Snowbound

Chapter Thirteen

Giles woke when the sun was high enough to send light flooding into the room in which he and Wesley had slept. Through the uncurtained glass of the small window he could hear the waves cresting high before falling into foam on the narrow strip of silver sand below the cliffs.

He had woken before; he and Wesley had spent the last few hours drowsing side by side, waking each other with kisses and caresses before sinking back into sleep. This time Giles knew the dreaming was at an end. Daybreak brought with it the end of his time with Wesley, the end of the hours gifted to him by two men who hoped their gift would cause pain and one who had made sure it brought pleasure.

Yet perhaps not happiness.

Giles knew that sticky, sleepy and aching though he was, he would have chosen to wake in such a state every morning were Wesley to be beside him when he did. He let his gaze rest upon a face so familiar yet, in this state, so new. He could not recall ever seeing Wesley deep in sleep before. The intense blue eyes were shuttered, the serious face softened by parted lips and Wesley had fallen asleep with one hand fisted under his chin, clutching the sheet to him in a way that made him seem younger than his years.

Giles watched him for a while, wondering how he could bear to watch Wesley leave, as leave he must. The pain would not be new. Once before he had lost someone he loved, someone he had thought of last night...Giles frowned. Why had even a fleeting memory returned to him at such a moment, disconcerting Wesley, possibly even wounding him? Wesley did not look like –

Groaning softly, Giles rolled away from Wesley, squeezing his eyes shut. Years. Years since he’d thought of him – or had he ever stopped? If he concentrated, he found he could see a face that the years had aged, as well as the youthful visage he had worn when last they spoke. With a thrill not entirely unpleasant, Giles realised that the litilltill held and knew that what he saw was no guess but the true face of the man who had once held his heart and love. The Polite World knew him as Lord Rayne and looked askance. Giles had known him as Ethan and looked at him a he he held the world captive between his long, elegant fingers – until Ethan had spread those fingers wide and let the dizzy, spinning globe fall just to see it smash.

Had the magic he’d done brought this about? This resurgence of recollection making brittle, brown twigs blossom and bloom? If so, it was a heavy price to pay, and Giles, who had rejoiced that no blood lay on his hands the night before, was reminded of a time when his hands had been thick with it.

He had met Ethan when he was in deep mourning for Jennifer, disconsolate axtraxtravagant in his grief, until family and friends despaired of him. He supposed, looking back, that he’d begun to bore them. People died, life went on and he had a duty to the family...within a month he knew the lures were once more being cast for his hand.

He’d first seen Ethan at a ball, there under protest, giving in, none too gracefully, to the curt commands of his aunt, who took pleasure in telling him roundly that she had no patience with his megrims and that he was to go out, get drunk and wake up with a head, a whore, and a healed heart. Good enough advice had he the sense to see it.

The ball had been a sad crush. His aunt, retired from society though she was, still had sufficient influence to ensure that when she held a ball for her god daughter, the ton obeyed her imperious invitation, trooping in throngs through the wide-flung double doors into a room made bright with garlands of roses and a thousand candles, their brocades and silks making them seem like butterflies in a garden. It had been a time when the men wore clothes as fine as the ladies; no subtle elegance of black and white, austere and tailored. No; they had primped and powdered themselves into visions of splendour. Giles had donned a black coat, to be sure, but it had been embroidered in silver thread, so that he glinted like a star in the night sky and, broken-hearted though he was, the soft strains of the music and the chattering voices had begun to raise his spirits.

He had been eying his aunt, bearing down on him with a plain, sadly freckled miss in tow, clearly intending that Giles lead her into the country dance that was forming, and wondering if his recovery was complete enough for such an ordeal, when Ethan arrived.

A ripple of shocked silence had spread out across the room, until it broke against the ramrod stiff figure of his aunt, black eyes snapping with anger. The musicians had faltered and then resumed playing and the buzz of conversation rose again as she turned her back, clearly unwilling to cause a scene and equally unwilling to give any formal welcome to a guest who had arrived unpardonably late, if indeed, he had been invited at all. The cause of the furore had smiled faintly and moved deeper into the room, his bearing assured, his eyes full of a lazy contempt. He wore a coat so deep a purple that it looked black, the material fine and heavy, cut in the French style, extravagantly wide lace ruffles frothing over white hands. The skirts twitched aside, the cut direct from half a dozen men, faces heavy with anger, discomposed him not at all. The equal number of flirtatious sighs and eager smiles were likewise ignored. Like an arrow aimed true, he had walked up to Giles and let the smile drop from his face as he studied him.

“I think...y His His voice had been rich, compelling and Giles had shuddered, his fingers clenching around the wine glass he held. Rayne had glanced at it and held out his hand, taking it from Giles and turning it so that he could sip from the place Giles’ lips had touched. A spark of heat had danced over Giles’ mouth and he had raised a hand to it, startled and aroused. Rayne had smiled then, a smile of pure satisfaction.

