Courting the Lion: An Excerpt and Call for Thoughts

Gentle Readers:

I’m so in love with my new couple and I’m beginning edits on their story. I just wanted to share this scene with you. I hope you enjoy. And while I appreciate any feedback, keep in mind that I do not debate religious or ‘moral’ issues, with trolls on line.

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Thomas sat opposite of him and put his hands between his knees. Richard took his books from the satchel, donned his glasses and began to read.

“Are we not going to discuss the matter?”

“Are you going to discuss, or are you going to yell at me?” Richard said, over the top of his spectacles. The carriage started to amble through town, the hoofbeats and city noise keeping their conversation private. The blinds were open and Thomas looked out at the cobbled streets and bright doorways as they passed.

“Last night was—”

“Beautiful.” Richard said.

“A sin—”

“Thomas, I cannot—” Richard huffed, took off his glasses, tapped them on his knee and sat forward. “I cannot undo the years of abuse and hurt you have suffered. Not in a day of riding boats or carriages, and certainly not when we arrive at the source of it. I can only assure you that you are not alone. You are not the first man or woman to fall for one of their own. It is not something that we chose. Any more than our hair color or our height.”

“But the bible—”

“Has been interpreted and reinterpreted by hundreds of men in power who sought to repopulate the earth with the poor and pious as to remain in power.”

Thomas was silent. “Richard—”

“They do this with fear. Not for the love of a god, but the fear of his retribution. And it keeps us all subjugate. Do you honestly believe a God would make you, perfect as you are, and mistakenly lead you to sin? That love, in all its fantastical and natural forms could be wrong?”

“I do not know.”

“You are a learned man. Think on it.” Richard said, put his glasses back on and began to read. The carriage jostled and swayed as they left the smoother cobble stone streets of Chippenham and tracked on to the dirt road. Richard tried to focus on his book, poetry…a love sonnet, that could have been meant for man or woman, or anything in between. He’d said the word love to the duke. And the duke had not said anything in return.

It was silly to be in love after a week. But Richard had known Thomas for so much longer. Hadn’t he wished he could meet a man like that in his own time? When there wasn’t a chasm of hurt to travel across to reach him. Love was not love when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove….

“It is an ever-fixed mark,” Richard whispered and stared out the window. Thomas sat, arm still crossed over his chest, eyes on the road that stretched out behind them, the rolling green fields. The stillness and the sway of a journey taking him back home to the expectations of his family.

Thomas let the swaying settle his mind. Richard could not change the years of abuse. But he could offer him a safe place. Thomas had been a great many things in his life. Rich, strong, kept and shaped. But never safe. He looked up, Richard was still staring out of the window, biting his bottom lip and thinking over whatever verse he’d just read. A warrior body, a scholar mind. Damn, if he didn’t love the man. He wanted to know more. He wanted to spend years learning what made Richard Shaw such an enigmatic mystery. He would not get to know him in silence. Or from so far away.

“Make space,” Thomas grumbled and came to Richard’s side of the carriage.

“My lord?” Richard began but the duke gently nudged him to the side and sat down, swinging his legs up on the seat and laying his head in Richard’s lap. Richard lifted his arms in surprise and looked down at the scowl on Thomas’ face.

“Well?” Thomas asked.

“What is it you expect of me?” Richard asked, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.

“Read to me, Doctor of Books.” Thomas whispered, folded his hands across his stomach and closed his eyes. Richard smiled, the weight and warmth of Thomas’ head on his thigh bringing such a beautiful sense of ease. He began, soft, even and intoning the rich language of a man who knew the power of words. His hand fell to where Thomas’ were folded and he caressed the duke’s fingers. Soon, his own hands and eyelids felt heavy and he took of his glasses. Thomas was asleep, curled into his stomach. He gently caressed his forehead, brushed the dark blonde hair away from his eyes and leaned his head back on the cushion. He tried to think through it, be logical…breathe deeply and let go of what he could not change. He kept stroking Thomas’ soft hair and felt some of his tension ease. They were here, they were safe.

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