Tempted by Ruin (Sons of Britain Book 4) Read online

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “But it’s going to be noisy and hectic, and you’ll have to defend your bone.”

  Khalida barked and turned back to the hall.

  Safir had fairly run ahead, eager to enjoy the comforts he found at Rhys’s with no moment lost. Arthur and Bedwyr walked in front of Palahmed at a more leisurely pace. Not sedate, precisely. More…content. As if they knew they had all the time in the world.

  Palahmed also had all the time in the world, the difference being that he looked forward to none of it.

  Guilt plucked a chord in his chest, and he patted Khalida on the head.

  The hall was even more boisterous than he’d prepared himself for. He found a cup for ale and a clean boar joint for Khalida to gnaw on, and then took a seat in a far corner. He sipped his ale while the pup rested heavily against his leg, and reminded himself to breathe.

  He had to do that sometimes. Most of the time, his body took over, wary of his apathetic instincts, but occasionally it needed a rest and he had to take over.

  In, out.

  In, out.

  In…out.

  Khalida shifted. He took another drink. The hall swirled around them.

  Sometime later, Safir slid onto the bench beside him. “Brother. Keeping good company, I see.”

  “The very best.” He reached down and tweaked Khalida’s ear. She shook her head and went back to cracking apart the joint. “You’ve visited Caron’s already?”

  “I have.”

  “That was quick. Perhaps you’re getting as old as I am.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Safir said and snagged an empty cup on the table. He filled it from the clay jug nearby. “I’ve just spent a very enjoyable hour with a very interesting person.”

  “Don’t ever perform poetry, Safir. You’ll be howled off the dais. Won’t he, pup?”

  “Be that as it may…” Safir looked at him hopefully. “I think you’d like him.”

  Palahmed groaned. He’d known this would happen at some point, but he hadn’t thought Safir would push so soon. “Stop. Not another word. You have your fun. Enjoy the rewards of a season’s hard work, but leave me out of it. Now is not the time, understand?”

  Safir slumped, sighing. But he didn’t look resigned, precisely. This expression was more like—

  Khalida rose to her feet so abruptly she knocked her skull on the table’s heavy planks. Palahmed turned at the thump, expecting to have to wrest two dogs apart, but Khalida wasn’t fighting. She’d scrambled out from under the table and was staring at the door to the hall, every line of her body alert. Then she barked once, loudly, and shot toward the door. When Palahmed rose to fetch her back, his heart stopped.

  Standing under the great lintel was Gawain.

  Safir stood and leaned close. “How about now?”

  “Is it truly him?”

  “Trust your eyes, brother. Go.”

  Trust rang in his mind as he made his way to the door. It was a difficult thing to come by, these days, and not something he was confident he inspired.

  Khalida, however, had enough for all of them. When he reached the door, he found she’d tackled Gawain to the floor and was wrestling with him, as much a playful puppy again as she’d been a calm, soothing companion to Palahmed.

  “Get off me, you horse!” Gawain laughed but didn’t push all that hard, and Khalida knew it for the nonsense it was. She dug her nose into his neck, wriggling.

  He was beautiful. He’d shorn his hair, clipping it close, but it only made the strong bones of his face stand out. He wore no cloak, and a lightweight shirt, and he looked like every gift summer had ever wrought. Like nothing Palahmed had thought he’d see again.

  Gawain saw him then, and sobered slightly. Not all the way to annoyance, though. Just enough that he sat up and set Khalida away. Palahmed took hold of her ruff, and Gawain stood, brushing himself off. Then his hands stilled and he looked at Palahmed.

  “You’re here,” Palahmed said, unnecessarily.

  “I am.”

  “Can we—” he began, then amended to, “Will you…” only to lose the thread of questions flying through his mind.

  “I have a chamber,” Gawain said. “Maybe we can talk there?”

  Palahmed nodded and followed him. Khalida worked free at some point to trot alongside Gawain, the fickle thing.

  Then again, perhaps she’d only been waiting as well, too cautious to hope.

