no help for it. The damned faerie horse would out my secret if I did not do so myself, I had no doubt.
“I…have not seen the front lines of the war myself, Milord.” I paused, feeling the wooden floor against my knees, knowing the discomfort was not nearly what I deserved.
“My village was mostly Moorish, a religious minority on this continent. We thought Matapa knew we were no threat, since our Prophet forbade us take up arms except in self-defense. And yet, we received word that his forces were coming anyway.”
I closed my eyes at the memory, willing it away, but my senses were nonetheless flooded with a crisp picture of that day: autumn, leaves crackling, the barrels pulled out to crush apples for cider, some alcoholic and some non-alcoholic for those believers.
“We knew he was coming, and I, who was not yet married, volunteered to go find help.” I withheld one small thing, that I knew even back then, on the cusp of adulthood, that I would seek the company of both men and women.
Stories of the faeries’ indulgences, and how their politics were reshaping our world, had not yet reached my backwater hometown.
I knew of no others like me, nor did I know how my proclivities would be received.
But the fae were ever-present.
They were waiting for me.
I kept my eyes squeezed shut as I narrated the memory.
“I left, hoping to find mercenaries to pay with our small stash of coin, or something else…someone else. Instead, the fae found me, and bargained with me for a skill that could help in the war effort. I knew I was no warrior, so I told them that, and they made me the ultimate courier: a man who could run faster than the wind.”
“And—” my voice broke, half-sob and half-shame, “I ran away at the first sign of violence. I went back to my village to tell them of the bargain, how I could be helpful now…but Matapa’s army had moved ever closer.
They ambushed my people before I could warn them, for I had not yet grown accustomed to my speedy legs, and I overshot the village a few times before it was too late. ”
I hung my head. “I could not abide to watch the massacre. So I left. And I have been running ever since.”
I kept my eyes screwed shut, waiting for her judgment. I certainly deserved it.
Instead, I felt a feather-light touch on my forehead, then cheek, then chin.
“My poor Fleet Foot,” she murmured. She lifted my chin so that our eyes could meet, and I was stunned at the compassion I saw in those blue depths.
“You need never feel ashamed with me, not unless you run away from me again. That is the one thing I won’t have. Do you understand?” How her grip managed to be both light and firm, sensual and demanding, escaped my comprehension. Fear drained from my limbs, leaving me feeling weak and woozy.
I nodded, trying to identify the tangle of emotions that warred for my attention: fear and shame I knew intimately, but that newer one, which felt simultaneously light and heavy?
It took me another moment to identify it.
Hope.
She smiled. If as a man she was handsome, as a woman she was radiant.
“Then be mine tonight, Lucas, and let us see where our paths intertwine.”