Ones Who Live Alone.
Shrewsbury, England, 1141 AD. 'The Anarchy', a great civil war fought between warring cousins, King Stephen and Empress Maud, rages over most of the south of England. But Shrewsbury has seen siege and war come and go, and is now safely held by King Stephen's supporters. James Ellison buckled his leather jerkin tight and waved away the servant when he held out his finest woolen cloak. "Not on a night like this, Phillip." Ellison gestured to the narrow window where a flash of lightening underscored his words. "Abbot Bernard will understand if I don't appear in my best in this weather." "My Lord Ellison?" Hubert, his sergeant, appeared in the doorway. "A party of monks has crossed the Welsh bridge and is traveling through the town, my lord. They say they have business at the Abbey." "No doubt the party Abbot Bernard has been waiting for." Ellison slung his cloak around his powerful shoulders. "They were due to arrive this morning, perhaps the weather held them up. Phillip, make sure my horse is ready, I will ride with them to the abbey." -000- Ellison caught up with the party as they rode down the High Street through the centre of town. "Greetings, brothers!" Lord Ellison called. The day was well advanced now, although it was difficult to tell how far away sunset was with the thick gray clouds scudding across the sky, obscuring even the horizon. No real rain yet, although the occasional gust sent an icy shower, a herald of things to come. The monks were well cowled against the wind, and they turned as one at his call, the monk leading the way politely sweeping his cowl back to look him over. Well aware of the impression he made on his large black horse, Ellison approached slowly. Even in the middle of a well fortressed town like Shrewsbury, travelers were wise to be wary. "My name is James Ellison, Deputy Sheriff of Shrewsbury in the name of King Stephen. May I ride with you to the abbey? I suspect we are all to be guests of Abbot Bernard tonight." The monks seemed to relax at his words, the leader, an older man with a grizzled gray tonsure, raised his hand in greeting. "Well met this night, my Lord Ellison. I am Prior Amiel of Carcassonne. I fear the Abbot will have given us up by now." Ellison fell in beside the trotting nags the brothers rode. "The weather delayed you?" "In a sense. One of our young brothers was thrown when his horse was spooked by the lightening." The Prior gestured behind him and one of the horses whinnied nervously as if on cue. "Is he hurt?" Ellison twisted on his seat to take a better look at the cowled brothers, but even with his exceptional eyesight he could make out no more than shadowy features beneath the thick hoods. "No, Brother Blair has proved himself remarkably resilient," Prior Amiel said with a humorous tone Ellison found himself warming to. "But his horse was less so, and fled into the forest. It took us hours to calm him enough to approach him." The English bridge was ahead, leading onto the abbey Foregate and then into the abbey of St Peter and St Paul itself. But before the little party could cross the bridge and reach the safety of the abbey walls disaster struck once more, as a bolt of lightening exploded from the sky and struck the very stones of the bridge ahead of them. Before Ellison could even register the smell of brimstone in the air, the horse behind him was rearing, its iron shod hooves pawing the air before it. Its rider, taken by surprise, tumbled off the broad back, striking the wide stone wall of the bridge before falling over the side into the dark seething mass of the Severn river. "Brother Blair!" One of the monks shrieked. Brother Blair again, Ellison thought to himself as he leapt off his horse and raced to the bridges edge. Ignoring the shrieks of the frightened horses and the equally frightened men the deputy sheriff scanned the raging water with his exceptional eyesight, almost immediately picking up the dark sodden bundle floating face down, caught in the rivers powerful current. Without a second thought Ellison stripped off the fine heavy cloak he had donned just minutes before, and with one hand on the bridge leapt over the side into the torrent. Almost immediately the sound of the monks screaming protests were smothered by the suffocating pressure of the icy water as it rushed to cover his head. Automatically turning down his sense of touch Ellison was able to get his breath back long enough to clear the surface of the water, kicking with his powerful legs to propel himself along. It was not enough to simply float with the current, he must go faster if he was to have any hope of reaching the unconscious man in time. The young monk would drown in minutes otherwise. With a cry of victory Ellison saw the dark bundle of the monk's robe caught precariously in a tangle of branches washed down by the flooding spate of the river. This boy's God was watching over his accident prone servant tonight, Ellison thought as he grabbed the soaking cloth and tugged sharply, pulling the boy's face clear of the water and back against his chest. The banks were too steep to drag them ashore here, and Ellison let himself be carried by the tide, confident now that he could feel the boy's surprisingly sturdy chest rise and fall under his hands. As a Shrewsbury lad born and bred he knew this river bank well, although perhaps not as well as those boys whose fathers didn't have estates to send them to in the unhealthy summer time. Even so Ellison knew exactly where they were, and he patiently let the surging current pull them past familiar landmarks. By the time he spotted the place he had in mind to drag the dazed monk to shore, it was full dark and the rain was coming down in earnest. "Come on, Brother Blair," Jim grunted as he tugged the lax body up the muddy bank onto the narrow grassy shore. "I can't carry you now, we must walk the rest of the way." Running a hand over his tightly cropped hair and shaking his head to clear the water from his ears Ellison grasped the boy's shoulders and turned him on his back, ready to pump water from his lungs if necessary. What he saw had him forgetting every life saving technique his father had drummed into his head during his youth. This was not a boy laying before him, long rain spiked lashes flickering as he struggled to awaken. This was a man, fully grown. Long dark curls straggled around his face, almost obscuring the tanned pate bared by his tonsure. The skin of his cheeks was pale and prickled with a new stubble, his features strong and handsome, a wide bow of lips and a perfect nose. The picture was completed a moment later as his eyes opened, blinking against the onslaught of the rain falling on his face. They were heart-breakingly blue. "By the balls of Baal," the young monk cursed richly, turning to his side and retching up at least half the river. "Before I'm through I will have that damn horse on a spit!" Surprise rocked Ellison back on his heels. This was coming from the angel's face he had just admired? After a moments shock he began to laugh, his wide chest shaking with it, his head thrown back as he roared his merriment to the sky. Brother Blair turned on one elbow and surveyed him sourly, shaking damp curls from his face. "I'm glad you think it's funny, my lord," he said tartly. "I'm sorry, brother," Ellison managed, calming a little as the young man stifled a sneeze. "I just didn't expect you to say what you did." "Oh." With his exceptional sight the deputy sheriff could make out the rosiest of blushes heating the pale chilled skin. "Er, sorry." The brother tried for a meek expression but did not quite pull it off. Ellison had seen what was under that monks cowl now. "Come on," he said as another shiver shook the young man's frame. "We have to get you out of those wet clothes and next to a fire." "Are we far from the abbey?" Brother Blair clambered to his feet and Ellison automatically reached out and grabbed his arm as he swayed. Like the young man's chest it was surprisingly sturdy, but it was as chilled as the rest of him and Ellison wasted no time dwelling on the monk's considerable attributes. "We are. But we are on abbey land here, and not far from one of their barns. We can shelter there until morning." And making sure the monk was steady enough on his feet to follow, Ellison set off towards the path he could clearly make out ahead of them. "Morning?" Brother Blair panted to keep up, his teeth chattering now against the cold. "Won't they be looking for us?" "Not in this." Ellison shouted over a crash of thunder and pointed to the sky. "The river is such a torrent now, they'll probably think we're dead." "Poor Prior Amiel," Brother Blair mourned. "Or else they will assume I have gotten you to safety. Either way they will not send out men tonight. What would be the point, they could pass right by us and not see a thing." Especially as they are not blessed with my senses, Ellison thought to himself as he easily traversed the path, already making out the dim shape of the abbey barn ahead of them. These fields were abbey lands as he had told the monk, and in harvest time the barn was used to store fruit and grain and to house the horses and mules used for such work. But at this time of the year it would be empty, laden with next years straw and hopefully with some dry kindling stacked inside. "Nearly there," he called out to the young man gamely struggling along behind him in his voluminous skirts. Ellison could clearly hear his teeth chattering from where he was. With a grateful sigh he reached the barn door and unlatched it before heading confidently into the exterior, bright as day to his fine sight. Brother Blair paused in the doorway, to him the barn must be black as pitch. Ellison returned to the young monk and led him inside. "Behind you is a pile of hay," he said, quickly scanning the barns interior and sighing in relief as he made out kindling and wood stacked against the wall. "Take off your clothes, I'll make a fire." Teeth still chattering, Blair obeyed, pulling off the soaking robes and tossing them to the packed dirt floor. Because he had been traveling he wore thick leggings under his robe instead of just the usual under garments, with a grateful sigh he tugged them and his boots off and kicked them aside. Ellison appeared from out of the darkness the monk's eyes were rapidly adjusting to and draped a rough blanket around his shoulders. Blair looked as grateful as if it were a cloak of Damascus silk. "What about you?" he managed through shaking jaw. Ellison was crouched on the floor, striking flint against rock. It sparked