Aleksey's Kingdom (A Royal Affair #2)(27)
“Oh, I did n—”
“They would invite me on long, perilous journeys to war and then engineer it so we shared a tent and lay next to each other every night so that in the mornings I could watch them rise and strip entirely naked, bending over just so to wash—”
“Nikolai! I did not!”
“Maybe I imagined that part.”
“Go on—what else did I—would they do?”
I rolled him over so he was facing me and eased back inside, lying still for a while, just filling him. Did I not say I could only do one thing at a time?
“They would try to seduce me and tease me and also lie to me that they were vir—”
“I was! Well, in the part you like best I was.”
“They would invite me to bathe with them in a vast tub big enough—”
“Oh God’s teeth, Niko. Do not remind me of that. That is the one thing I do miss and wish we had here.”
We were silent for a moment, giving respect to the memory of bathing in hot water, and then both let out wistful sighs at exactly the same time, which made us laugh.
“I thought I would not be a virgin after that bath.”
“Well, you should have been a little more amenable, then.”
“Oh, I intend to be for our fellow colonists.”
“In our sodomy colony?”
“Well, I will not call it that, for that is not very catchy. I was thinking of Alekston, or, and this is really good, Kingston.”
“I think it has been done. How about Cockston? Arseville?”
“Too French. Names are important and set the right tone. Maybe I shall have to insist upon German being spoken in our colony so you are the one reaching for words and not I.”
“I will be surrounded by sodomites. I will be reaching for other things.” I leant down and kissed him, brushing my lips gently over his to start with and then increasing the pressure, forcing his mouth open so his tongue met mine. I usually reserved such a kiss for persuading him to open other things for me, but it worked to shut him up too. As I moved my tongue inside his mouth, I moved once more inside his body so I felt his sigh of contentment ease into me. It was exceedingly pleasurable. We had almost been there, at the peak, but had held it off to just a low, aching throb. Now it was revived and very powerful within our bodies. I rode him hard then, unable to keep my mouth to his for the force of my thrusting. I could feel sweat dripping from my forehead to land upon him as he arched and bucked beneath me, and then I knew he had arrived, for I felt the tautness inside and heard his disbelieving cry of delight at the power of his relief. I took a long time pulsing into him in waves of pleasure that hollowed me out and left me limp and malleable as a doll made of rags.
It could not have been a worse moment, therefore, for us to hear the fearful screaming coming from the camp.
We left the horses with Faelan watching them and ran the distance, not easy over the rough terrain in the dark, and not easy when you have been as a wrung out, limp thing, shuddering with pleasure.
When we reached the encampment, the scene was horrific, and we both skidded to a halt, retching from the smell of burning flesh—me more than retching, as this was an odor I could not now tolerate after my experiences in the dungeons of Hesse-Davia.
The tent the young soldier had so gratefully taken from me was aflame. The screaming was coming from inside, and half-dressed members of the party were variously trying to beat the flames down with coats and blankets or run to the river and try to bring water to douse them in pitifully small containers.
Suddenly the piercing cries carried a higher pitch. I saw Mary Wright through the fire and wavering heat, standing in a nightgown, her hair loosed and flowing like another flame upon her back. Her terror seemed almost more than that of the poor men in the tent, and then I saw the boy, tiny, too close to the conflagration, seemingly too shocked to turn and save himself. With a mother’s courage, she braved the heat and flame to reach her son.
I could not then be sure what occurred. Perhaps she realized the boy could easily save himself by stepping away, for she ignored him and fell to her knees, crying, “No! Save him! He must be saved.” When she saw Aleksey and me emerging from the darkness, however, she ducked her head and crawled back, seeking blindly for the child.
I tried to approach to release the tent flaps, but even before I was beaten back by the heat, I could see they were tied very securely—from the outside.
I pulled out a knife from my boot and approached the side this time. The canvas was burning furiously, but I managed to make a long slit in the fabric. I caught the sleeve of my shirt alight and felt Aleksey pulling me back, beating the flame out with his coat. No one came through the flap. The screaming had stopped now, but there was still moaning and a weak voice. We shouted for him to crawl out, that there was now a means of escape, but nothing, and then the tent collapsed upon itself with a last gasp of flame and flying embers, and there was no more sound from within.
I looked around at the haggard faces blackened with soot and here or there streaked with tears of heat or grief, and then I found a pair of eyes fixed on mine with unnatural intensity. He was in his mother’s arms, looking over her shoulder as she faced the stream, watching her husband uselessly filling another pan with water. The boy’s nose was bleeding. It appeared as if he had been hit, but he must have fallen as he finally ran from his perilous position by the flames. He was sucking his thumb, pulling it in and out, in and out between his puffy pink lips. Then, glistening and wet, he offered it to me. I do not know what he was thinking by doing this, but it seemed to cut to the very heart of something, some knowledge he should not have. And it was only then that it hit me. I turned once more to the ruin of the tent, where, now that the soldiers had dragged the burnt canvas away, two blackened figures were visible within, and realized this had been intended to be our tent.