Tempted by Ruin (Sons of Britain Book 4) Page 11

  Palahmed didn’t say anything. When Gawain turned back to him his expression had shifted.

  To something that almost seemed bashful.

  “I enjoyed it,” he said.

  He…what?

  Palahmed shrugged. “Your weight on me, my holding you there, you allowing it.”

  Gawain stared at him. He’d loved all of that.

  “Made me feel useful,” Palahmed said, his voice low and raspy. One of his black-slash eyebrows rose. “Perhaps you’d like to tease me instead?”

  “I’d rather kiss you.”

  Shock flashed over his skin that he’d said it out loud, and Palahmed’s other eyebrow joined the first, arched high. He turned to face Gawain square, but with his chin down, hands low and open. Pebbles scraped under Gawain’s boot as he stepped toward him. Palahmed’s chest rose on a breath and then Gawain had two handfuls of the man’s hair and he was kissing him.

  Palahmed’s arms closed around him. He sort of hated how protective it felt, but then they were pulling him closer and Palahmed’s hands were roaming his back, his hair, his ribs and arse, and Gawain didn’t hate it anymore. Palahmed wasn’t just holding him up or sheltering him because he’d declared himself Gawain’s shieldmate.

  He wanted this as much as Gawain did. And if his hands hadn’t given him away, the harsh sound of his breath would have done, or the prodding of his prick against Gawain’s belly.

  He groaned at the thick feel of it and pressed closer. “Not sleepy now.”

  Palahmed chuckled against his lips. “You don’t say,” he growled.

  Gawain growled back, and Palahmed started to laugh again, his teeth white against his dark beard. Gawain lapped his tongue across them.

  That shut Palahmed up. Long enough for Gawain to wrest control, anyway. Fired by the flash of heat in the Saracen’s eyes, he took the man’s mouth again. They sucked at each other and licked and bit, all the while groping to the point of stumbling. They were going to slip and fall, but Gawain didn’t care. If it meant he might end up on top, where he could rub himself against this long, tall strength—

  Palahmed broke the kiss and stepped away abruptly.

  Gawain made to close the gap, but Palahmed stopped him with a hard grip on his shoulder and a soft, “Hold.”

  He saw nothing. Heard nothing, either, just the surf and the gulls wheeling overhead.

  Then, off to his left: a voice.

  The pup barked. Gawain turned toward the far end of the beach, to the split in the rock there, the one he’d discovered as a lad when he’d lifted a trapdoor in the pantry. A couple breaths later, another lad stepped through the crack onto the beach. He saw the pup first and knelt to call her over, but then his head jerked up as he caught sight of the men on the beach. He crouched, as still as if he’d been frozen. Then his face cracked into a wide grin Gawain knew in a heartbeat.

  “Gareth!” the lad shouted. “Quit draggin’ your arse! Gawain’s home!”

  ~ ~ ~

  Palahmed watched Gawain run toward the two younger lads, and it broke something inside him.

  Not irreparably, and perhaps not even deeply, but this was brotherhood. Loud and thumping, boisterous to the point of scattering the gulls from their shore picking. His every reunion with Safir felt like this, at least on his side of things. It would be so again, he had to hope.

  Gawain broke free and turned to him, grinning. “These are my brothers.”

  Palahmed couldn’t help an answering smile and walked over to join them. “I gathered.”

  “This one’s Gareth and this one’s Gahers,” Gawain said, waving toward them in turn. Gareth stood slightly taller, but they were otherwise nearly identical. Gawain said something to them in their tongue from which Palahmed understood only his own name.

  The two lads looked at him with wide, curious eyes, and nodded eagerly.

  “You didn’t just tell them I’d take them swimming, did you?”

  Gawain laughed. “I told them you’re my shieldmate.”

  My shieldmate. For the first time, he’d said it without a hint of hesitation, and Palahmed fought the urge to puff up in pride. He nodded to the lads, who fired twin questions at him. Gawain intercepted them, and there followed the sort of rapid volley only those who’d grown up together might have. Even if he’d understood this northern tongue, there was a good chance he wouldn’t have caught half of what they said.