and he fed it some fine kindling. Blair seemed to be praying as the big man nursed the tiny flame until it flickered and caught. "Hallelujah," he breathed. "Feed it, and don't let it go out," Ellison ordered, before he too began stripping off his heavy clothes. Blair obeyed as the big man shook out his garments and laid them over rough wooden rails. Obviously seeing the sense of this, knowing they would have to don the sodden clothes come morning, Blair waited until the deputy sheriff was again tending the fire before he did the same. Wringing what water he could from his robe and leggings he spread them out, and then picked up his boots and carried them to the fireside, laying them next to Ellison's. Night was settling in around them. "I've been remiss," Brother Blair said suddenly, holding his hands out to the flames. "You saved my life and I haven't thanked you. I am most grateful." Ellison contented himself with a nod at the statement. "I still can't believe you did it," Brother Blair marveled. "To throw yourself in the river to save a perfect stranger!" "I dived in the river," Ellison corrected. "When you say I threw myself in you make me sound like some lovesick swain in a troubadours song." Brother Blair grinned at him across the flames and Ellison smiled back. "I wouldn't know," the monk said primly. "We're not encouraged to listen to salacious tunes." Feeling the fire of attraction in his belly as Brother Blair peeped at him from under his lashes Ellison allowed his own stare to grow bolder. A man with tastes such as his quickly learned to recognize those tastes in others and this was certainly not the first time he had seen it in a cleric. This was the first time however he had the least desire to return it. "I'm sure you've heard your share of ballads," Ellison returned with a smile. The monk contented himself with a smiling shrug. Ellison's eyes sharpened on the pale flesh of Blair's shoulders as the shrug dislodged the cover of the blanket for just a moment. The long brown curls were drying slowly, damp ringlets framing the exotic face and just brushing the surprisingly broad shoulders. The sight made his mouth dry. "Abbot Bernard tells me your party came from Southern France." Ellison had to clear his throat to speak. "On Bishop's business?" "Carrying messages from the Bishop of Carcassone to the English and Welsh Bishops," Blair confirmed. "From here we go to Hyde Mead Abbey at Winchester to meet with Bishop Henry." Ellison shook his head. "These are dangerous roads to travel in perilous times. The war rages in the south and Winchester is close to the fighting." Brother Blair shrugged again, this time revealing both shoulders. Ellison could not take his eyes from the sight of those damp curls just brushing the young man's lustrous skin. "I go where my Bishop orders," Blair said huskily and his tone had Ellison's eyes raising to meet his. The monk returned the gaze boldly, clear knowledge in those blue eyes. "You're like no monk I have ever met," Ellison said directly. "How do you come to be traveling on Bishop's business?" "I'm a teacher of canon law at the university at Montpelier. The Bishop thought it wouldn't hurt to have a lawyer at Prior Amiel's right hand. And I've done a little traveling myself, some years ago." Brother Blair sighed nostalgically. "I admit these last few years I have longed to set my feet on the road again. When the chance came up I could not turn it aside." "I'm very glad you didn't," Ellison admitted. "Even though you had to dive in the river after me?" Blair asked mischievously. "Even so. Although you owe me the price of a good pair of boots." Ellison nodded at his leather boots laying forlorn by the fire. "Alas I took vows of poverty," Blair mourned playfully. "And have no coin to pay you." "Do you take all your vows so seriously?" Ellison cut to the heart of the matter that interested him. He didn't need his superior hearing to detect the quick breath the monk took. "Do you always go after what you want like a hawk in flight?" Brother Blair chided softly. Ellison studied the young man's face in the flickering light but could detect no horror or outrage there. "A man like me learns to do so," Ellison admitted. "Men like us also learn caution," Blair counseled, and Ellison had to choke back the cry of exultation he felt in his soul as the monk admitted what they both knew. It was in the open between them now. "There's only us here in this quiet place," the deputy sheriff said intently. "And in the next few days I ride from here, out of your life. Are such fleeting pleasures worth the price?" "Price?" Ellison scoffed. "What price? These sins do not peril my immortal soul, I know, I've paid for them as a lad with the skin of my back. Churchmen know better than to make such sins more than venial ones, to be scourged and prayed out. Were they to make them mortal sins most clerics I know wouldn't have one soul to stretch between them." Blair tried and failed to suppress a smile at such calumny. "You are a cynic," he chided. "I have seen the world," Ellison shrugged, deliberately allowing his own blanket to slip a few notches, rewarded for his efforts by the increase in the little monk's breathing and heartbeat. "The god I kneel to in church has better things to do than worry about love, when there's all too little of it in this sorry world." "Love?" Blair said huskily, and now it was his turn to wear a cynic's face. "Be honest, my lord. It's a quick tumble in the hay with a pretty monk you want this night. Mayhap my payment for those fine boots you sacrificed to save my life?" "No," Ellison denied, truly meaning it. "Not that a quick tumble doesn't sound good to me, and were you other than the man I am coming to know, perhaps that would be enough. But you are no pretty boy to me. You are a man I find myself wanting to know, very much." "Oh." Blair seemed lost for words, a slight shiver stroking over his skin as a wicked breeze made its way under the door and whipped around the barn like a restless spirit. "You go too fast for me, my lord," he admitted softly. "T'was you that pointed out the time is short. You ride from here in a few days." Blair looked up and met pale blue eyes with his own sky colored orbs. "And you would have me leave a part of my heart behind me?" he challenged softly. Ellison drew in a breath of amazement at the thought that he could capture this delicious creature's heart. "Fair's fair," he said with not a little wonder. "For it seems my heart has already come under your spell." Blair's pale skin was washed by a rosy glow as the deputy sheriff's words sunk in. "Way too fast," he muttered self-consciously. Satisfied with the lovely blush and thrilled with the intimacy that had sprung up between them Ellison agreed. "Then let us speak of other things," he suggested. "You said you traveled years ago? In my youth I traveled some in the service of my lord. Where did you go?" "It was more where I came from," Blair revealed, the flush under his skin receding slowly. "I was born in Bethlehem." Blinking in surprise Ellison studied the young man before him with new eyes. "Bethlehem?" "Don't worry, it wasn't in a stable." Ellison merely blinked again. "That joke never works well for me," Blair's frown mocked himself. "How did you get from Bethlehem to Languedoc?" "Well, I was raised and educated in a monastery called St Jerome's in Bethlehem." "What happened to your parents?" Blair shrugged. "I never knew them." "Well, at least one of them was a foreigner," Ellison said thoughtfully. "For you are like no Arab I have met, not even a Christian one." Blair nodded his agreement. "Probably a pilgrim." "So that's why you are a monk?" This made a kind of sense to the deputy sheriff, he could see no earthly reason why such a lively young man would tie himself to the rigorous discipline of a monastery of his own will. But Blair was shaking his head. "I left St Jerome's when I was ten." He looked away from Ellison's piercing regard, deep into the flames. "It was not a happy place." Remembering all too well his own schooling at the Abbey of St Peter and St Paul, Ellison shivered in sympathy. He had been a prize pupil, son of a prominent and wealthy lord and even he had felt the sting of a flogging on more than one occasion. What would it have been like to be a charity child in such care? "How did you manage?" "By my wits. Eventually I made my way to Jerusalem and at fourteen I joined the garrison there." Jerusalem. The Holy City. Even an inveterate old sinner like Ellison felt the magic of that name. "The garrison?" he queried. "I can't picture you as a soldier." "It was better than the alternative." Blair studied Ellison from under his lashes again as if to gauge the impact of his next words. "Hanging around the Mount Sion Baths waiting to be picked up for a few coppers." Ellison only grinned. "You would have made your fortune," he contented himself with saying. Blair smiled back. "It was not a career I wanted to pursue. But I didn't do too well in the garrison either, I was put on the night watch in the Jewry quarter. I uh, ran into trouble there." "You seem to attract trouble," Ellison noted, recalling the Priors amused tones earlier in the evening. "I know." Blair voice grew exasperated. "And I don't know why! I certainly don't go looking for it. Anyway, I ended up as a squire for a Frankish knight in the Order of the Temple in Jerusalem." Again Ellison found himself completely surprised. "You were a Templar?" he said incredulously. "Squire to one," Blair confirmed. "And when he left the Holy Land for his families estates in Languedoc I went with him." "And this is the story of how you became a monk?" Ellison asked suspiciously, wondering if his leg was being pulled. "My lord was a monk of war after all," Blair defended. "When he returned to France he felt the need to stay in an order. So when he took the cowl I followed him." "You followed him?" Ellison asked incredulously. "Even unto the cloister?" Blair nodded. "You must have loved him very much," Ellison said quietly, feeling an unreasonable stab of jealousy. Blair smiled gently. "Yes, but not the way you mean. He is a great man, and while in his service I came to love him as family. In truth I still consider him my only family in the world." "And where is he now?" This paragon, Ellison thought. "Still in the Abbey of St Martin which we joined. It was er, mutually decided by all concerned that the regular monastic life was not for me. So they sent me to the university at Montpelier to study canon law. I think they had it mind for me to become a priest, but I