The Rusted Sword Read Online Free Page A
Moshe. "Yes?"
"You had gone off somewhere."
From a fair maiden, or perhaps a sentimental lad, those words would have sounded gentle, but from Moshe, they were just matter-of-fact.
Raleigh took comfort in Moshe’s consistency. Sighing, he merely shook his head. "Marvle-Dein is a sight to behold, as always," he said.
Moshe only looked irritated at the change in subject for a moment, and then he too glanced around the great hall, taking in the long tables with servants buzzing around them preparing a setting for every guest, the fire roaring in the monstrous, arched fireplace, and the banner that held Frederick's family crest hanging above it all. "Yes," he said, "it is much larger than Chaylain."
"Chaylain has no need to be this large," Raleigh replied, his voice low.
"That is not what I was implying," Moshe said just as quietly, but with an edge.
Raleigh snorted. "There is no need for pretense, dear husband. I know your feelings for my ancestral home."
"Raleigh," Moshe growled, stepping towards him. "How many times have I told you—"
As if on some long-dead instinct, Raleigh stared straight into Moshe's eyes. " Watch your tone."
Moshe pulled up short, expression gone slack. Very slowly, a red tint bloomed across his cheeks. His gaze darted away from Raleigh, and he lowered his head, completely mute. Raleigh observed him, hands now clenched, heart racing. He knew that blush, he knew that bowed, yielding stance, and he knew what came next. "Moshe," he whispered, reaching to slide a hand down to the small of Moshe's back, to pull him in towards Raleigh.
"Gentlemen," Frederick said, walking towards him.
Raleigh nearly jolted, and he expected Moshe to shy away, but instead he pressed closer still, ducking against Raleigh's chest. This god forsaken southerner would be Raleigh's undoing, forever and always.
But Moshe's act of docility had stoked a prideful fire in Raleigh's chest. With a smug grin, he caught Frederick's eye. "My beloved is tired from our journey."
The shiver that trembled through Moshe shot a spark straight through Raleigh's veins.
Frederick had a thoughtful smile on his face. He looked down at Moshe, but Raleigh had him tightly cradled, so there was no matching gaze. "Tired?" Frederick said. "Have you gone soft, Moshe?"
"No," Moshe replied drolly, and that was all he spoke.
Raleigh had to suppress a smirk. Frederick of all people ought to know that no matter how docile Moshe acted with Raleigh, he could still act like a cold beast to anyone else.
"Shall we retire?" Moshe said, the words carrying a teasing promise. He must have noticed Raleigh's amusement.
"Yes, I think so." To Frederick, Raleigh said, "If our lord does not mind?"
"No, of course not," Frederick replied with an expansive wave of his hand. He was still smiling, but this time the expression was wry and clearly stated he had admitted defeat.
*~*~*
"You smell rank," Moshe growled at Raleigh, shoving him backwards into their chambers. Following closely behind, Moshe's eyes were narrowed, lip curled. Grasping the door, he turned to swing it shut, and then returned his hard stare to Raleigh. "Did I not tell you to wash with me when we stopped at the inn?"
Raleigh felt a smile worm its way across his face as well as he considered him. "You dare speak to me in such a way …" he said softly.
Snorting, Moshe crossed his arms. "As it is my duty to please you, at the very least, you could not smell like pig shit."
A barking laugh escaped Raleigh. With only a bit of a limp, he moved forward, bracing his palm flat against Moshe's chest, and none too gently shoved him back against the door. Raleigh saw the grimace that followed Moshe knocking his head against it, but those brilliant green eyes opened, and they were flashing. "Disgusting," Moshe spat, his hand curling around Raleigh's wrist. "Do not touch me."
"You said it yourself," Raleigh replied, smirking, "it is your duty. You owe a marital debt to me."
Even as he spoke, he
"You had gone off somewhere."
From a fair maiden, or perhaps a sentimental lad, those words would have sounded gentle, but from Moshe, they were just matter-of-fact.
Raleigh took comfort in Moshe’s consistency. Sighing, he merely shook his head. "Marvle-Dein is a sight to behold, as always," he said.
Moshe only looked irritated at the change in subject for a moment, and then he too glanced around the great hall, taking in the long tables with servants buzzing around them preparing a setting for every guest, the fire roaring in the monstrous, arched fireplace, and the banner that held Frederick's family crest hanging above it all. "Yes," he said, "it is much larger than Chaylain."
"Chaylain has no need to be this large," Raleigh replied, his voice low.
"That is not what I was implying," Moshe said just as quietly, but with an edge.
Raleigh snorted. "There is no need for pretense, dear husband. I know your feelings for my ancestral home."
"Raleigh," Moshe growled, stepping towards him. "How many times have I told you—"
As if on some long-dead instinct, Raleigh stared straight into Moshe's eyes. " Watch your tone."
Moshe pulled up short, expression gone slack. Very slowly, a red tint bloomed across his cheeks. His gaze darted away from Raleigh, and he lowered his head, completely mute. Raleigh observed him, hands now clenched, heart racing. He knew that blush, he knew that bowed, yielding stance, and he knew what came next. "Moshe," he whispered, reaching to slide a hand down to the small of Moshe's back, to pull him in towards Raleigh.
"Gentlemen," Frederick said, walking towards him.
Raleigh nearly jolted, and he expected Moshe to shy away, but instead he pressed closer still, ducking against Raleigh's chest. This god forsaken southerner would be Raleigh's undoing, forever and always.
But Moshe's act of docility had stoked a prideful fire in Raleigh's chest. With a smug grin, he caught Frederick's eye. "My beloved is tired from our journey."
The shiver that trembled through Moshe shot a spark straight through Raleigh's veins.
Frederick had a thoughtful smile on his face. He looked down at Moshe, but Raleigh had him tightly cradled, so there was no matching gaze. "Tired?" Frederick said. "Have you gone soft, Moshe?"
"No," Moshe replied drolly, and that was all he spoke.
Raleigh had to suppress a smirk. Frederick of all people ought to know that no matter how docile Moshe acted with Raleigh, he could still act like a cold beast to anyone else.
"Shall we retire?" Moshe said, the words carrying a teasing promise. He must have noticed Raleigh's amusement.
"Yes, I think so." To Frederick, Raleigh said, "If our lord does not mind?"
"No, of course not," Frederick replied with an expansive wave of his hand. He was still smiling, but this time the expression was wry and clearly stated he had admitted defeat.
*~*~*
"You smell rank," Moshe growled at Raleigh, shoving him backwards into their chambers. Following closely behind, Moshe's eyes were narrowed, lip curled. Grasping the door, he turned to swing it shut, and then returned his hard stare to Raleigh. "Did I not tell you to wash with me when we stopped at the inn?"
Raleigh felt a smile worm its way across his face as well as he considered him. "You dare speak to me in such a way …" he said softly.
Snorting, Moshe crossed his arms. "As it is my duty to please you, at the very least, you could not smell like pig shit."
A barking laugh escaped Raleigh. With only a bit of a limp, he moved forward, bracing his palm flat against Moshe's chest, and none too gently shoved him back against the door. Raleigh saw the grimace that followed Moshe knocking his head against it, but those brilliant green eyes opened, and they were flashing. "Disgusting," Moshe spat, his hand curling around Raleigh's wrist. "Do not touch me."
"You said it yourself," Raleigh replied, smirking, "it is your duty. You owe a marital debt to me."
Even as he spoke, he
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