  The clatter of it snagged the pup’s attention, and she gamboled over, making her gruff little barks. Gawain scooped her up and presented her to his brothers. Their expressions took on surprise, and then a bit of awe toward Gawain. Whether it was for Gawain’s lifesaving leap into the ocean or for defying his father’s orders, Palahmed wasn’t certain, but he felt some remorse for not having given the hawk his due as quickly as these lads had. Then again, they probably thought him invincible.

  Presently, Gahers performed a funny little bow to Palahmed and said, “Come. We bring you mother.”

  Gawain hung back with him, and they followed the boys to the steep not-a-path on the hillside.

  “It suits you.”

  Gawain turned to him. “What’s that?”

  “Being the older brother. One they look up to.”

  “I’m not that tall.”

  “Not what I meant, and you know it.”

  Gawain waved that off and set the pup down. She scrabbled up the slope after the two lads. “They’re just glad to have escaped.”

  “Escaped chores?”

  “Escaped the chamber they were being held in. Mother had them under guard.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re strangers here.” When Palahmed opened his mouth to protest, Gawain shook his head. “All of us.”

  Everything seemed sharper on the way back to the stronghold. When he’d followed Gawain outside, he’d been focused on the hawk and on not giving himself away before he reached the beach. Now every bent blade of grass seemed to brandish its saw’s edge, every gull to call threats from above.

  In front of him, Gawain took the track as sure-footed as a mountain goat might the crags of its domain, and for the first time, the hawk’s position here hit Palahmed full in the chest. Gawain knew this place better than any other, and yet it had been closed to him. His own brothers hidden from him, guarded as if their lives had been at risk. As if Gawain would harm them or bring men with him who would. Despite her apparent welcome, Morgawse didn’t trust her second son or his chosen companions.

  He walked behind Gawain and listened to his brothers chatter excitedly with him. Making plans, it sounded like, to catch up, to visit old haunts, to fill in the half-dozen years they’d been apart. Gawain shouldn’t have to keep an eye out for danger while they bridged those gaps.

  He wouldn’t have to.

  When they reached the rear wall of the stronghold, the two boys slipped in the small door there. Before Gawain could follow them, Palahmed pulled him aside. Close to the wall, close to his own body.

  “What?” Gawain said softly.

  Palahmed made him a silent promise and kissed him. Gawain opened to him for a brief few breaths, before pulling away. He tugged on the edges of Palahmed’s cloak, then turned to follow his brothers.

  When they came to the hall, Palahmed spotted Arthur first by his bright hair. God help the man if he ever meant to hide. God, or Bedwyr, who sat by his side. Palahmed scanned the dim space and found that Morgawse had seen them enter. Her gaze flicked from her youngest sons to Gawain to himself. He nodded a greeting.

  Morgawse inclined her head, though not by much, and addressed Gawain instead. “I see you’ve been reunited.”

  “Morning, Mother.”

  She accepted a kiss on her cheek, though her eyes were on Palahmed.

  And mine on you, my lady.

  “You smell like the shore, Gwalchmai.”

  “Took the pup down for a runabout.”

  “So near the water? How brave.”

  Brave of the pup or Gawain? Before Palahmed cou
ld begin to parse her words, Morgawse touched Gawain’s cheek. “Break your fast. Now that your brothers have found you, you’ll need your strength.” A few clipped syllables brought Gareth and Gahers to her and then away to refresh the ale and bread on the table where Gawain was headed to join Arthur and Bedwyr. Palahmed was relieved to see the replenishment came from a side table in plain view.

  But when he made to follow Gawain, a firm touch on his arm halted him.

  “How did you find your chamber, Palahmed?”

  “Perfectly fine, my lady. I thank you for your hospitality.”

  “I’m glad to hear it served. Though I was surprised you didn’t share with Gwalchmai.”

  “My lady?”

  She gestured to Arthur and Bedwyr. “Those two insisted they share. But we know why, even way up here in the far north. A blood bond mirrored in the very stars.” She looked up at him. “I wonder what my brother Uthyr thinks of it.”