felt I was better suited to teaching. And I have been very happy there, 'til just lately..." "Lately?" Ellison prompted, fascinated by this story. What a life this young man had had! Blair started as if surprised at what he had revealed. "Oh, I don't mean to sound ungrateful," he explained. "The church has given me my life and my purpose. But sometimes I think about all the places I saw on my journeys, and I look out on the yellow sun and the pale blue sky of Languedoc and I remember a fiercer sun and a bright blue sky, shining over sun scorched earth and rock..." "Perhaps one day you will go back there?" Ellison said huskily, touched by the young man's faraway eyes. "On a pilgrimage?" "Perhaps," Blair conceded. He shivered again as the breeze nipped his exposed skin. "Curl up in the straw," Ellison suggested. "Wrap the blanket around you. We might as well sleep the night away, if we are not going to do anything else." Blair sought Ellison's eyes again in the dim light. "Are you angry with me, my lord?" "James," Ellison corrected. "Call me James. And no, I'm not angry with you. I am a little disappointed I suppose. I have this feeling that time is slipping away from us." Blair gazed into the darkness beyond the fires reach. "It is," he agreed sadly. "I would not have you forsworn," James vowed thickly. "Truly I would not. My mind is telling me to leave you in celibate peace with your vows. But my heart, Blair. My heart." Blair scooted back in the thick pile of straw, drawing the blanket around his curled up legs. One pale arm emerged from the wrapping, fingers curled in invitation. "Come and tell me about your heart, James." Ellison felt that heart stop in his chest and then restart fiercely. Clutching his blanket to him he stood on legs suddenly unsteady and circled the fire, dropping to his knees in the bed of straw, careful not to touch the young man mutely watching him. "My body has touched many," James revealed quietly. "In my travels there has always been a warm form to curl up to. But my heart has never been touched by a lover. It is virgin." "I sometimes feel I have forgotten what it is to be touched," Blair mused. "My work and study satisfies my mind but my heart and soul seem to cry out for more. James, did you think I told you the story of my life just to impress you with my exciting adventures?" "They were exciting," Jim said softly, reaching out with a tentative hand and wrapping a damp ringlet around one strong finger. "But I told you so you would understand why I took the cowl. At first to be with my lord, and then because they offered me the opportunity to learn all the things I have longed to know. But there was never that calling for me, James. Never that 'light on the road' they speak of." "Do you believe then?" "Like you I have my own vision of God, and we speak now and again, he and I. He is far more understanding of my failures and foibles than the stern God my superiors would have us believe in." "It sounds a little like my creator," James smiled into Blair's heart-breaking eyes. "Until this moment I have not found the vows I took weighed too heavily upon me. Oh, obedience perhaps," the young monk admitted ruefully. "I was always one to question when the Rule says we should obey without question. But once I began my studies even my questioning nature was accepted." "And have you never felt the body's hunger?" James asked thickly, almost overwhelmed by that hunger now he was so close to his heart's desire, close enough for Blair's masculine scent to tease at his senses, stirring fire in his belly and cock. Blue eyes flickered like the lightening up and down Ellison's blanket swathed form. "I have." "And now here I am trying to tempt a young celibate into the pleasures of the flesh," James groaned, pressing his hands to his face. "Even if I don't believe in the God you made your vows to, I do believe that a man's oath is sacred and should not be broken." Realization was bitter as the enormity of what he was doing came home to him. Blair would never be his. A gentle hand touched his shoulder, the warmth seeping through the rough blanket and searing Jim's skin. "Don't take on so," Blair pleaded huskily. "A man may turn his back on an oath without shame." James wiped his wet eyes, listening intently to Blair's words. "As a young man my lord swore to fight for the cross, to become a monk of war in God's name. Yet over the years he came to hate the killing and fighting he was forced into in defense of the Holy Land and the protection of its pilgrims. When his soul could take no more he turned his back on that oath and replaced it with a greater one. And for ten years he has lived faithfully under it." "And are you ready to turn your back on the vows you took as a boy?" James searched Blair's face in the darkness. It was pale and drawn. "I don't know," he admitted shakily. "For a man I met only hours ago? For a feeling like nothing I have known before? How can I know what to do?" The anguished questions came from Blair's soul and tore at James' guilty one. With an echo of Blair's cry he turned and clutched the young man, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around him. "It's all right, my heart," he murmured. "It's enough now that we know what's between us. The rest can wait." Blair clutched tightly at the older man's strongly muscled back. "Are you sure?" he asked tremulously. "My party will be returning via the abbey when our mission is done. If I... if I asked you to wait for me, to give me time to decide, would you?" Heart soaring with hope at the whispered words James stroked the fluffy curls lovingly. "I hope I am a more patient man than I have appeared tonight, Blair. I will still be here when you return. Think of me when you are traveling, and for god's sake, take care of yourself on the road." "I will," Blair vowed. "I would accompany you myself but my lord Sheriff has entrusted the shire to me until his return from the King's court." "It is not so easy to abandon a duty, is it, my lord?" Blair teased softly. James drew back and looked into playful blue eyes. "You shame me," he murmured huskily. "But my respect for you grows by the minute. I will wait for you, Blair, because you are worth waiting for. But what will you think of me when you are away from this place?" The young monk cocked his head curiously, running a gentle hand over the broad curve of Ellison's shoulder. "Besides these moments in your arms, my lord?" "Call me James," Ellison ordered thickly, stirred mightily by the curious hand. "Or better still, call me Jim. T'was a play name my brother gave me when we were boys." "Jim." Blair tasted it on his tongue and Jim groaned as the mobile lips shaped the word. With a wrench that was painful to his every sense Jim released the young man and shifted a few inches in the prickly straw. "Jim?" Blair said again, this time with a questioning note. "If I don't let you go, my heart, we will both be forsworn," James said somberly. "You of your monastic vows, and me of the vow I have made to myself, to give you time to make your decision." "Thank you for understanding," Blair said quietly. There was silence between them for a while. James reached for wood and tossed it on the fire, watching carefully as sparks flew harmlessly into the air. "Jim? Will you tell me a little about yourself?" Blair said tentatively. "Now you know my life story?" "There's not much to tell. My father is dead and I have one brother, off fighting with King Stephen's army." "You must worry for him." James gazed deep into the fire. "Yes. We have not always been friends, it is never easy to be the younger son, to grow up in the heir's shadow. But as we have gotten older we have mellowed somewhat. He rides through here when he can get away." "You are an heir?" Blair's eyebrows shot up in surprise. James smiled indulgently. "Yes, my heart. You've caught a wealthy man, with estates and land to his name. Are you impressed?" "Very much so," Blair teased. "For a man who cannot truly say he even owns the clothes he stands up in, that's quite a step up. But wait," His faced clouded a little. "As an heir is it not your duty to marry and provide an heir of your own? Be warned, my lord. I have not owned much in my life, but I do not share what is mine." Despite himself Ellison felt a thrill at the fierce tone. "Would you not stand nobly by whilst I took and bedded a wife?" he teased. Blair's sky blue eyes lit with a wild anger and he rose to his knees to face the older man, the firelight behind him forming a halo around his umber curls. "By god, I would not," he swore. "And if that's the kind of alliance you have in mind for us-" "No, no," Jim reached out a sinewy arm and laid his warm palm over the indignant words. "Forgive me, my heart, I could not resist teasing you so. I have my heir, from a marriage arranged when I was still in my cradle. He's a man fully grown now and busy somewhere I'm sure, making his own heirs." Blair subsided under the warm callused palm, but his eyes were still sparking. "It's not fair to tease me, my lord," he grumbled, twisting his face from Ellison's hand. "How could I not be overjoyed to see the sparkle of jealousy in your eyes?" James smiled gently as the vexed look faded to rueful understanding. "You play me like a mummer's harp," Blair complained. "But you see there is much we need to learn about one another. Tell me about your wife then." Jim's eyes grew sad. "She did not long survive childbed. I was but fourteen when we wed, she a lass of twelve. I was still a boy myself, and too young to know that such a youthful bride should not so soon become a mother." Ellison's eyes grew stormy now. "My father should have spoken of such things to me, but he was so eager to have me breed he gave me no such advice. And poor young Carolyn paid the price." Blair laid a sympathetic hand on Jim's arm. "I'm sorry, my lord." "I had my son," Jim said more lightly, trying to break the melancholy mood that descended over him whenever he thought of his young bride and the part he had played in her sad end. "Still a child myself in many ways, I was a father. I venture to say, a better one than my own father was. My son at least chose his own bride." "He's wed?" Blair asked incredulously. "Last summer at the abbey. Abbot Bernard himself performed the ceremony." "Then when you said he was working on his own heirs, you meant..." Suddenly Blair collapsed back in the straw, laughter shaking his sturdy young form, tears of merriment leaking from the corners of his eyes. "What?" Jim demanded, feeling his own lips curling at this outrageous mirth. "What?" "A... a