The cool grass, the soft breeze, the heat and weight of Ciaran on top of him.
When Ciaran pulled back and stared at him from inches away with languid brown eyes filled with lust, Bannon couldn’t speak.
The hunger in Ciaran’s gaze matched the yearning in Bannon’s body as they both panted, trying to catch their breath.
“Bluidy hell and Saint Margret! What have ye done tae my garden? And why is there a dead boar in the middle of my cabbage?”
§ § § §
“Marcus, is there a reason you’re trying to wear a trench in Ciaran’s nicely woven rushes? Other than driving me insane, that is?”
Stopping midstride and leaning on his cane, Marcus glared at his consort. How could he sound so nonchalant? This was the first time in seventeen years that they might have a chance of going home. If these survivors were Regelen, then someone would come looking for them.
Completely unfazed by Marcus’s glare, Patrick sat on the window seat with one leg tucked underneath him. Raising one blond brow, he stared back at Marcus with just a hint of a smile. He nearly looked the gentleman today. Instead of a kilt, he wore trousers and a shirt. He was minus a coat, waistcoat, and cravat, but his hair was brushed and pulled back in a tight queue. Stars, but he was handsome. Most of the time now, he barely resembled the son of a baron and grandson of an earl, who Marcus married so long ago, but he still had the power to make Marcus’s heart flutter.
“And don’t tell me I’m already insane.” Patrick’s lip quirked up a little higher as he tried to defuse the nervous energy.
Rolling his eyes, Marcus resumed pacing. If he didn’t do something, he’d be a candidate for Bedlam in a matter of minutes. His mind whirled with so many thoughts. What if he couldn’t fit back into Regelence society? What if the IN had completely taken over Regelence? The IN’s plan was supposed to be over a span of two decades, but what if they were ahead of schedule? “Do you think Steven and Raleigh are still alive? They would fight the IN.”
“If they’ve figured out what is going on.” Patrick’s voice sounded strained when he spoke again. “They would definitely fight. They’d fight to the death for Regelence and its people.”
Just as Patrick and I tried to do. Only they hadn’t died, even if it was what the IN had intended.
The butterflies in his stomach turned to lead weights. All these years, he had not let himself think about what had happened to his dearest friends. He’d been too focused on surviving, but now with the prospect of going home…. “Is it too late, do you think?”
“No.” Patrick dropped his leg to the floor and stood, then came forward. He gave Marcus a soft smile and gripped his upper arms, rubbing up and down. Soothing. “Stop borrowing trouble. Let us find out what is going on at home first.”
“What if these crash survivors are really IN, sent here to find us?” Though Marcus had to admit that crashing a ship was going a little far for forging an alibi.
Apparently, Patrick thought so too, because he chuckled. “If for some reason they are IN, I will torture them for information, then slaughter them where they stand.” He leaned forward and kissed Marcus on the nose, which helped relieve some of his worry. Patrick was right; he was borrowing trouble.
“All right, but I get to help. And we should take it outside as not to soil Ciaran’s rushes.” He grinned in earnest and bussed Patrick on the lips.
“Eee… I’d rather not be tortured and slaughtered, if it’s all the same to you.”
They both flinched at the intrusion and whirled toward the door.
Patrick even reached for his sword, then glanced to where he’d left it leaning against the window seat.
A young redheaded man stood at the door, with a dark-headed girl about the same age slightly behind him. He was dressed much the same as Patrick—in trousers and a shirt, sans cravat, but he wore a pale green brocade waistcoat. The waistcoat spoke of wealth, and the boots…. His boots were scuffed and had seen better days, but they were undoubtedly crafted by Francois Beauchamp, Regelence’s premier bootmaker. Marcus had never been much of a dandy, but galaxy, what he would do for a new pair of Beauchamps. Dust, but he missed home and the life he had there.