“Oh, you’ll more than do. Come to me tomorrow. In the evening.”

Giles had lifted an eyebrow. “And why should I do that? Your reception here seems to indicate that you are a man best avoided.”

Rayne had narrowed his eyes, a lock of dark hair falling over his brow. “You always avoid that which promises to be interesting? How terribly dull your life must be. You will come, my dear – my very dear – Rupert, because I tell you to – ah, you like not that phrasing? Then I abase myself – not literally of course; this floor is far too dusty for such theatrics – and amend that to a plea for your company.” In the months to come, Ethan would re-enact that scene a dozen times, making Giles pretend that they stood in that crowded ballroom, watched by hundreds of eyes and commanding him to kneel and obey his commands, lascivious and lewd, and Giles had willingly indulged him...but that night Giles, fascinated though he was, had still been his own man.

“You still fail to persuade me.”

Rayne had seemed delighted by his resistance, rather than annoyed. Laughing softly, he had run his fingers along the stem of the wine glass and watched as Giles gasped, feelings cool fingers touch him intimately. “I can do this until your passions rise beyond your ability to control them,” Rayne murmured, hisle wle wickedly teasing. “Even now, eyes turn to us.”

Biting his lip, Giles had returned the look with one that promised pain. “Cease your games!”

Rayne had pursed his lips. “I cannot, for Iy noy none. I most sincerely desire the pleasure of your company and beg that you so honour me tomorrow.” As he spoke, his fingers lingered on the delicate column of glass and Giles took a shuddering breath, striving for calm.

“I will consider it only when you stop trying to – God! – trying to force my hand!” he had replied, stubbornness lending him much needed strength.

Rayne had opened his hand and let the glass fall, then caught it in his other hand, nipping it dexterously from the air and handing it back to Giles with a bow that mocked by its very correctness.

“And now your answer?”

Giles opened his mouth to deliver a cold refusal and hesitated, unable to speak the words that would end this interlude. For all his anger and confusion, this slim man with the rakish face had done what so little could theays;ays; made him forget his grief.

Rayne had smiled, taking silence, quite rightly, for assent, and had turned and left, the crowd opening before him, leaving Giles staring with unseeing eyes at the crowd around him.

Wesley stirred in his sleep, wrenching Giles from the past to the present. He found himself longing for Wesley to awaken and dispel – aye, that was the word! – the memories that clung to him, and yet, now that they were fresh in his mind, he also wanted to follow them, even knowing as he did, that the end would break him.

But he no longer had to bear it alone. Taking a deep breath, Giles turned to Wesley and brushed a kiss across his lips. Wesley woke in an instant and smiled sleepily at Giles. “I dreamed you were calling me,” he whispered, “that you needed me.”

“I think that was no dream,” Giles said a little sadly. “Wesley – I know you must return to Angel and Spike, but –”

“There is time yet,” Wesley said, letting his hand caress Giles’ face. “Why, ‘tis barely past dawn!” He pressed closer, his body warm, redolent with the heady scents of their lovemaking. Giles allowed himself a kiss – two – and then gently put Wesley from him.

“I need – Wesley, I need to talk to someone. I need to talk to you.”

“Your mouth could be put to better use,” Wesley said, his voice rueful.

Giles forced a smile. “I had thought you were surfeited after last night.”

“Of your lovemaking? Giles – never. I would happily prove that, were it not for the fact that I can see that you are troubled.” Wesley took the pillows beneath his head and made them into a rest, wriggling upright angardgarding Giles expectantly. “Tell me?”

Giles sighed and gave Wesley a speaking glance, gratitude and love mingling. “Last night I spoke, fool that I was, of a lover.”

“You said I reminded you of him,” Wesley commented. “I was – well, no matter. It is not important.”

“You were hurt,” Giles said, “and it is important. Wesley, I was once bound to him, in much the same way as you are bound to your lovers but...bound through darkness, not light. Though at the time I thought it love, I swear. I severed that bond; I have not seen Rayne for two decades or more, yet last night I thought of him and mor morning my mind is full of him, as he was...and as he is now.”

“Should I be jealous?” Wesley asked, his eyes full of an earnest question his smiling lips tried to pass off lightly.

“No.” Giles spoke harshly. “Never that.” He turned and stared at Wesley. “I think the bond was remade last night, the dark magics we did, the power raised here... I think Ethan feels it too.”

“And what will he do?” Wesley asked, struggling to remain calm, clearly full of questions.

Giles shrugged and turned to look at the window. The clear golden light had faded and clouds were racing in from the sea.

“He will come for me.”

“He will not take you against your will,” Wesley said quietly, resting his hand on Giles’ arm.

Giles continued to stare at the massing storm clouds.

“If Ethan comes for me, comes back to me, it will not be against my will. I belong to him, soul-sworn. It will not be against my will, Wesley –” Giles turned at last and met Wesley’s worried gaze. “And that is what I fear the most.”