grandfather," Blair sputtered. "You would have me give my celibate body into the hands of... a... grandfather?" And he burst forth with a new torrent of gleeful chuckles. "Disrespectful boy," James chided humorously. "Just wait 'til I have my chance at that celibate young body. I will show you what this 'grandfather' can do to it." Slowly Blair's merriment faded as he took in the import of those hot words. Ellison's eyes were absorbing every inch of him bared by his convulsive laughter and with a sudden gulp the young monk wrapped the blanket around his body. "Not so bold now?" James raised a teasing brow and Blair laughed sheepishly. A sudden fatigue overtook him and a huge yawn split his face. "Oh, pardon me," he yawned again. "It has been a long day, one way or another." "You should sleep," James counseled gently, enraptured anew at this sleepy imp before him. It had to be true this creature came from the East's exotic soil, no French or English earth sprung forth with such fascinating beauty. "I do not want to sleep our time away," Blair protested, another yawn overtaking him. "We have all the time in the world, my heart," James whispered, wishing he could believe it himself. Could a man such as himself catch and hold such a creature? "Will you curl up with me here?" Blair begged, and Jim knew it would take a stronger man than himself to resist such a plea, even had he wanted to. In truth he could think of nothing he would rather do than curl up in the fragrant straw with this beautiful young man. Unless it was to curl himself around that perfect body instead. Firmly squashing the thought James curved his powerful body behind the young monk's, laying one gentle arm over his body. Blair sighed gently. "I had forgotten what it is like to be held," he murmured, on the very edge of sleep. "Never again, my heart," Jim whispered. "I will hold you forever, if you would but give me the chance." -000- Dawns light was slipping slyly through the cracks in the barn's walls before Blair finally lifted his head from Jim's shoulder. He had slept for a while and then awoken, accustomed after ten years to the midnight bell calling the brethren to prayer. James had kept him company in his wakeful hours, and they had spoken for a while longer, sharing more stories of their very different lives. By morning their voices were husky with overuse and their hearts were heavy, weighed down by the knowledge of their imminent parting. Ellison was dressed first, his clammy clothes sending a shiver over his skin. He pushed open the doors and cocked his head, listening hard. "They're already coming," he said quietly. Blair straightened the folds of his cowl about his neck and joined the older man at the door. "I don't hear anything." Jim turned and smiled down at him. "I have exceptional hearing." "Hmm. Does it match your eyesight?" Blair posited. Jim's eyebrows rose in surprise and the wily monk chuckled. "Did you think I didn't notice you leading us to this place as if it were lit by a beacon? Wet and shaken I may have been, but I pride myself on my keen observational skills." "No-one has ever noticed before." James shook his head in wonder. "Or at least noticed and wondered enough to ask me of it." "How is it you have these excellent senses?" James shrugged. "I don't know. I've always had the eyes of a hawk, that's what my father said. The rest came later, as I grew older." "The rest?" Blair looked even more curious. "You mean there's more, besides your hearing?" "They come and go. Sometimes I can tell by taste near every ingredient the cook uses in his meals. To my sorrow." James made a sour face and Blair chuckled in delight, mind racing behind big blue eyes. "This is very exciting. I wish I had quill and vellum with me. What other senses? Smell, and touch?" "Sometimes. Usually when I least need or want it. Mostly I can control it, but other times I simply have to shut it off. It can become too much to handle. We should meet the searchers, Blair, lest they pass us by." Ellison set off along the path back to the river and Blair followed, humming with excitement as he absorbed all the other man had told him. "And you say no-one else knows of this? Someone perhaps who could study it?" James laughed and shot an incredulous glance over his shoulder at the small monk hurrying to keep up with his stride. "Of course not. Do you think I want to be called a minion of the devil? I've little enough skin left on my back, thank you very much." Brother Blair huffed his acerbic agreement. "Of course, of course," he muttered. "James, does it ever seem to you we dwell in a world just waiting to flog us for one reason or another?" James laughed aloud his agreement. They were at the edge of the rivers path now, and Jim stopped and looked out across the swollen waters of the Severn. Blair could hear the searchers himself now, pushing their way through the underbrush along the rivers edge, calling out the deputy sheriff's name and his own. "Our time is done," James said hollowly, turning to face the damp monk. Speechless for once in his life Blair could only nod, feeling the press of tears behind his eyes. "I have this feeling," Ellison said slowly, keen eyes tracking the sheen of moisture over the heart breaking blue, "that if I let you go now, I will never see you again." "I need time," Blair repeated, as if it were himself he was convincing now. "After all these years how can I make this decision in a heartbeat? It would trivialize all we feel were I to discard my commitment so easily. How would you know that I would not shrug you off too, if it so suited me?" The truth of these wise words penetrated the sorrow in James soul. A small smile lit his sad eyes. "You must be a wonderful teacher," he praised huskily. "You always know what to say." The tears threatening in Blair's eyes overflowed and with a muffled sob he threw himself in Jim's arms, burying his face against his strong neck. "I wish I had a wise teacher to guide me," he muttered fiercely. "I feel as if I am being torn in two." Jim held him tightly, until the last possible moment. And then the searchers were nearly upon them, and he had to let him go. -000- It was abbey servants who had found them, armed with dry blankets and flasks of warmed wine. One was dispatched back to the town and abbey to call the search off and send out horses. Within the hour the searchers and their quarry were mounted and approaching the first of the houses of the town. There was only time for a few words between them when the parties split in two, and no privacy to speak them. Ellison promised to visit the abbey and pay his respects to Prior Amiel and Abbot Bernard that very evening. Blair's answer was a nod and a further word of thanks. And then they rode off in different directions, Ellison towards the castle, and Blair and his escort of abbey servants down the High street to the English bridge. Ellison devoured a meal upon his return to the castle and spent the rest of the day at his duties, his mind never far from the startling events of the night before. His mood wavered between elation and terror. Elation that he had found the love of his life so late in it, and terror because Blair had yet to make a clear choice between his vows and this new love. As the day wore on it was the fear Ellison felt more keenly, colored by a dread that seemed to take ahold of him when he thought about the weeks they would soon spend far apart. Finally he could wait no longer and late afternoon saw him riding out of the castle gate toward the abbey. Beyond the English bridge the Foregate stretched away in the distance, the entrance to the church directly ahead. The deputy sheriff turned right into the main entrance to the abbey, dismounting at the stables and leaving his horse in the care of a lay brother. Ignoring the proprieties that should have had him announce his presence he let his footsteps lead him past the cloister and the guest hall to the fragrant abbey gardens, drowsing in the afternoon sun. Each step he took brought James closer to his love, and yet each and every step sent his heart lower and lower in his chest, as though his strange senses were racing before him, seeing the disaster he could feel was coming. Rounding the corner of a hedge he saw his young love, recognizable instantly even though his black robe was indistinct from that of any other brother in this holy place. Brother Blair was sitting on a bench by the abbey pools that watered the garden, seeming to rest peacefully in the warm golden sunshine. But Ellison's keen eyes saw his hands clenched tight to the edge of the stone bench, knuckles white with strain. Here in this place where his brethren's steps were the soft slap of leather soles Jim's booted footsteps crunching on the stone path must have alerted the young brother to his presence, yet Blair did not look up. James was overcome by a sudden desire to flee this quiet place, to carry away the fragile dream still imprinted on his heart before the inevitable rush of time's river could wash it away. But before he could turn his back Blair was lifting his head and pinning him to the spot with those sky blue eyes. Those eyes were glazed now, red rimmed and damp, and forgetting his own fear James rushed forward those last few steps, crouching down by the young man's side. "Blair?" "I... I'm so sorry," Blair choked, and Jim knew it was true. Blair had already made his choice. "Why?" he forced out. "I couldn't do it," Blair said desolately. "I couldn't turn my back on all that I've done, all that I've been here in the church's embrace. What would I be if I left it?" "My love," James whispered. "That's all." Blair pressed a hand to the rough black weave of his robe, covering his heart and pressing as if it pained him. "I looked in my heart, Jim, and found that it wasn't enough. I... can't-" he broke off and pressed his hands to his face. "Not enough," Jim repeated dully. He stood and paced the few steps to the edge of the pool, where lazy dragonflies buzzed the surface of the water, skimming low over the tranquil surface as if for the joy of it. "Why decide so soon? Could you not have given us the weeks you promised me? Did those hours together mean nothing to you?" Blair did not, or could not answer. His hands covered his face and his shoulders shook. "Perhaps that is it," James said slowly, taking refuge in anger. "It all meant so much to me, but to you it meant nothing." He turned and surveyed the shaking figure. "I should have taken the tumble in the straw," he said contemptuously, before turning on his heel and striding away. Do not