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Forever Moore (Forbidden Love #2) Page 9
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Ansil breathed roughly through his nose as he violently shook his head. I’m not foolish, he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t form.
He could feel Orien’s heart beating against his shoulder blades as his thighs tightened against his hips almost painfully. He could just make out the silhouette of the rider as he galloped by, seemingly unaware of their hidden proximity.
Long after the rider had moved on, they stayed glued together. Orien’s hand loosened on his mouth so that Ansil was shallowly panting against his palm. The arm bracing his chest stayed taut, however, and Ansil could feel how tightly wound Orien still was. The muscles in his thighs were straining, and he even felt a thickness between Orien’s legs that was certainly from the rush of adrenaline. Nothing else could possibly explain it. But it made Ansil want to squirm and push back, to feel Orien more fully. Even after the man had threated to slit your throat?
He was surely going mad.
Now Orien’s hot breath was against his ear. “I think it is safe. No speaking, do you understand?”
When Ansil nodded, Orien finally loosened his grip, and he breathed out in relief just as his body shivered. Too many sensations bombarded him at once, and feeling the Huntsman’s body surrounding him so completely was dizzying.
Orien reached around him to pull on the reins, and he welcomed the contact, wished his arms were even tighter. That was most confusing of all.
The entire ride home was silent as Ansil’s thoughts spun and he grew nearly despondent. He did not think Orien would chance taking him out again.
He was sullen as they dismounted, and even Herry seemed somewhat alarmed and confused by the mood between them.
Orien roughly led him by the arm into the house, and he expected to be locked away in his room again.
Instead, he motioned to Gaius, who was seated in the main room with Doc.
“Doc will sit with you in the solarium while you carve,” he said. “I need to speak with Gaius.”
15
Orien
“Are you well?” Gaius asked as he met Orien in the study. “You have a strange look about you.”
It was odd, the feeling coursing through his body. It was not something he quite understood. He had…reacted to the lad, his prick having grown rigid at the feel of Ansil’s body against his own. It had often been a struggle for him. When he lay with a woman, there were times he’d had to force his body to react, but that had not been the case with the little lord. His prick had filled, his skin flushed, without so much as a thought from himself. That had never happened—with a female or a male. It was deviant, immoral to those in proper society for a man to react to another the way Orien had. He did not much care about society standards, but still could not understand his own body’s reaction.
“Orien?” Gaius prompted, and Orien turned to him, having forgotten the man had spoken.
“We encountered a rider in the woods. I hid, and everything was fine. It is just on my mind.” He waved his hand to signal Gaius should continue.
Gaius frowned as though he considered it more serious than Orien, and said, “There are whisperings about the village of the duchess hiring a group of men to search for her son.”
“She still does not believe him dead?” His eyebrows pulled together.
“Apparently. I do not know if there is truth to the rumors. They are not widespread, if you do not know who to speak with, but I thought you should know.”
Gaius was correct about that. They would have to take extra precautions. “I will be careful when I take him out.”
“You still plan to leave Thornwell with him?” Gaius crossed his arms, holding his stance in a way that said he thought Orien was wrong.
“Not as frequently, and I will be careful. He’ll lose his mind if he stays locked in that room.”
Gaius’s frown deepened. “I say this as your friend. Tread carefully, Orien. You are different with him.”
Orien didn’t bother to deny it. Per his body’s reaction to Ansil earlier, he might be a deviant. He was a murderer, but he was not a liar.
He gave Gaius a simple nod, and the man left the room. Orien forced himself to avoid Ansil for the remainder of the day. He rode Valkyrie, returning for supper, which he took in his study. Afterward, he retired to his chamber and bathed, in an attempt to forget the little lord and his body’s reaction to him.
Gaius was correct. Orien was different with Ansil, but he had never known anyone like him either—his striking beauty, his kindness, loyalty, and the joy he took in such small things in life. It was…fascinating.
The next morning, when Orien left his room, he saw Thalia taking Ansil’s breakfast to him.
“Good morning, Orien. I made crepes with Cadence.”
“Apple?” he asked, knowing how much the boy enjoyed them.
“Of course!”
Orien helped her unlock the door, and when it opened, they discovered that Ansil was still in bed. He was typically an early riser, which was why the boy sleeping immediately set Orien’s senses on edge.
“That’s odd. He is always awake,” Thalia said.
Orien made his way into the darkened room. Ansil was curled on his side with his back to the door, his slight body shivering. Orien reached out and placed his hand upon the boy’s forehead, which was hot to the touch. “Go get Doc, please,” he instructed Thalia. “He is not well.”
Thalia scurried from the room as Orien pushed the boy’s hair off his forehead. His eyes fluttered a bit. “Orien…I’m cold.”
“You’re not well, Little Lord. We should have bundled you up better when we took you out.”
“Please don’t be mad. Will you still take me out? I won’t be a bother.”
Orien felt a foreign tightening in his chest. Gaius was correct. It wasn’t smart to take Ansil out, but how could he keep him locked away?
“You can trust me. I won’t betray you.” He began to cough wildly, tremors making his body vibrate.
“Shh. We will discuss it later. Right now we need to get you better.”
