My Man Godric Read Online Free Page A

his
eternal embarrassment and shame. Just as he had been intrigued
enough to befriend Godric when he’d first come to court and to
loudly defend him from anyone daring to scorn him for his low
birth, he had just as noisily realized that he’d fallen in love
with Godric and confirmed his own reputation for idiocy by
announcing his affection to the world before he’d ever thought to
say it directly to Godric, and in doing so seemed to have driven
Godric away.
    For far too long after that there had been
no more careful talks over tea or vaguely amused lectures on how to
better ride a horse. Since then, until word of the raiders had come
to them at the Keep, there had been only distance and “my lord”
between them.
    “I am not offended,” Godric interrupted,
then cleared his throat. “There are several companies with your
brother in the capital, preparing to move north.”
    “You’re not with him?” Bertie threw his
shirt to the floor. He was cold, but it was a relief to his
sensitive skin to have it off. He pulled at his belt and the waist
of his breeches until they fell too.
    When there was no answer, only a sudden,
tense kind of silence, he looked up. Godric was regarding the cat
with concentration, as though its shaggy fur was inspiring him to
formulate a battle plan. Since that was unlikely, Bertie could only
assume that once again he’d shocked Godric, though this time he
hadn’t said a word.
    Someday, Bertie was going to make the
journey south to find if others there were so prudish. The first
time Godric had witnessed the drunken dancing and wild loving of
Keep’s harvest festival, he had flushed to his ears and stared,
flat-eyed and undoubtedly disapproving, as Bertie had consumed
glass after glass of wine and then called to him from the fields,
begging for a dance, a kiss, a tumble.
    Admittedly, the mysticism of the night
tended to go to Bertie’s head, as did the flagons of wine and sweet
honey cakes. Of course, he had often wondered, tortured himself, if
it could have been the difference in their positions holding Godric
back and not mere distaste for Bertie, but the workers and field
hands of the valley around the Keep had never hesitated to join in
the festivities with anyone who was willing, whatever their status.
During the last yield of the harvest, as the new year and winter
approached, with the moon high and the sky dark, there was no
difference between noble and peasant. At least not to be seen from
the shadows of the bonfires. So as respectful as Godric always was
of Bertie, never failing to forget his title, this could not be the
reason.
    Nonetheless, the drunken love around the
Keep bonfires was precisely why autumn was Bertie’s favorite time
of year. Travelling from the capital with a smaller court was an
additional reason to love it, but mostly the Keep was dear to him
because it meant days of riding with just Godric and a relative
handful of others and heading toward festivities which promised him
yet another chance to have Godric to himself amongst those bale
fires.
    He looked over at Godric, who continued to
avert his eyes, and then stepped into the tub. The water was
lukewarm but it felt divine. Bertie moaned low in his throat.
    “I… am sorry there is no soap for you.”
Godric’s voice was barely a whisper and stayed rough even when he
coughed. Bertie merely stared at him, deliriously contemplating the
water lapping at his chest and the rush of feeling that colored
Godric’s face when he finally looked over. “I have advised the king
and his ministers, but I could not leave the rest of the country
undefended or allow us to be outflanked. Though the north, by sea,
is to their greatest advantage, a determined, vengeful enemy might
attempt other routes.”
    “Like over the Western Mountains.” Bertie
realized he was staring and ducked to get his hair wet and scrub
his scalp.
    “…Thought that unlikely, but possible,”
Godric continued as Bertie brought his head back up.