listen to this, he counseled his strange senses as they automatically catalogued the quiet sobs from the young man behind him. Go away! Shut down on me, as you usually do when I least want it. An indrawn gulping breath and then another sob, heart broken and heart breaking, rattling in the sturdy young chest. God, don't do this to me, Jim prayed, feeling his cushion of anger deflate and fly away as his footsteps faltered on their path. Behind him Blair was whispering something, and his cursed senses lifted the feather of sound and drifted it to his now straining ears. "I love you," Blair was choking, near silently into his clenched hands. "I love you, Jim." In an instant Jim was back at his side, lifting the shaking body in his arms and pressing him close, ignoring the danger of this act, knowing only that he couldn't walk away from his love with anger and hard words between them. "I'm sorry," Jim whispered as Blair at first pushed against him and then melted into his embrace. "I'm so sorry." "Jim, we mustn't," Blair protested. With a muffled curse Ellison swung around into the shelter of a nook formed by the hedge, safe for the moment at least from prying eyes. His senses would warn him long before anyone approached. Blair wept against his shoulder for a while and Jim held him close with a bitter sweet mixture of joy and sorrow. At least he knew this love of his was returned, fully and completely. It was small comfort if Blair insisted on pushing him away, but for the moment at least his love was in his arms, and needed him. "Don't hate me," Blair murmured when he had control of himself once more. "I can take anything, anything but that." "I don't hate you," Jim said honestly. "I, who would give up nothing, and yet ask you to give up everything. I don't hate you." "But can you forgive me?" Blair lifted his head, wiping at his red eyes with the sleeve of his robe. "I can give you only this in answer," Jim said, each word springing fresh and unplanned from his heart. "I will wait for you. Blair." He touched a gentle finger to the beautiful lips parted to protest. "I will wait a year, or ten years. Or ten lifetimes, if need be." "I have nothing to give you in return," Blair said somberly. "Then that is what I will have to be content with." James stepped away from Blair's hands, letting his own arms drop by his side. Without another word he turned and left the garden and his one true love behind him. And this time when the sobs came, he did not turn around. -000- Despite himself Ellison was on the English bridge when the Prior's party set out early a few mornings later. With his keen sight he tracked the sight of the small party riding out onto the Foregate, turning their faces towards Winchester. He watched for a very long time. -000- In the weeks that followed some little news reached the ears of the good people of Shrewsbury from Winchester. Empress Maud had Bishop Henry of Blois besieged at Wolvesey Castle, probably in revenge for turning his coat away from her cause a few years before, even more likely because he was a powerful voice for Stephen and his Queen Matilda. The news was already old when it reached the town and Jim comforted himself with the knowledge that Blair's party would have heard it on the road, long before they reached Winchester. Hyde Mead Abbey would be a safe haven for them, if disaster struck and Henry was taken by Maud's armies. Later he told himself he was a fool for worrying about Blair, fretting over the passion of one night of folly, and an unconsummated one at that. But that was in his bleaker times. In his more hopeful moods he dwelled on the knowledge that Blair and his party would be riding back through Shrewsbury once their mission was accomplished. Perhaps in that space of weeks he might have changed his mind, or at least relaxed his view enough to allow some more doubt to permeate. James allowed himself to dream of Blair's return, of how they would fly into one another's arms, all doubt and sorrow banished. And so Jim passed through the last days of August. It was early in September when more news arrived from Winchester, news far worse than anything Jim could possibly have imagined. News that would change his life forever. -000- It was an abbey servant who brought the news, out of breath and puffing from his swift journey through the town. "My lord, I have been sent by the Abbot to beg the Sheriff come to the abbey. Two monks from Winchester have arrived with news." Jim's ears pricked up and his heart began to race. "Monks from Winchester?" "From Hyde Mead Abbey, my lord," the man panted. "All is disaster! Winchester is in flames and Hyde Mead with it. The monks have come to us orphaned from their home!" Ellison sprang to his feet in shock. "How can this be?" "Bishop Henry himself, my lord," the servant was goggle eyed with horror. "Bishop Henry set fire to the town to escape Wolvesey Castle. Now the empress in turn is besieged by Queen Matilda's men in the royal castle." The torrent of information flooded past Jim too quickly for him to absorb, his head still ringing with horror at this news. "But the Abbey? What of the rest of the monks? The two that have come, do you know them?" "Know them, my lord?" "Think, man! Where they with Prior Amiel's party that left here last month for Hyde Mead?" The servant scratched his head, bewildered by this desperate question that he had not expected. "They are strangers to me, my lord. But my lord Abbot begs the Sheriff come and speak to them, to glean what intelligence he can." "The Sheriff is about business in the town. I will come," James said tersely, his mind going a mile a minute. These monks would surely know if Blair's party had been and gone. How long could it have taken them to come from Winchester? Five days, six? How old was this desperate news? Leaving word for the sheriff of his destination Ellison rode as quickly as he dared through the crowded streets of the town. Once in the abbey walls he was ushered into the Abbot's own house, where the abbot and two strangers awaited him, robed in their dusty black. "My lord Ellison," the Abbott greeted him. "You have heard our news. This is Brother Edwin late of Hyde Mead Abbey, and his companion Brother Robert." Ellison nodded politely, eyes quickly skimming the pale older man and his young companion. "Brothers. This is terrible news indeed. What can you tell me?" Brother Edwin told the story Ellison had already heard from the servant, filling in greater detail. Ellison listened impatiently, desperately wanting to ask the only question that mattered to him, but knowing he must gather every piece of information to report to his Sheriff. Finally the monk paused in his dialogue, and his companion handed him a goblet of wine which he sipped gratefully. "Brothers, before I report back to the Sheriff, may I ask you one last question. The brothers from Carcassonne, lately come to Winchester to meet Bishop Henry. Were they at Hyde Mead when this disaster happened?" And Jim held his breath. Brother Edwin shot him a puzzled look, like the abbey servant he had not been expecting the question. "My lord Ellison had occasion to save the life of one member of that party when they visited Shrewsbury last month," the Abbot explained. "I'm sure he feels anxious for the young man and the rest of the party." "Ah." Edwin nodded his understanding. He turned to Ellison with sympathy. "I'm sorry to tell you but the party was still at the Abbey." Jim clenched his fists in impotent fear. "Bishop Henry was besieged when they arrived, and the Prior announced they would wait at Hyde Mead to speak to him when the trouble was over. Who could know it would end this way?" Edwin lifted a shaking hand to his brow, tears springing to his eyes. "Our home is gone, and so many other homes with it." The Abbot stood up briskly and summoned a servant. "Brother Edwin and Brother Robert must rest after their ordeal." James stood also as Edwin rose shakily to his feet. "Wait, brother, please, one more thing. Did you see the foreign monks alive after the fire? Did you see Brother Blair?" But Edwin only shook his head, spreading his hands in mute helplessness. He left the room, helped by the Abbott himself, but Brother Robert paused for a moment. "It was all so terrible," he murmured softly. "Our sub-prior gathered those of us he could find and told us to look for new homes, because Hyde Mead was gone forever. I did not see the foreign monks there. I'm sorry." James was left standing in the empty room for long moments while he digested this, and then with clenched fists he strode from the Abbot's house and the abbey itself, mounting his horse and spurring him to speeds not safe in the close confines of the town. People turned and stared after him in alarm as he clattered along the cobbled streets towards the castle. "The Sheriff is returned, my lord," Hubert informed him as he tossed his reins to a stable lad. "James." The Sheriff greeted him calmly as he strode into his chamber. "Tell me all." Ellison faithfully recounted all he knew, adding his own opinions of the queens forces and the Empress' possible reaction to the siege. "My lord, with your permission," James ventured when his report was done, "I would like to go to Winchester." "To what end?" The Sheriff frowned. "We will hear more news of the city soon enough as more survivors straggle in." "I seek news of the party from France," James explained stonily. "Ah yes, your tonsured fish." the Sheriff said, having been fully informed of the happenings in his shire upon his return. "Was he free of Winchester when the trouble came?" "Brother Edwin says not, my lord," James said heavily. The sheriff's face grew bleaker. "What a waste," he muttered. "I understand your worry, James," the Sheriff said, clearly not understanding at all. "But I need you here. You met this boy once, why should you care so much... now..." His voice tapered away as realization struck and James met his quickly hidden shock squarely. Ellison knew he had been talked about in his youth, some of his more foolish escapades had become well known. Because he was who he was he had been forgiven, and because he had done his duty by his father and duly produced his heir much of it was put down to youthful high spirits. But James Ellison was a long way from that foolhardy boy, and the Sheriff could not help but see this was not some passing folly. "James, if I tell you not to go, because I need you here? What then?" James studied his Sheriffs face, feeling an ache inside at what he was doing, all that he was letting go, and understanding finally and completely what