  When they reached the chamber—one of Caron’s best, he noted—he stepped inside to find it already appeared lived in. The bedding looked as if three restless beasts had been at it. A table held cheese and bread and an ale jug.

  “I’ve been here a few days,” Gawain said, then added in a tone that sounded more sheepish than accusatory, “waiting.”

  There were two cups on the table, but Palahmed couldn’t make himself ask the question.

  “I sent word ahead to Safir. He spent the last hour trying to help me calm my nerves. With drink. Only drink.”

  “Of course.”

  “Palahmed?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  It was the last thing he’d expected to hear, and he had no response.

  Gawain stepped closer, then seemed to stop himself short, as if Palahmed might not welcome it. “I’m sorry I left without warning. I’m sorry I didn’t come to you on the dock. I’m sor—” He shook his hands, flexing them as if they hurt, and then his entire frame seemed to be shaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t kill him myself. That you had to do it. That I couldn’t be braver.”

  Palahmed pulled him against his chest as much to hush his words as to feel him there. His body was so blessedly solid that Palahmed wanted to weep. “Why would you say such things? You’re the bravest man I know.”

  Gawain shook his head. “No. I didn’t try hard enough. Didn’t even defend myself properly. Something about that place—I couldn’t think clearly. Or I got overconfident. I don’t know. I’ve gone over it in my mind, over it and over it, and I don’t know where I went wrong.”

  “You didn’t. I’m just grateful I found you when I did.”

  “You shouldn’t have had to do it. I shouldn’t have brought you into the madness of that place.”

  “You wouldn’t have been able to stop me.”

  Gawain huffed against him. “Knew you’d say that.” He pushed lightly, and Palahmed let him go. Gawain took a moment to collect himself, avoiding Palahmed’s eyes. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

  “Of course.”

  “No course about it. But I couldn’t take her back with me. Gods, she’s so big.” He stroked the dog’s head. “She must eat everything you earn. Did you name her?”

  “Khalida.” The overgrown pup looked up at her name. “It means eternal, forever. Never-ending.”

  Gawain bit his lip. “Like the trouble I cause you?”

  Palahmed laughed. “Oh, hawk. That path goes both ways and every direction.” He looked at the table. “Is there ale in that jug?”

  Gawain poured them each a cup, and they sat down across from each other. Palahmed took a sip, but only to gather his courage.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “All right,” Gawain said.

  “About why I bolted that night. About why I put you off, even after so many years.”

  And he told him everything. About his father’s guest, about his and Safir’s flight from the docks on one of Rhys’s merchant ships, about the subsequent string of young men he’d collected like beads on a necklace, about the soul-deep fear Gawain had sparked in him.

  When he’d finished, they sat in silence for a while. Gawain took a few sips of his ale, but Palahmed couldn’t tell if he was mulling Palahmed’s words or trying to decide how best to get rid of him.

  Finally, Gawain set his cup on the table. “Tell me something.”

  “Anything.”

  Gawain took a deep breath. “That day we all went to Gwen and Elain’s, after the winter, and I got the bo
ys muddy and had to bathe them.” He looked at Palahmed squarely. “Were you watching them in the bath?”

  “No!”

  Gawain looked at him, unblinking, and Palahmed recoiled.

  “Of course not! They’re children.”

  “And my brothers, Gareth and Gahers. Did you look at them wrongly?”

  The thought disgusted him, so that he almost choked on it. “No. I swear it.”

  Gawain watched him for an excruciatingly still moment, then exhaled. “I know, Palahmed. I only wanted you to see it.”

  “See what?”

  “You don’t lust for children. Or even lads. Every one you’ve described was a man among his people—ready to marry, to go to war—”

  “But Safir.”

  Gawain reached for his hand, and he realized his cup was shaking. “You didn’t come because it was Safir. You came because you saw yourself.”

  “I changed. Before, I wanted an older man.”

  “And I wanted a tall red-haired battle legend,” Gawain said, a wry curl to his lips. “Until I met you.”

  “You, though.”

  Gawain seemed thoughtful for a moment. “How old did you think I was that first summer we fought together?”

