Brothers of the Wild North Sea Read Online Free Page B

he was doing his job well. Sitting on the edge of the occupied bunk, he treated Gareth’s warts and tried to ease the painful hypochondria that lay behind them with kindly admonitions as to letting the imagination run rife over faith, work and good common sense. Then he discharged him, to his patient’s disappointment, and went down to the laundry.
    He was sticky and sandy from his interlude with Leof in the dunes. Taking a fresh cassock from Brother Hengist’s neatly folded supply, he found himself reluctant to put it on over his dirty skin. He glanced at the angle of the sun and decided he had time to run down to the bathing pools to wash.
    He wasn’t really qualified to lecture poor Gareth on the perils of imagination. The pools were deserted at this time of day, and the tide had come in far enough to fill their natural granite basins with salty, crystalline blue. Cai swam about among the drifting seaweeds, diving and huffing at the pleasure of the water on his limbs, then scrubbed himself clean as best he could with handfuls of soft sand. By the time he was done, his skin was tingling with wellbeing, and what he’d have liked more than anything else was for Leof to appear, ready to cast off his garments and his new restraint.
    Cai drew a shuddery breath. It was all very well to agree on a celibate life not five minutes after satiation. Keeping the resolve would be much harder, he could see. His shaft had risen at the thought of Leof’s pale, lithe body in the water with him. Leaning his shoulders on the shell-encrusted rock, he allowed his spine to stretch, his hips to float. His palm ached to explore his aroused flesh, and briefly he reached down, stroking, lifting the warm, compact weight of his balls. An idea flitted through his mind that maybe his own touch didn’t count.
    He groaned aloud at his own weakness. Of course it did. What chance did he stand of purging his earthly desires, if he couldn’t keep his hands off himself? Cursing his father for bequeathing him not only a large, restless cock but a need to use it often and hard, Cai scrambled out of the water. The cracked church bell was ringing again, this time to announce Theo’s feast.
    Perhaps he’d moved too fast. Perhaps—although he did his best to discourage such beliefs—the fear of the naïve younger monks was true, and undischarged seed could rush up into the brain and wreak havoc there. The sunlight around him darkened to black, with fringes and tassels of scarlet. The Vikings are coming… He dropped to his hands and knees, lowering his brow onto the stone.
    The fit lasted only a few seconds. The sunlight returned. Trembling, he sat up and looked around him at the brilliant day, the rich spring light only now beginning to take on a russet flush in the west. High on the crag above him, Demetrios and Wilfrid were making their way home, to all appearances the best friends in the world, the goats trotting peacefully in front of them. Wilf was even carrying the Greek’s basket of leaves. Cai was only hungry, tired from travel. All was well.

Chapter Two
    For the brethren of Fara, a feast was a modest affair. Theo, knowing that fields had to be tended and goats fed no matter how many chapters of his book had been finished, allotted his guests one good tankard each of mead and rolled out a small vat of heather ale to be shared around. A sheep had been killed, and Caius finished bottling up his remedy for sore heads, then followed the scent of roasting mutton down to the refectory.
    The sight he found there pleased him. He took his place quietly between Brothers Leof and Benedict, and accepted his mead from the abbot’s own hand. This was very different from his father’s idea of a celebration. By now a drunken, coerced girl would have been dancing on the table. With not enough women to go round between Broc’s friends, Cai would have found himself fighting off the sweaty attentions of a warlord before the main course had been served.
    Life