it was he had asked his young lover to do when he so blithely expected him to forswear all that he knew for love. "I'm sorry, my lord. I must go." The Sheriff turned and went to the window overlooking the castle bailey. After long moments he sighed deeply and then turned back to face his friend. "Then you must go. But know that when you are done there will always be a place here by my side." He extended his arm and Jim clasped it gratefully. "Thank you, my lord." -000- Before he even left the Sheriff's chambers Jim's mind was racing ahead of him, planning the long trip ahead. Edwin and Robert had indeed made the journey in five days, James knew he would make it in four if it was humanly possible. But that would still be ten days in all, since the fire. Ten days in which Blair could have traveled in any direction, with any of the surviving monks. Or ten days during which Blair lay dead somewhere. Jim dismissed this thought. He had to or he knew he would never make it through the days ahead. Blair was alive, he must be. The only thing that could be worse than a life without him was a world in which he did not exist. And yet if he were alive, where was he? In what other direction would he head but towards Shrewsbury? Jim packed his provisions and mounted his horse with grim purpose. His best hope was to meet Blair on the way, struggling on the road to Shrewsbury. -000- Jim traveled as fast as he dared, but not nearly as fast as he wanted. As an old soldier he knew better than to push his mount too hard, he would be no good to Blair if he lamed his horse. Even on the first day he began to meet stragglers from Winchester, townspeople burned out of their homes or finally tiring of the endless war the royals had inflicted on their once tranquil city. Ellison questioned each refugee closely, scanning ahead of him when a group appeared on the road, but none was dressed in the trademark dusty black of the Benedictine, none had news of the survivors of Hyde Mead Abbey. On the fourth day James had the first inkling that events in Winchester had turned once again. As he traversed the main road to the city he came across evidence of a great body of men having used the road very recently. An army in fact, if the armor and mail scattered along the edges of the road along with the abandoned trunks and broken carts were any evidence. But not a conquering army, or even one heading towards battle. No, if Ellison's suspicions were right, this was an army in full flight. His suspicions were confirmed by a group of old men that the deputy sheriff came across at noon, doing their best to fit a wheel to one of the broken carts . "God bless the work, and the workers," he called from the road. "What has happened here. Can you tell me?" The tallest dropped the wheel he was struggling with and spat in the dirt. "Glad to, sir, 'tis news we have all longed for. The empress' army broke free of the cordon last night." Ellison all but gaped. "So soon?" "She had no time to prepare for a siege before the tides turned on her," another supplied, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "They say her Flemings wouldn't stand for the idea of a hungry siege. Last night they broke and ran." He gestured along the length of the road at the scattered remains of the loot the army had obviously tried to take with them and then abandoned in panic. The Flemings were mercenaries, and James scowled just at the thought of them. Unfortunately even his own king saw fit to use them. "We're just taking what was stolen from us," the leader of the old men said defiantly, and Jim held up a placating hand. "I have no quarrel with you men. But I seek news of the monks of Hyde Mead. Have you seen or heard tell of them?" But the old men had no news and Jim left them to their hot work, hastening his pace down the road now, forced to avoid more and more obstacles and more and more townspeople out gleaning from this bitter harvest. He would arrive at the Abbey very soon. Though he cursed every delay Jim was indeed within sight of the walls of the Abbey by early afternoon, the golden stone gleaming in the afternoon light, looking untouched from here, even to his keen sight. But as he approached the grievous truth was revealed. The once mellow walls of the church and cloisters were now only tumbled stone and blackened beams, still smoking in some places. In the new view created by the ravaged wall he could see the scorched remains of abbey and secular buildings, stretching back to the devastation of Winchester itself. In despair Jim swung from his horse and let his reins drop to the grass already growing wild between the old paving stones. Even though he had built up a clear picture in his mind of the disaster the reality was still overwhelming. How could anyone have survived this ruin? And yet Brother Edwin and Robert had survived, Jim reminded himself. And other brothers had been alive, fleeing to the far corners of England, to other abbeys that would take them in. Blair must be with one of them. Despite his bracing words James found his footsteps leading to a scarred patch of earth at the edge of the cemetery. There on consecrated ground lay seven fresh graves, new grass already beginning to spread over the raw wounds. They were unmarked. All the exhaustion of the past days swept over Jim and he sank to his knees by the mounds, reaching out with shaking hands and digging his fingers in the soft loam. Did Blair lay here? He closed his eyes in despair at the vision of that bright spark of life snuffed out in this place, leaving his own life in darkness. For the first time in longer than he could truly remember James Ellison began to pray. "Dear Lord. I know I have no right to beseech you now, I who did his damnedest to lure one of your flock from the fold. But the sin was mine, oh lord, not Blair's. He remained true to his vow, even though I know in my heart what it cost him to deny our love. If there must be a reckoning for our love, then let it come from me. Don't... don't let him be the one to pay it." His voice petered away into raw sobs and he rocked forward on his hands and knees, grief pouring out of him. And then, on the dim edge of his consciousness something penetrated, far beyond the strange senses he had long ago come to terms with. Turning his head to the side Jim found himself staring at the boundaries of an orchard, its nearest trees scorched by the flames. Standing at its border was a ragged little figure, completely motionless. For just a moment the hackles rose on the back of Jim's neck as primitive superstition stirred in him. Was this the restless spirit of some ancient monk haunting this graveyard of a place? Then his swollen eyes focused more clearly on the silent figure and his heart leapt fiercely in his chest. "Blair," he whispered in disbelief. The little figure swayed, one thin hand reaching out to clutch a blackened tree and without even being aware of moving Jim was on his feet and running. "Blair!" Heart-breaking blue eyes lit up in joy, and then Blair was in his arms, real and alive, words tumbling from him hoarsely. "Jim, Jim, I knew you'd come. I knew it." "Blair, my Blair," Jim rocked the figure in his arms, feeling the thin body shaking against him. "My god, but I'd almost given you up for dead. Even in my more hopeful moments I thought you far from this place by now. How in God's name do you come to be here still?" But Blair was incapable of speech and with a shock of anxiety Jim drew back to more fully take in his appearance. His robe was truly in tatters, his face black with soot, his hair a wild tangle. Too-thin hands clutched at him as he separated them a little, and Jim held them firmly, speaking soothingly. "It's all right, my heart. I'm not going to let you go. You need to rest, come." But when Jim tried to draw him towards the abbey ruins Blair shook his head. "There's a shed here," he sniffed and wiped at his wet eyes. "I've been sleeping there." Jim whistled for his horse and then let it follow him as he helped support his weakened love to the small shed in the corner of the orchard. It was intact, too far from the flames to be affected. Inside was a pile of sacking and Jim felt his throat clog with tears at the sight of this pitiful little bed. He helped Blair sink down on it and then hurried outside to take a flask from his saddle. "Blair, will you take a little wine to fortify you?" Jim held the flask out and Blair took it in dirty hands and sipped slowly. Jim studied him, appalled at his condition. He sank down on the rough pallet next to him. "Can you tell me what happened?" Jim reached out and took one thin hand in his, wanting some contact with his love. Although he was terribly concerned about his condition inside he was rejoicing that Blair was alive and well. His sufferings had obviously been great, but no matter what had happened, he was alive. That all too thin line between life and death had not been crossed, all the world was alive with hope again, when mere minutes before Jim had found himself in the blackest pit of despair. "Prior Amiel is dead," Blair managed hoarsely after a gulp of the wine. James pressed his hand gently in consolation. "We were in the church when the fire came, it all happened so quickly! The walls came down, I saw him die." A tear streaked down grubby cheeks, and Jim wiped gently at it. "The walls came down on me by the town door, and I thought I was dead too. Oh, Jim, I thought then that I would never see you again, never have a chance to beg forgiveness for all I said. Can you ever forgive me?" Blair turned tearful eyes on him and Jim could stand it no longer, with gentle arms he drew the ragged monk to him, holding him against his heart. "There is nothing to forgive, my heart. Don't worry about that now. How did you come to survive the flames?" "I don't know. It was mostly stone where I was, I suppose I was protected. But I was unconscious. When I came to I was alone." A shiver shook the small frame at the memory. "Others survived," Jim informed him. "They separated in haste and you were missed in the panic. But tell me, why did you not try to make your way to Shrewsbury? Or at least to Winchester for aid?" Blair shook his head. "I don't really remember much of that time. My head hurt fiercely and I don't think I even knew where I was for a while. I dreamt I was at the Postern of Lazarus, in the Jewry quarter, searching endlessly for something I could not find. I think I might have spoken to some people, but they ran from me in fear. I'm not even sure what language I spoke." Jim recalled his own superstitious fear at first