  “Fifteen?”

  Gawain nodded. “I had seventeen years then. Just as many as you when you left home and brought Safir here. I was reckless and foolish, to be sure. But I was a man, initiated by blood, and I knew what I wanted.”

  Palahmed stared into the hawk’s green eyes. Could it be he wasn’t broken? Wasn’t someone to avoid, or shun. Someone who might be worthy of the man before him, a man who hadn’t recoiled at his tale or shoved him away. Hadn’t flinched at all.

  He’d spent years upon years believing one thing of himself. But Gawain’s gaze was clear. Perhaps he needed to trust the hawk’s eyes as much as his own.

  For the first time he could recall, it felt possible he might become whole again.

  “Maybe you always found younger men attractive,” Gawain said, “but older ones just seemed more, I don’t know…secure? Or as if they could teach you about the world? Speaking from my own experience.” He smiled. “Or maybe it was just a normal shift. Who knows, maybe next year, you’ll decide you prefer silver hair again and start chasing the grizzle-hounds in the hall.”

  Palahmed imagined the scarred old fellows who huddled in knots, trading tales of long-past glory. “I doubt it.”

  “And I hope not.”

  “Truly?”

  Gawain shrugged. “I’m selfish.” He reached up and traced Palahmed’s cheekbone before meeting his gaze again. “I want you for myself.”

  Chapter 24

  Gawain rose and stepped close to Palahmed, then straddled one of his thighs and sat on it. “I have this chamber for a while yet. Will you stay?”

  “I’ll stay,” Palahmed said. He still sounded stunned.

  “What’s my name?”

  “Gawain.”

  “No, your name for me.”

  Palahmed smiled. “Hawk.”

  Gawain leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips, just a soft press, and then nuzzled Palahmed’s ear. “You’ve a hawk perched on your leg. And he’s hungry.”

  That was all the spark it took. Palahmed’s hands came up to grasp his hips. “What do you want?”

  He’d asked him that before, and Gawain’s mind had tumbled with all the things he wanted. They were things he still wanted—every one of them—and it seemed the more he imagined them, the more his mind created, until he was sure he could spend hours describing the ways he wanted to be with this man.

  But just now, there was one he craved above the others. Months, seasons, years were awfully long stretches to feel empty. “I want to ride you,” he said.

  He’d thought about it so many times. So many. Honestly, an embarrassing number of times. Ever since he’d sat astride Palahmed in the dilapidated roost at the stronghold, he hadn’t been able to free his mind of it—what it might feel like to sink down on his length, to lean his weight on the man’s chest, and what all that might do to Palahmed’s face, to his voice. What new facet might be revealed in his grip on Gawain’s body, how he might try to direct him.

  So he was surprised when Palahmed drew back and said, “I’ve never done that.”

  Gawain studied his dark eyes, shaded by thick lashes and thicker brows. “Never had a man on top of you?”

  “Never been inside a man.”

  Gawain stared at him.

  Palahmed made his own small shrug. “Shame is a powerful thing.”

  Gawain sat for a moment, gauging him, reordering his own thoughts. Outwardly, Palahmed was the same man he’d known for so long. Tall, strong, agile. Fierce, he’d told Lot, and that was still true. Always would be true.

  But just now, Palahmed seemed uncertain. The only time Gawain had ever seen him like this was when he’d thought Safir had left him for Hibernia.

  This wasn’t about anyone but the two of them, though. He watched Palahmed’s chest rise and fall on shallow breaths. Was he worried Gawain would think less of him? “We don’t have to.”

  Palahmed met his eyes, finally. “I want you every way possible.”

  Warmth spread across Gawain’s chest. He leaned in and kissed him again.

  This time, he lingered and let it become more. Deeper and more curious. Searching and giving. Gentle and reassuring. Of the two of them, he never thought he’d be the one to offer these things. The one who needed to offer these things.

  But if someone had asked him at that moment what he’d give for this man, he’d have said, Anything. Everything. Without hesitation.