  He held her gaze. “He has supported it with his word and his sword.”

  “Well, of course he has. To do otherwise would weaken his authority. But what does he truly think?”

  “I couldn’t say, my lady. I’m not among his confidants, but I tend to take Lord Uthyr at his word.”

  She smiled. “A risky tendency, Palahmed. I would have thought a man of your history would know better.”

  His history?

  “As a mercenary, I mean. Which reminds me,” she said, as if she hadn’t been leading to it all along, “who’s providing your purse for this mission?”

  “We’re owing Rhys ap Rhodri for our journey here,” he said, giving her the tale they four had agreed upon. “He lent us one of his boats.”

  She cocked her head at that and gazed at him intently. How very alike she and Gwen were, with their keen dark eyes and proudly held chins. They were of a height and build, too, and here he did wonder what Uthyr thought—had he ever seen his sister in his daughter? Perhaps. But where Gwen’s challenging words usually had a playful edge to them, like a wooden practice sword, Morgawse’s felt like something he shouldn’t turn his back on.

  “Gwalchmai has wanted to make this journey for some time,” he said.

  “How long have you shielded him?”

  “Not long.” He could afford this small truth. “My brother, Safir, is usually at my side. He’s a sell-sword as well, though, and had an opportunity in Hibernia. I imagine it’s been an adjustment for Gwalchmai. He typically fights alone.”

  She smiled at her son, and it seemed genuinely wistful. “Now, that doesn’t surprise me in the least. He’s impulsive, that one. Doesn’t always consider his own safety.”

  “I’ve told him the same. He hasn’t wanted to hear it.”

  She chuckled and turned to him. “Promise you’ll watch over him when he forgets.”

  “I’ve already promised him, my lady.”

  Morgawse drew a deep breath, as if the thought heartened her, and she gripped his elbows. “You give me peace of mind. My sons do love to tempt peril.”

  And then she was away, leaving him to wonder exactly when peril would return home from his hunting trip.

  Chapter 14

  Gawain’s brothers clamored to take him about the whole island, to see what he remembered and show him what had changed.

  Of course, what had changed most was them. When he’d left for the south, they’d been playing with wooden swords. They hadn’t even gotten their meat teeth yet. Now Gareth was only a few months from his first summer foray with his father’s men, and Gahers would be tugging on the line to follow him. They were taller, and Gareth’s voice cracked sometimes, and they both stank in only the way lads their age did. Gawain cringed to think he’d been the same, and how Palahmed had probably thought all these thoughts about him that summer years ago. No wonder he’d kept him at arm’s length. What a grubby nibbler he must have seemed.

  He was fairly confident the man didn’t see him that way now. Palahmed gamely accompanied them on their day’s lark, as did Arthur and Bedwyr. Several times, Gawain had glanced over at Palahmed, expecting to see annoyance. Instead, he’d found a warm look in his eyes that sparked all sorts of new thoughts.

  Now they sat in the hall again, soaking up the heat of the fires and warming their insides with the brew he now found bitter. The lads were hounding their newfound cousin Bedwyr for battle stories, and Arthur was enjoying Bed’s dismay at being the center of such determined attention. Gawain took their preoccupation as a chance to study Palahmed.

  He should have been weary too. He was slumped against the table on his elbows, but it was an easy posture, his hand curled loosely around his ale cup. He watched Gawain’s brothers with genuine amusement, even if it showed itself more in the crinkles about his eyes than the curve of his mouth. When he lifted his cup and drank, Gawain followed the bob and contraction in his throat as he swallowed. He wanted to put his lips there again.

  Soon.

  “Gahers.”

  Gahers turned to him mid-sentence, mouth still open.

  “You want to take the pup tonight?”

  His brother nodded eagerly, then ducked under the table and called to her. She brushed Gawain’s calf as she rose, and then Gahers was pulling her into his lap and she was basking in pats from both lads.

  Gawain glanced at Palahmed again and found him already looking at him. Something arced between them, quick and bright as lightning. Lifting his own cup as if he had reliable control over his body, Gawain sipped and looked toward the nearest fire. Palahmed’s gaze lingered, warming his skin almost as much.