glimpse of the ragged little figure and nodded his understanding. With gentle fingers he explored Blair's scalp under his lank hair, finally finding a knot near his temple under the hairline, crusted with old blood. "Yes, you took quite a blow there," Jim said softly. "I have to get into town, some warm water and some warm food, see what else is wrong with you." "Not yet," Blair said drowsily. "Just hold me a little longer, please." Gladly James obliged, nestling the heavy head on his shoulder. He couldn't find the strength within himself to care what the future held for them now, he only knew he was not going to let Blair out of his sight again. If he was determined to stay a monk, then he would have a companion one step behind him along his way. Remembering his wonder that Blair would take the vows of a monk to stay with his lord all those years ago, Jim could only smile. Would he take the cowl to stay by his love's side? In a heartbeat, if that was the only way they could be together. Could he be content as a celibate brother rather than a lover? If it meant being close to this bright flame of life, being able to warm himself at its lovely glow, then the answer was yes, a thousand times yes. It was full night when Jim awoke and he gently eased from Blair's arms, cursing himself for being remiss in his duties to his love. His faithful horse dozed outside and Jim took care of him, pulling the saddle from his back and scratching his hide in all the places that he liked. The last few handfuls of grain from his pack would see him through, and pray God there would be some supplies to be bought in Winchester on the morrow. Jim then set about gathering together a rough meal for them, taking his own cheese and bread and perching on the edge of their bed, content to watch Blair sleep with his acute night vision. Towards dawn Blair stirred and Jim helped him outside to relieve himself behind the shed. Back in the shed Jim took a flask of water and dampened a cloth, wiping it gently over thin fingers before placing some bread in his hands. "What have you been eating?" Jim dampened the cloth again and wiped gently at Blair's face as he munched small bites of the mild cheese. "Not much at first." Blair made a face. "When I was hungry I went and rooted around the abbot's garden. There were some pulse there." "We need to build you up," Jim said tenderly as he surveyed the filthy wash cloth ruefully. "And you need a better bathing than I can give you with a flask of water." "Will we go to Winchester then?" Blair yawned and Jim took the remains of the meager meal from his lax fingers and laid him down, curving behind him. "We will. I have gold, and I have no doubt merchants have got their hands on food to sell, despite the disaster that has fallen. Trade is trade after all, and if there's one thing I have learned in this anarchy, while the high-ups quarrel business must still go on!" "Real people just want to be left alone to get on with it," Blair observed sleepily. "To raise their children and plant their crops and grow old and fat and content. If the high-ups were content to do the same what a rich and happy land this would be." "My clever teacher," Jim teased softly, laying a small kiss on his love's fragile nape. "Jim," Blair murmured softly. "If you... if you still want me, I am yours now." Jim's breath caught in his throat. "I still want you," he managed to choke out. "Oh but, Blair. This is not the time to make this decision... You are hurt and weary, your mind is unclear." "My mind's clear enough." Blair turned in his arms and faced Jim in the dim light, eyes wide and sure. "Clear enough to recall I made this decision before the world went mad around me. Before the fire." "You did?" Jim's whisper was a hopeful one. "Oh, my love." Blair kissed Jim's cheek gently. "Can you ever forgive me the hurt I caused you? Caused us both? I knew before I had ridden the length of the Abbey Foregate that I had made a mistake. I could feel the bond between us grow thinner and thinner as I rode away, but it never broke. Never ever." "I felt it too!" Jim cried. "I watched you leave and wanted nothing more than to pull you from that nag's back and carry you away." "And I wanted nothing more than to turn its head to where my heart was longing to go. But I had pushed you away, and it was too late then to take it back. I thought that when I returned in a few weeks that maybe you would be there waiting for me as you said you would." "I was waiting," Jim whispered joyfully. "I would have waited a lonely lifetime. But Blair, what of your vows?" Blair's face was somber. "I spoke of it to Prior Amiel, when first we arrived here. I told him what we had both long known, long before you and I first laid eyes on one another, my love. How I had grown restless in my study and work. How my feet longed for the road, my eyes for different skies. How instead of this journey taking that longing away it had only magnified it." "But if you felt all that," Jim puzzled, feeling his way, "Why did you push me away at the abbey? You might have left the order behind you, even had we never met." With a sigh Blair nuzzled at Jim's throat. "I was afraid," he admitted. "And guilty and ashamed. I was overwhelmed by everything, and I let my fear carry me away. If you had come a day later I might have been past it, but you arrived in the middle of that storm of emotion and you bore the brunt of it." Jim's hand came up and cupped the back of that nuzzling head, stroking the warm skull gently. "I understand. I have weathered a few storms of my own these last weeks." "I am twenty-seven years old, Jim. And I have lived nearly twenty of those years cloistered, both in my childhood and then later as a man. I'm just not sure what I will do now in the secular world." "You don't have to worry about that right away," Jim assured him. "We have all the time in the world now." "But I was thinking, Jim." Blair smiled against his skin. "If we had met after I left the order. If I had just been traveling through Shrewsbury, and was thrown from my horse and you dived into the river to save me." "Threw myself in you mean, like a lovesick swain from some troubadours ballad." Blair laughed huskily. "And we had no old vows between us. Imagine what it would have been like." Blair yawned again and closed his eyes, long lashes teasing Jim's sensitive skin. "It would have been sweet. But I still have my memories of a pretty young monk gazing up at me from within his cowl. Allow an old man his fantasies." "I wonder what it would have been like," Blair mused as he drifted a little towards sleep. "I would have noticed your strange senses and we would have had time to speak of it at length, study it even..." His voice grew slurred and faded away. Jim chuckled softly and kissed a grubby ear. "My dear little teacher." -000- Winchester was coming back to life around them as Jim led his horse through the broken streets. Blair was perched atop the big horse, still dirty and ragged but with bright blue eyes surveying with interest all that was going on. A woman sweeping the front of a half-burned home directed them to an intrepid merchant who had indeed managed to ship food into the ravaged town. The prices were exorbitant but Jim's purse was heavy and he was well satisfied with his purchases. The merchant also seemed happy and even as Jim stood with Blair townspeople wandered up with gold plates and silver candle sticks, obviously gleanings from the recent siege, to trade for food. Jim could find no problem with this easy trade between merchant and townsmen. After all these people and their town had suffered at the hands of their leaders he could not blame them now for doing anything they had to to survive. As travelers traditionally stayed in abbeys or priories when on the road there were no places to stay in the town, so when they had purchased all the food they could for themselves and their horse as well as some other essentials Jim turned the nag's nose back towards the abbey ruins. "Did you hear what that woman was saying?" Blair asked and then shook his head. "Look who I'm asking, of course you heard." "About Wherwell Abbey?" Blair nodded sadly. "A nunnery destroyed too. Is no place safe? How long can this land bear this civil war?" "You can ask that? Coming from the Holy Land? People bear what they must, and they survive." "Isn't that a little hard?" Blair protested. "I can't worry about anyone else, Blair. I have found you and that is all that matters to me." Jim admitted quietly. He was rewarded with a smile. Back at the abbey orchard Jim set about making a fire, gathering wood from the ruined abbey. Blair stayed behind to make their makeshift lodgings a little more comfortable with their newly purchased blankets. They would spend one more night here before making their slow way back to Shrewsbury. Blair was still not strong, but Jim did not want him lingering in this sad place any longer than they had to. They would take the return trip in easy stages, and when they had made their reports to both Abbot and Sheriff they could leave the town and head for one of Jim's estates. As the water boiled for Blair to bathe Jim told him about it. "It's a small wild place near the Welsh border," he said, gently lifting the tattered robe over Blair's head. "It was part of my dowry from Carolyn. There's not much to do there but walk among wild flowers and watch sheep grow fat, but I think you could do with some peace and quiet after these last weeks." "It sounds wonderful," Blair stripped off his leggings and stood naked, shivering even under the hot noon sun. Jim rubbed a rough cake of soap on an steaming wet rag and set about straight away on Blair's face, rubbing carefully at the soot and dirt 'til he could see pink flushed skin again. "Hey," Blair protested, squirming a little under the cleansing. "Leave me some skin!" Jim laughed and wrung the cloth out, adding more soap and water. "I should have bought a stout scrubbing brush," he pronounced, attacking the grime behind delicate curved ears. "No brush touches my tender skin," Blair teased, beginning to enjoy the washing as the cloth smoothed down his neck and over his shoulders. "I wouldn't dream of it," Jim admitted, studying the leanly muscled form of his young love. Light brown hair was a neat velvet layer over a sturdy chest, arrowing down to a point below his belly. His concave stomach heaved gently with nervous breaths as Jim continued to study him, and his lax young manhood bobbed a little under this tender regard. His rib bones were a little too prominent now, his tummy flatter than it should