  He stood and pulled Palahmed up with him. What they’d begun on the chair, they continued in the middle of the chamber, each man on his feet. Each man free to walk away but choosing to be there with the other.

  More than anything—even Palahmed’s hands on him, loosening his laces, stripping his clothes, grasping his body as if he might disappear… More than all of that, the simple fact Palahmed had chosen to stay with him gave him hope.

  That he wanted this man had never been a secret. He’d been too stupid to hide it early on, and he wasn’t much better at it now, judging by the way his own hands were roving over Palahmed’s bared body as if they were hounds he’d let loose. He wanted him with every part of his being.

  But wanting something and getting it were two very different things. He still wasn’t sure he was worthy of a gift so great. This man had killed to defend him. Might even have brought him back to the living, with nothing but his hands and his breath and his will. Gawain wasn’t sure he’d ever be worthy of that effort. But he was going to do everything he could to come near deserving it.

  Or at least make sure Palahmed didn’t regret it straight away. He pushed him toward the bed.

  They sank onto the bedding, already tangled. If they’d been a fishing skein, he’d be looking at a long night’s work ahead of untwisting threads, freeing sea vines, and retying loose ends.

  Well. Maybe they were that net after all. And maybe, just as Palahmed had suggested, he might see them the next time the great curtains of light streaked across the northern sky.

  He took it slowly. It might have been the most difficult thing he’d ever done, what with Palahmed stretched out under him, all muscle and dark hair and flashing eyes, and he would congratulate himself afterward for not rushing in the way his body was screaming for him to do. In fact, it was very likely he’d strut about the brothel tossing advice to those with less talent and restraint, which was every last person in the place.

  But he held out, soaking up the feel of the man under him, of Palahmed’s rough hands on his skin, of the rasp of his voice in Gawain’s ear. Gods, the sounds he made. They might never leave this chamber.

  He drew out their pleasure, feeling powerful in the understanding of it, in the way he could say things—give orders—and Palahmed would respond. Look at me. Take hold of my hair. Show me your throat. He didn’t want to abuse that p
ower…much…but he couldn’t deny it made him feel far bigger than he was.

  More important, though, Palahmed was giving him that power along with his body, and that was a gift too great to ignore.

  When Palahmed’s cock was hard against his belly, but his breaths not yet desperate, Gawain forced himself to stillness. “Ready to try?”

  “Yes.”

  Gawain must have betrayed his protectiveness, because Palahmed drew him down for a kiss. “I’m ready when you are.”

  Gawain slicked them both, showing Palahmed what he was doing, enjoying the flare in the man’s eyes as he watched. Then he rose and positioned himself, and sheathed Palahmed’s cock on a long, slow, burning stretch.

  When he’d begun his descent, Palahmed’s eyes had opened wide. Now they were closed, tight, his teeth gritted as if in agony.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Palahmed did, and Gawain smiled at him. “All right?”

  “I’m dying of bliss.”

  Gawain laughed, and Palahmed drew him down again, pressing their foreheads together.

  “You’re everything. You hear me? Everything. And not because of this.” Palahmed kissed him. “Because you make me feel whole.”

  “You were already whole.”

  Palahmed shook his head and grinned. “I love you, hawk.”

  Joy, bright and shiny as a sun-tipped wave. “I love you, too.”

  They laughed and kissed and grasped at happiness with all their limbs, and somewhere along the way, Gawain began to move. Up and down, forward and back, he stroked Palahmed’s cock, reveling in the fullness he felt on it.

  Still, that was second to the look in the man’s eyes. They captured him as neatly as that net, holding him close and promising more than he could imagine. When his climax broke over him, leaving him gasping and reeling, Palahmed tugged him close and pressed deep, growling in his ear.

  Then they were floating, skin to skin, and breath to breath, and the promises began to seem real.

  ~ ~ ~

  Palahmed lay melting into the bedding, Gawain stretched along his side. Warm, vital, nearly everything he needed in this life.

  A fingertip was roving over his chest, and then Gawain’s chin pressed into the muscle there. “Question.”