My Man Godric Read Online Free Page B

“They were
over-ambitious in trying. Those mountains are difficult enough for
one caravan during the summer. An army could not make it.”
    “Enough of one did,” Bertie replied sharply,
then slapped a hand to his mouth. He glanced over helplessly.
    Godric looked at him again, but only to bow
his head as though Bertie were welcome to put a sword to his neck.
“The failure is mine.”
    “No. No .” First bath in two months or
not, Bertie stood up, gesturing until he saw Godric’s gaze on him.
It travelled down, then slowly came back to his face. “You tried to
tell me.” Bertie’s voice softened without his permission, perhaps
at the renewed cold that left him trembling, or the heat in his
blood at odds with his prickling skin. But he remembered that
moment all too well, the morning light blinding as it had bounced
off Godric’s armor, the cheers and cries from the people outside,
silence between them as he’d fought not to say anything.
    Godric seemed to as well. The distance
between them had never been so great, and then Godric plucked a
length of fabric from the table and came forward to offer it as a
towel. Bertie took it without turning away, compelling Godric to
look at him. “You tried to tell me, but I stayed behind and ordered
the soldiers to go.”
    “You had your obligation, my lord.” He could
not tell if Godric was answering obediently or teasing him. Most
people would have teased since Bertie had never been the sort of
talk of responsibilities. But Bertie’s mind was clouded and dizzy
with all of Godric near and attending to him and he could not seem
to think clearly.
    Staring through the wet strands of his hair,
Bertie couldn’t see much, but he gasped at the brief second when
Godric did not relinquish the towel, and he was surrounded by
Godric’s arms. His shiver as they left him was not for show, just
as it wasn’t only exhaustion that made him ache.
    It had been so long since he had been with
anyone, and this was his Godric. He was burning with need at the
barest touch.
    “Godric, please,” he whimpered without
shame. “I beg of you. Don’t call me “my lord” again.” In the early
days of knowing him, Godric had addressed Bertie as everyone else
but Aethir did, as Lord Aethelbert. Of course in those days, Bertie
had not realized his feelings and so had not sung them at every
opportunity and become the bane of Godric’s existence. He didn’t
think it was entirely in his mind that he and Godric had grown
close in that far away time, though he sometimes daydreamed about
the morning they had shared a bowl of the daisy tea favored in the
South. He had only himself to blame that those times were over.
    “It offends you?” Godric lowered his voice
even more to ask the simple question, seeming to choose his words
carefully. Bertie shut his eyes tight and set about rubbing away
the wet chill as Godric kept talking. “Am I not addressing you
correctly? I can never be sure with you Northerners, but a lord is
a lord. It’s not wise to forget that. I learned that at a young age
and have been reminded of it often since then.”
    Bertie stilled with one hand in his hair,
his throat dry and tight.
    Godric was low born, it was true, but it was
not a subject ever directly questioned, not with his worth proven,
not with the king’s esteem for him. Others might still scorn Godric
for his way of speaking, his frankness of manner, everything that
made him who he was, but Bertie never had, not even when he itched
to sew new clothes for him and keep his armored polished. He looked
over.
    His beloved had turned from him and was
seated with the cat in his lap. His hand dwarfed the dainty
creature but it seemed content enough.
    Godric petting Godric, the cat that had
nearly… no, it had not been the cat, but Bertie’s reckless mouth.
Elated from so much time spent in the company of the country’s
hero, and yet relieved to be at the Keep and no longer on the road,
Bertie had been a bit over