have been, but that could be remedied with time and care. "Jim?" Blair whispered achingly. James sighed and turned again to rinse his cloth. "Lets peel away these layers of dirt first, my heart. And then we need to put some food into you, something substantial that will stick to these ribs." Blair closed his eyes in agreement, standing still under his love's tender ministrations, losing himself in the enjoyment of being clean. Last was his hair and he purred under Jim's caressing fingers, rinsing the long curls and the short new ones covering his pate in the last of the water. While Blair rubbed his hair dry Jim shook out a pair of woolen hose and a shirt of homespun and tossed them to Blair who deftly caught them. But he did not set to dressing in his new finery, instead he stayed boldly naked under the sun, staring at Jim with warm eyes. "Jim." The big man swallowed hard. "Blair," he began achingly. "We shouldn't. It's too soon." "Strange," Blair mused huskily. "I was thinking it's been way too long." Without taking his eyes from Jim he backed up into the cool shaded interior of the small shed, and sat back gracefully on the now cozy looking pallet. Jim swallowed again and looked up at the sky as if for divine inspiration, feeling all his need and desire for his young lover rise in his belly, threatening his control. With unsteady legs he stood and walked into the shed, closing the door and barring it behind him. His eyes easily adjusted to the cool dimness, and he could see Blair laying on his side now, leaning on one elbow, watching him. "You are shameless," Jim accused in throaty tones, going down on one knee on the edge of the pallet. His fingers lifted and smoothed a damp curl. "Will you brush it out for me?" Blair lifted a newly purchased comb and held it out to Jim. With slow even strokes Jim eased the wooden teeth through the brown curls, gently teasing the silky new ones growing over his tonsure. Never again would he sit still for a barber to shave this tender place, Jim thought. He bent and bestowed a kiss there. Blair gasped and tilted his head up, heart breaking blue eyes shining with love. " "How is it I have loved you a lifetime," Jim rasped, "and never kissed your lips?" Blair remedied this dire situation in moments, tilting his head and pressing his mobile mouth to Jim's, tasting for the first time in his life the lips of his beloved. Their lips clung together for long moments, just touching, learning each other. And then the tip of Jim's tongue made its first foray, sliding gently along the wide bow of Blair's lower lip. The smaller man shuddered. "Jim," he whispered into his love's mouth, and Jim swallowed the breath of his name and broached the parted lips, his tongue now stroking Blair's tongue, his hands now gripping Blair's silky skin, his every sense attuned to every part of this loving. When they drew apart they were both shaking. "My heart." Jim buried his lips in the curve of Blair's neck, holding the shaking form to him. "Are you all right?" "I am dizzy," Blair panted through swollen lips. "And you are wearing far too many clothes." Jim rumbled his agreement with a chuckle and drew back, his hands going to the fastenings of his jerkin. The stiff leather buckles parted under his strong fingers and he drew it off, unlacing and opening the fine linen shirt beneath it, and it seemed Blair was cast back to that first night in the barn, Jim's shoulders gleaming in the firelight. "You are so beautiful," he breathed. "Not I , my heart," Jim protested, tugging at his shirt and pulling off his woolen hose. Finally he was naked, lying still beside Blair, silent under his regard. With trembling fingers Blair traced a pale scar above one nipple and another down one arm. Silently Jim reached out and touched a curved scar on Blair's own chest. "This is beauty here before me," Jim whispered, leaning forward and touching his lips to that faded mark. Blair gasped at the touch of liquid heat, arching up as Jim moved to cover him, feeling the jab of his hard arousal against his thigh. His youthful body was on fire, his flat stomach heaving, his own manhood weeping with excitement. Jim's lips found a flat nipple and Blair exploded into pleasure. "Oh, Jim," Blair moaned as the big man held him close and rode out the harsh spasms. "I'm sorry." "Sorry?" Jim swept back damp curls and laid a tender kiss on Blair's sweating brow. "Never be sorry for our pleasure, Blair," he admonished gently. Pale blue eyes met sky blue ones, fiercely, sincerely. "Never." And Blair understood how much more he was saying and nodded solemnly. "Never," he repeated. "But I left you behind." "You were hungry." Jim's fingers swept over the white pearls of pure love that decorated the silky belly, feeling the shiver of Blair's skin under his sensitive fingers. "And I don't think that hunger is satisfied yet." He shifted a little and stroked his own rock hard erection through the satin smoothness, groaning a little under his breath. "Oh, Jim," Blair moaned again, wrapping his hands around strong arms and holding on. His half hard excitement stiffened again, shocks of arousal quivering through over sensitized skin, and for a dim moment he wondered if this was how Jim felt all the time, with his enhanced senses. And then they were both rocking and thrusting against each other, and the time for rational thought was swept away. -000- Jim was awoken by the sound of Blair's belly, rumbling against his own. He shifted back with a wide smile to find Blair looking at him with bright eyes. "You should have woken me," Jim chided, running a caressing hand over one pale shoulder and down to his love's hand. He twined his fingers with Blair's. "I just awoke myself," Blair admitted, a yawn splitting his face for a moment. "But my belly has been awake for some while. I dreamed I was on the Street of the Birdsellers. I could smell the new baked bread but I could not find it." Jim took a deep breath. "Perhaps you are developing senses like mine," he teased, smelling clearly the new bread they had purchased that morning. "Do you dream of your homeland often?" "More since I met you than in many years before," Blair frowned in puzzlement. "And when I awoke after the fire and I was confused, I was sure I was back in Jerusalem. Odd." "When you came back to your right mind," Jim laid a sweet kiss on Blair's chin, "Why didn't you try and make your way back to Shrewsbury?" "I don't know." Blair admitted. "Something told me to stay where I was, to wait for you. I knew you'd come. I just knew it." Choked once more at the remembrance of those terrible days of fear on the road Jim pulled his lover close, holding him tightly. Again Blair's belly growled emptily and they drew apart laughing. "Food I think," Jim chuckled, climbing to his feet and reaching for his clothes. With his hose on he stepped outside and retrieved Blair's new clothes and tossed them in to him. "It will be strange to see you in secular clothes," Jim teased as he pulled on his shirt and set about fixing a meal from their newly purchased goods. Blair rubbed at the top of his head where his tonsure was covered by the new sprinkling of chestnut curls. "Soon no-one will know I ever took a vow," he said a little sadly, gratefully sinking down on the grass by the fire. "Do you have any regrets?" Jim asked in concern. "No," Blair shook his head. "But it is sad all the same, leaving an old life behind for a new. Even if I know it will be a happy life." Jim smiled his understanding. "Where will we go after your estate?" "I thought to France," Jim suggested. "So you can see your Bishop, and tell him what has happened. A letter can say only so much. And you should see your lord at St Martin's too, and try to explain what you have decided." Blair gazed at Jim through wide blue eyes. "You mean it?" Jim shrugged. "It's only fair. It may not be what we have, but I know your lord must love you too. How could he not?" Blair launched himself at Jim and hugged him tightly. The bigger man rocked back with the force of the hug, laughing in surprise. "You are my lord," Blair said fiercely. "No other. But I would like to see him, tell him myself. Thank you, my love." "Will your superiors give you trouble? For leaving the order?" "I thought you were educated in a monastery? Didn't you learn the Rule?" Jim ducked his head a little. "It was a long time ago, my heart, and I was never much for lessons." "Hmm. Be glad you were not my student then." Blair said sternly, but his bright eyes were twinkling as he looked up at Jim. "It is written in the Rule that a brother who by his own wrong choice has left the monastery, may be received again, even to the third time. They will counsel me, but they will let me go." "And you will be mine," Jim said in satisfaction, "and I yours." "And we will be free," Blair said dreamily. "Where will we go?" "How about the Holy Land?" Jim suggested carefully. "We could visit the land of your birth, walk those streets under that sun. I have in mind to walk the pilgrims road for a while." A light lit Blair's eyes, those heart-breakingly blue eyes. "I would like that very much, my love." He reached up and pressed a gentle kiss to Jim's parted lips, tasting them softly and slowly. "But before that I had a thought." Jim drew back and looked suspiciously into Blair's eyes. They were looking very innocent. "Yes?" "I believe I will ask for access to the library at Montpelier, before we leave. I want to look up the old books, for mention of enhanced senses." "Whatever for?" Jim exclaimed in astonishment. "Well, think about it, Jim," Blair said excitedly. "There may have been others like you out there, in past times. Historians might have recorded it. We might even be able to find out how you can better use them." Jim studied the scholar's excited face with a half smile. After all, would it hurt to let Blair study this? He was to be deprived of his studies because of their love. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt," he conceded. Blair kissed him again, soundly. "And if there isn't a book to be found in the library," he declared, "why, I shall write it myself!" The End. After her rout at Winchester Empress Maud was never again to pose a serious threat to King Stephen and the civil war that had ravaged the country for years eventually faded away. Between Maud and Stephen however, there was never a clear winner, for although Stephen ruled England for the rest of his life, it was Maud's son, Henry Plantaganent, who was named his heir and would eventually rule as King of England.
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