Doc came into the room then, and Orien jerked his hand back. He moved away from the bed, giving Doc space to examine Ansil.
“He is fevered. It is likely it will pass on its own. He needs to rest and drink plenty of fluids. I will check on him frequently.”
Orien nodded as Doc packed up his equipment.
“Don’t go…” Ansil said softly, as though he was near sleep again. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Shall I send Thalia back up?” Doc asked.
Orien shook his head. He had planned to meet a man about searching for his business partner, who had taken his money and ran. Yet still he knew he would not leave this room. The truth sat heavy inside him, as though a boulder fell to his gut. He didn’t understand what it was about the little lord, why he intrigued him so, but the fact was, he did. He was Orien’s responsibility, and he would be the one to care for him. “No. I do not want her ill. I will stay with him, if someone could bring us water.”
Doc stood still, cocked his head slightly, studying Orien in a way that made his skin itch. Then he nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Orien’s eyes traveled down to the little lord again. He was on his side, his legs tucked close to his chest as though he wanted to curl himself into a ball. Orien studied him for a moment, the soft curve of his jaw, the way his black hair looked against his pale skin, the redness of his lips, his narrow nose. There was a sweetness, a kindness to him that somehow flustered Orien, tied him into knots.
Before Ansil woke and wondered what had gotten into him, Orien backed away, went to the chair in the corner, and sat…waited. Thalia brought water up and asked if Orien needed anything. “Maybe an apple in case he is hungry when he wakes.”
“Nothing for you?” Thalia asked.
“I am fine,” he replied, and again he waited. When hours had passed, Orien returned to the bed, letting his fingers dance over Ansil’s cheek. He was soft…much softer than Orien him
self. Somehow, he felt as though he was the most delicate thing Orien had ever touched, yet he knew that was not true. Ansil was strong. “Wake, Little Lord. You need to drink.”
“I don’t want to,” Ansil mumbled and swatted at his hand.
A laugh tumbled from Orien’s lips. “Don’t make me force you. It is a fight you will not win.”
Ansil rolled over toward him, rubbing his eyes, as Orien lifted the cup. “Sit up,” he ordered softly and then moved the cup toward him to help him drink. His pale skin flushed, and his pupils dilated. “Would you rather I get Thalia or another to help you?” Orien asked.
“No…I…no. Thank you,” he replied without looking at Orien.
Orien raised the cup to Ansil’s lips and he took two, then three long swallows before pulling away. “Thank you.”
“You already said that, Little Lord.”
“Oh…”
“Would you like to eat?”
“No. I’m tired…so tired. May I go back to sleep?”
Orien nodded, then again reached out to push the boy’s sweaty hair from his forehead. When he did so, Ansil gasped, and Orien jerked his hand back. What was he thinking? He did not understand his need to continue touching Ansil. “Go to sleep.”
Ansil nodded. This time, he faced Orien when he slept.
They went through the same routine numerous times throughout the day. Once Ansil sleepily stumbled from bed, and Orien rushed over to him just as his legs gave out and he fell.
“Your body is weak.” Ansil’s lips curled down into a frown, and Orien chuckled. “Just because you are ill, Little Lord. You are most definitely not weak.”
“I need to relieve myself,” he said quietly.
Orien lifted Ansil into his arms. He again noticed how soft he was. He went limp against Orien, curling into him, snuggling in. “I like the way you smell,” he said faintly. “Like the earth…woodsy yet somehow like I imagine the sea would smell.”
Orien froze. It was the fever. Logic told him that, but still…no one had ever said such a thing to him before. “You will regret that when you are well,” he replied.
“You’ll likely regret it more than me,” his brave little lord answered. His? Ansil was not his and never would be. He was not sure what had made him think it. And what had his words meant?
He took Ansil to the chamber pot, setting him on his feet and staying close behind to make sure he did not fall again. When he finished, Orien helped him wash his hands in the basin, then carried Ansil back to the bed. He held the cup while Ansil drank more water, then watched as he drifted off sleepily.
He wanted to touch him again. Christ, his fingers itched with the need. It was foreign, and Orien did not know what to make of it, so he slowly backed away, took the chamber pot to empty, washed his hands, and went back to his chair again.
It was after midnight when Ansil was lucid once again. The room was dark, but Orien could feel when he woke, could feel his intense stare.
“Orien?” Ansil said, his voice hoarse.
“I am here, Little Lord.”
“You stayed with me all day.” It was not a question. “I felt you there, even when I was sleeping.”
“I did,” Orien answered, his voice throaty.
“I believe my fever has broken. You can return to your room now.”
Orien shook his head even though Ansil could not see him, but then asked, “Do you want me to leave?” He did not want to make the boy uncomfortable.
“No.” His voice was breathy. “But you should be comfortable. I know it’s not proper, but…there is room, if you’d like—”
“No,” Orien cut him off. He couldn’t allow himself to share a bed with him.
“I… Please… Not for impure reasons. I just…I do not want to be alone. You make me feel safe. I know it’s foolish, but…”
How could Orien deny that? Because the truth was, he enjoyed making Ansil feel protected. He enjoyed caring for him, so he rose slowly, went to the window, and opened the curtains. The moon shined through, right on Ansil, who had turned to watch.
