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garden.
He was as ignorant of cultivated flowers as Julian
probably was, but herbs were useful and his mother's
kitchen garden had been full of them -- wandering
tendrils of leafy green mint, rosemary growing in tall
spikes, a dozen others that she'd used to flavor and
preserve their food. He could smell mint now and
guessed at some point the tangle of green on either side
of the narrow brick path had been a cultivated garden,
producing vegetables for the household. He walked a
few yards down the path, the bricks uneven under his
feet, moss furring the cracks, and bent down to
investigate what looked like& yes, it was! Rhubarb
stalks, the giant leaves floppy, the stalks rising up stiffly,
full of sour, mouth-puckering juice. In daylight, their
mottled red and green stalks would please the eye, but
for now he let his fingers trace the smooth covering, his
mouth watering.
Not his to pick& even if he suspected Julian would
leave the rhubarb to soften and droop then rot into the
soil. He'd learned his lesson.
Spoken from the Heart - 47
Maybe he could ask Julian's permission to harvest it
and try his hand at a pie. He'd never made one before,
but he'd watched his mother deftly roll and cut dough
and it didn't look difficult.
The garden was some twenty strides long, no more
than that, a tiny patch of land, but he could feel his
optimism return just from touching something living. It
was a timely reminder that even in the city the earth
could thrust up strong green fingers, breaking apart the
stone.
A bench stood under a cherry tree to the right of the
path. Alex sat down on it, after brushing aside a few
pink and white blossoms that clung to its surface. Spring
had turned to summer. He'd left the farm at the busiest
time, something that had put a dour, angry frown on his
father's face, but there had been no attempt made to stop
him.
It wasn't the Westerling way to hold someone against
their will -- but Alex wished there'd been a single tear
shed, a word or two of regret. He'd tried to be a good
son. It wasn't his fault that he was weak when it came to
the lure of a book, turning the pages eagerly when there
was -- always -- something better he could have been
doing.
"You waste precious hours and candlelight," his
father had told him, striking the poetry book from Alex's
hands and sending it tumbling to the floor, the pages
crushed and the spine broken. "Have done with such
foolishness. If you've a mind to be a scholar, help me
with the accounts. Your writing's neat enough and you're
good at sums."
Alex had gathered the book in his hands, loose pages
slipping through his fingers, his anger bright and hot as
the fire he'd been reading next to. He'd answered meekly
Spoken from the Heart - 48
enough -- he was a man grown, but his father would not
hesitate to drive his point home with the sharp smack of
his belt across Alex's back if provoked -- but it was then
that Alex had decided to leave.
Better to risk the unknown than stifle under the
deadly boredom of the certain.
He leaned back against the tree trunk and jumped for
the second time when a cat appeared from under a
currant bush, winding its way between his legs, as black
as the sky above, one ear torn. He reached down and let
it sniff his fingers, then tried to stroke it. A hiss and the
flash of a paw, claws unsheathed, warned him not to
take liberties.
Alex liked cats, always had. The barns at home were
full of them, existing on scraps and mice, tolerated as
useful. His mother picked out a likely mouser from a
litter and kept it inside until it grew too old to hunt, but
even the house cat wasn't given a lap to sit on. He'd
petted them in secret, loving the ecstatic rumble of their
purr, so uncomplicatedly happy. He coaxed the cat
closer with soft words and, when it was used to him,
picked a long blade of grass to tease it with, both of
them enjoying the game.
Eventually, he was permitted to stroke the rounded
head and tickle it under its chin. He didn't try to pick it
up. Likely it had fleas, for one thing, and if the cloak fell
apart, he didn't care for the idea of those claws digging
into his cock or balls.
A jaw-breaking yawn reminded him he needed sleep.
He stood, bowed gravely to the cat, and went back
inside. Halfway up the stairs, he became aware he was
no longer alone in the house, and froze. Low voices,
interrupted by warm laughter, were coming from Julian's
bedroom. He should be able to return to his own room
Spoken from the Heart - 49
unremarked if he was careful, but there were squeaking
floorboards to negotiate and closing his door would
require a steady hand.
Swallowing his nervousness, he tiptoed to the top of
the stairs and glanced at Julian's door. It was closed,
light spilling out underneath it. Alex's bedroom door had
swung shut, and Julian would've assumed Alex was
inside, fast asleep, when he walked past with his lover.
With sweat pearling his brow, Alex eased open the
door to his room and slipped through, closing it with a
click that sounded like a hammer blow to his ears. He
lost his nerve and scrambled between the sheets,
choosing speed over silence.
He was sure the murmur from the room beside him
would break off, but no voice called out a question, no
knock came on the wall.
His heart calmed, his body relaxing, muscles loose
with relief. Safely in bed, he could think about sleep
again and the opportunities the next day would bring. A
theater& to go inside one, to become part of Julian's
world&
He smiled drowsily and sighed a long breath into the
softest pillow his head had ever lain on.
A moan, long, anguished, had him sitting bolt-upright,
the sheets clutched in his hands. He wasn't naïve. He'd
walked into the barn a few years before and seen his
brother grunting, red-faced and ridiculous, his pale
backside rising and falling as he fucked one of the
Seldon twins. Alex hadn't tried to find out which one,
but the sounds she'd been making had been like the ones
coming out of Julian's bedroom and it'd been obvious
she was enjoying Niall's attentions.
He lay down again, but sleep was impossible. Each
moan, each muttered curse, reached his ears through the
Spoken from the Heart - 50
thin wall as plainly as if he was in the bed with them --
and picturing that did nothing to cool his heated blood.
"You're so hot for me tonight, love," Julian said, his
voice husky. "Let me finish undressing at least before
you enter me."
"No. I need you--" There was a pause, then a rueful
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