  After a few minutes, Gawain set down his cup and bid them a good night.

  Palahmed rose as well. “Believe I’ll follow your lead.”

  Gawain nodded, gut fluttering as if he stood on that gusty cliff, and crossed the hall to where his mother sat. Relieved to see her surrounded by other women, he paused just long enough to kiss her cheek. She set a hand to his and told him he looked well, then glanced over his shoulder.

  “And you, Palahmed. Have my sons run you ragged today?”

  “They were eager hosts,” Palahmed said, smiling. “I believe we mapped the island.”

  She smiled back. “You’ve earned your rest. Until tomorrow, then.”

  Gawain walked away without looking behind him, but he could feel Palahmed there, tracking him like some great dark cat. Could hear him, too, once they’d left the hall and entered the walkway just outside it. His footfalls were quieter than they’d been on the pebbly beach, but his breaths… It sounded as if he were dragging them in and out of his long, proud nose, and with every step they became a cadence. They stuttered only once, when Gawain made a turn that would lead them away from their chambers. The man behind him was nearly silent for several beats of Gawain’s heart, but then those breaths were back, and closer.

  This was what power felt like, to have someone follow him so, without question. He had no wish to lead men as Arthur did on the summer campaigns. Just the one man. Compelling him to follow was a heady, heady thing, and for several steps he felt as if he’d drunk much more ale than he had.

  When he opened the door he sought, it creaked from disuse. Leaving it ajar, he began to climb the narrow stairs beyond, lit faintly by the moon. Halfway up, he heard the door creak shut softly and the lightest scuff of a boot’s sole.

  The space was mostly as he remembered it. Narrow floor, low outer eave, and the remains of a few woven-stick cages on the shelf that ran along the facing wall. Agravain had been the first to bring him here, when they were still skinny lads and speaking to each other. It had been abandoned even then, and they’d pretended it was their own private fortress. It hadn’t been long before Agravain had stopped coming up here, choosing instead to accompany their father on his various duties. After that, Gawain had kept it for himself. He’d tried to mend the roof a few times, but the winds and rains were more relentless than he was.

  More of the roof had gone missing now, though the gulls had apparently not discovered the place or
found it not to their liking, for it was free of their detritus. Bare beams stood out dark against the moonlight. Beyond them, the sea was silver-tipped.

  He turned just as Palahmed stepped off the staircase. Unlike anyone who’d ever spent any time in this chamber, Palahmed had to stoop slightly to avoid knocking his skull on the rafters. He approached Gawain, looking at the cages, the missing thatch. “What is this place?”

  Gawain reached for his hand and pushed up his sleeve, exposing his wrist. He could just make out the wee scar on Palahmed’s skin. “This is where I make my own marks. Do you deserve it?”

  “I hope so.”

  Gawain tugged on Palahmed’s wrist and pulled him away from the stairwell, to the stretch of floor beneath the open roof. He let go and untied his own cloak, then spread it on the floorboards. He expected Palahmed to tell him to put it back on, but he didn’t. And when Gawain said, “Lie down,” Palahmed did.

  Blood beat in his ears as he knelt beside the man, but he felt light. Light and strong and invincible. With a flick of his fingers, Palahmed’s cloak fell open. Gawain pushed it off his shoulders. Kicking a knee over Palahmed’s thighs, he spread the cloak wider, then crouched there, just looking.

  In all the years they’d fought together—against Saxons and each other—he’d never seen Palahmed from this vantage. In this moment, Gawain loomed and it made him roll his shoulders. Palahmed didn’t seem as tall laid out like this, his nose and chin not as proud. His eyes shone in the moonlight, wide and dark, as Gawain reached under his head to pull free the leather thong binding his hair. It fanned out almost as wide as his cloak and blacker than a cave, and that more than anything else made him look like a wholly different man.

  The Palahmed he fought near—and argued with between missions—was always in control of himself. Every seam mended, every lace knotted, every long hair tied back. Everything in order.

  This man beneath him, under his hands, between his own thighs…this man was not going to be in order.