Ansil was beneath the cover. Orien walked over and lay on top of it.
“Doc and Thalia were correct,” Ansil whispered. “You are kind.”
He did not feel kind. Orien only nodded, his body stiff as he lay on his back, Ansil on his side, facing him. “Sleep, Little Lord. You need your rest.”
When Ansil closed his eyes, Orien found himself turning to his side as well, looking at the man in bed with him, and still that damned urge to touch him made his fingers twitch.
16
Ansil
“I am glad you are feeling better, Ansil,” Doc said after taking his temperature. At Doc’s insistence, he had stayed in bed the entire day following his high fever, but this morning he was back to pacing the floor like a caged animal. Once he’d bathed and slipped into clean clothes, he felt like himself again. “You gave us a scare. There is an influenza outbreak in Vale, but it did not seem logical that you would have fallen victim to it, given the distance.”
The information stopped him cold. He’d felt so removed from the world and immediately thought of his mother’s health—or any others from the castle for that matter. They called on Dr. LaSalle from the village whenever someone fell ill, but it pained him to think of the sickness affecting anyone he loved.
Doc must’ve read something in his expression because he patted his shoulder reassuringly. “This outbreak is not as bad as the last, and most who have caught it have begun developing an immunity. Would you like to read about influenza in one of my medical journals?”
“Yes, please.” The idea helped calm his heart rate, which had spiked at the news. “I hope the Huntsman does not fall ill as well.”
Ansil turned away as a blush formed on his cheeks. He vaguely registered Doc’s reply about it being very kind of Orien to check in on him, but he was already lost in his thoughts about the morning prior.
He’d felt so helpless and afraid, certain he’d called out for his mother in the middle of the night, but having Orien there warmed him to his core. A strange feeling to have about his captor, but the man was surprising him on a daily basis.
He was also aware he’d confessed some things to him in the height of his delirium, but he did not regret them. I like the way you smell. He ached for Orien to hold him like he had on their trip into the forest, but having his solid presence beside him all night long calmed him. The previous morning, after his fever broke, he awoke with Orien sleeping so near, and he could not help but watch him for a time.
How his forehead smoothed out in sleep, making him appear younger and without worry, his prominent cheekbones and full lips surrounded by his beard, which looked less unkempt the past few days. He itched to touch him, could not seem to help himself. His fingertips had traced along his jawline, smoothing over the wiry hair, which caused Orien to stir in his sleep. He wondered if his mouth was as soft as it looked, and when his thumb drew a line beneath his bottom lip, Orien blinked open his eyes and stared at him as if in wonder.
“Are you well, Little Lord?” he’d asked in a hoarse voice.
Ansil found he couldn’t speak, so he simply nodded, his fingers still tingling from touching his warm skin. He was afraid Orien would be angry, but he looked so soft and sleepy that it made his heart pinch in a funny way.
“I feel much better,” he replied, and Orien reached out to touch his cooling forehead with his knuckles. “I hope you do not catch my illness.”
Orien arched an eyebrow. “If I do, I suppose you must return the favor and watch over me at night.”
“I would do so in a heartbeat.” Ansil’s response was followed by a long stretch of silence where Orien appeared to study him from his eyes down to his chin. Ansil held his breath and tried not to fidget under his scrutiny, but the spell was soon broken by Orien shifting to sit up.
“I have much to do,” Orien said, staring out the window at the dawn hour. “I will check on you later.”
“Do
you promise?” Ansil had asked in earnest, a blush burning his cheeks, hoping he did not sound too desperate.
Orien offered a curt nod. “Now rest your body and sleep.” And then he had left him flushed and alone with his thoughts…
“Where did you go?” Doc asked with a chuckle, his fingers tightening on Ansil’s arm, breaking him out of his daydream.
Ansil blinked and looked around the room, wondering if he was being delusional.
“Sorry.” His flush deepened. “I was only thinking of meeting Thalia in the solarium.”
“She is looking forward to it as well,” Doc said with a gleam in his eye that caused Ansil to squirm. “I shall walk you down.”
He followed Doc downstairs to the solarium, passing a curious portrait of a broad man with brown hair and a beard a bit fuller than Orien’s. He made a mental note to ask Thalia about it later.
The snow had fallen all night long, so going outside was out of the question, but the bright and sunny room instantly lightened his mood. The solarium was a bit sparse—though the plants lining the windows were green and healthy—and he couldn’t help envisioning the space becoming so much more. But it wasn’t his place to point such things out, and besides, his time at the manor was limited. If Orien keeps his promise.
Thalia’s eyes lit up when she spotted him, and guilt tugged at his gut that her delight meant something more than friendship. Dread settled in that she was becoming as fond of him as he was of Orien, and he feared that meant disillusionment for both of them. But in his case, he knew there could never be any such future for him, so leaving the manor as soon as possible would help stifle his blossoming and confusing feelings for his captor.
“Would you care to join me in a game of chess?” she asked, and for the first time he noticed the pieces lined up in front of her at the small table.
He smiled, sinking into the chair across from her. “My father taught me when I was only a boy.”