Perchance to Dream Box Set

A Haunted Love-6

I can’t get him out of my mind. I work like an automaton, feeding the horses, scrubbing them down, and straightening the stables. I don’t even chat with the tourists like I usually do. My mind’s back at the inn with my memory of David. At odd moments I’ll feel his skin beneath my mouth and I lick my lips, trying to taste something other than my own sweat. I’ll lift a crate and get it halfway across the stable when suddenly I feel him in my arms again and almost stumble, I want him so badly.

I wish my breeches weren’t so tight—I’m sure the teenage girls lining the fence to watch me work all stare at the slight erection straining at my crotch. When I glance at them, they giggle and look away.

A little after noon one of the horses starts to limp. I bend over, its foreleg between my knees as I pick at the nail that’s come loose from its shoe, when someone leans over the fence and slaps my ass with a loud pop! that makes the girls giggle again. “Saddle up, horse boy,” someone drawls.

I glare over my shoulder at Jeremy, his face red and sweaty from the forge, his shirt dingy with sweat and coal. “Lunch time, pardner.”

“You’re out of character.” I turn back to the horse’s hoof. One of the horseshoe’s nails has come up a little and I work it back and forth, trying to pry it free. “Look at this.”

The fence groans beneath his weight as he climbs over it into the yard to hunker down beside me.

Tapping the horseshoe, I point out, “Damn shoddy workmanship, if you ask me. Dumb ironsmith can’t shoe a horse. You should be shot.”

“I didn’t do that one.” He leans over to watch as I work at the nail, then slaps my hands away when I’m too slow and jerks the nail out with his bare hands. He’s strong, I’ll give him that. “Check with Barrett. Nice horseshoe though, don’t you think? That’s definitely one of mine.”

I give him a look that says I’m not in the mood for his games but Jeremy picks up a new nail from the ground and hands it over. “You want me to hold it while you hammer it in?”

I laugh and shake my head. “That’s what he said last night.”

“Who?” Jeremy hands me a small mallet and watches, hands on his knees, as I hammer the shoe back into place. “You finally find someone to hook up with?”

At my crooked grin he whoops loudly, setting the girls giggling again. Over his shoulder, Jeremy calls, “Nick got himself some ass last night, girls.”

I kick his leg. “Shut up.” If Marie hears him cuss like that in front of the tourists, she’ll have a fit.

“Who is it?” he wants to know.

I don’t answer right away, pretending I’m too busy hammering on the shoe. When I’m done and the horse trots off, I stand and wipe my hands on my breeches. Finally, when I can put it off no longer, I admit, “He works at the glasshouse.”

Jeremy must think this is the funniest thing he’s heard all day. He laughs until I think he’s going to fall back on the ground—he’s barely standing straight. “Jesus,” he sighs. “That’s so classic. He’s a glass blower?” That sets him off again.

I gather up my shoeing tools and head back for the barn, ignoring his laughter. He’s starting to piss me off.

But Jeremy doesn’t let up. “So he’s got some great lip muscles, I bet. Blows glass. That’s not all he blows, eh?” He follows me into the stable.

I toss the tools in the corner—God, I want to hit him in the head with that mallet for laughing at me. At David, too, but mostly at me. What the hell is he here for anyway? “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“It’s lunch time.” He follows me back outside, watching me prime the pump to wash my hands. When cold water splashes from the pump, he shoves his hands under mine. “Oh wait, he works at the glass shop? You sure?”

“That’s what he said.” I rub the grass and dirt off my hands. I don’t like the way he frowns at me all of a sudden. “Why?”

“Which one is he?” The forge is across the street from the glasshouse and Jeremy’s so talkative, I’m sure he knows all the re-enactors by name.

“Redhead. He’s an apprentice there, he said. Really awesome eyes. His name’s—”

“Him?” Jeremy shakes his head. The pump runs dry and we wipe our hands over our hips and butts to dry them off. “Sorry to be the one to break this to you, pal, but he’s seeing one of the guys from the battlefield.”

“He isn’t.” David didn’t mention anyone last night. True, we didn’t exactly talk much but damn, he knew what I was after, and he looked like he wanted the same thing. The way he backed up against me in the bed, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t thinking of his boyfriend then. “Last night he was all about me. You’re probably mistaken…”

“Look, I know, okay? I went out with his sister last weekend. He’s seeing someone else. I’m sorry.”

For a long moment, I study Jeremy. He’s a bushy sort of guy, big and rough, with dark hair and thick brows, but his quick smile gives him a teddy bear appearance. That smile’s missing now, and his pale green eyes look troubled. I’ve known him long enough to know he’s telling me the truth, or thinks he is. “I don’t believe you.”

He looks surprised. “What? Nick, why would I lie?”

I shrug. “I’m not saying you’re lying. I’m saying you’re wrong. It’s a different apprentice, it has to be.”

“Fine.” Jeremy grabs my wrist and pulls me after him, storming through the stable. I’m half his size so even if I struggle against him, I don’t manage to put up much of a fight. “We’ll go ask him. He’s seeing that other guy, Paul something or other, I don’t know his name but if I’m right, lunch is on you.”

I stumble as I try to keep up with him. Jeremy’s a big man and easily tugs me behind him on the cobblestones like a recalcitrant child. “I ain’t buying you s**t if it’s two different guys.”

“If it’s not,” he promises, “we’ll both kick his ass for f*****g you over. But you still owe me a free meal.”

Outside of the forge he stops so abruptly, I run right into the broad expanse of his back. His dingy shirt is sweaty and hot, and I push against him as I grimace at the smell of fire and brimstone rising from him. “Jeremy—”

He points across the street. “See? That’s his boyfriend.”

I follow his finger and stare at a young man our own age who leans against the side of the glasshouse store. He’s blond with tight curls that hug his scalp, nothing like my shoulder-length locks. He wears one of the red coats marking him as a British soldier. His hands are shoved into his pockets and he’s obviously waiting for someone.

He doesn’t look like anything David would like, as if I know what he goes for in guys. But I do, don’t I? He went for me last night. This boy’s cute but he’s not me.

Jeremy elbows me as the door to the glasshouse opens. Another re-enactor comes out—a tradesman obviously, wearing the same outfit David had on the night before. Sure, he’s a redhead, but his hair’s the wrong shade. It’s too light, and his body’s too big, his waist, his arms, his legs all too stocky, his ass not round enough. “That’s not him,” I sigh in relief. “Nope, not by a long shot.”

“That’s the glass smith’s apprentice.”

I laugh and shake my head. Across the street the Redcoat touches the other guy’s arm, the only hint they might be more than friends. Jeremy frowns as if upset over the prospect of losing out on our little bet. “You sure it’s not him?”

“It wasn’t that dark.” As we stare after them, the two guys disappear into the crowd.

“Fine,” Jeremy pouts. “But I was right. He is seeing that guy. So you still owe me lunch.”

I might buy him something, too, because it wasn’t David—so last night was all about me, and I still can’t wait to get with him again.