Chapter 5
One Requests Rescue
“My Lord Alaric,” the visitor greeted him reverentially, dropping to one knee.
“Chieftain Riga.” Alaric recognized him with a regal nod of his head. He studied the wild-haired redhead over top of his steepled fingers.
“May I make a request, m’Lord?”
“Indeed you may make a request,” Alaric graciously allowed.
“I humbly request your intervention and assistance,” Riga began.
“Is this a personal or political intervention?” Alaric interjected.
“Both, m’Lord.” Riga kept his eyes on the floor, fervently praying that the wizard would hear his plea.
“Explain. I am listening.” Alaric sat back in his chair, reached for his mug, making himself comfortable enough to entertain the story.
“Two nights ago, the Aedui attacked at my keep, kidnapping my eldest son.” Riga told his story through gritted teeth, anger etching deep lines on his forehead.
Alaric’s brows knit together in consternation. “Ulrich is forbidden to leave his own territory. What proof do you have that the Aedui were the attackers?”
Alaric’s words angered the chieftain. Indignant, he raised his eyes to glower at Alaric.
“I know my opponents, m’Lord. The slain were all marked,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “Enemies of the Belgae, I so swear!”
“Why come to me? How may I intervene?” Alaric diverted his anger.
“My hope would be the Fuíl could show the way, that we might intercept the thieves before they reach their stronghold.”
“Why did you not follow them?” Alaric inquired.
“We did not realize that they had stolen the boy. The attack was a diversion.”
“This is the child of the prophecy?” Alaric asked for clarification.
“Yes, m’Lord,” Riga affirmed.
“Still a few hours lead …” Alaric paused to drink. “You couldn’t track them?” He laughed derisively.
Riga grew red in the face, outraged and embarrassed. “We thought him to be asleep. I did not realize he was gone until the morning.”
“And you waited two days before coming to me?” Alaric’s scorn was clearly apparent.
“Mistakenly, I approached Lady Sarah first.” Reluctant to answer, Riga hung his head in shame.
“Chieftain, your ignorance is appalling.” Alaric shook his head, turning to motion for Arn to approach. “I should help you now? I have no concern for seers’ prophecies and petty politics.”
“Lord Alaric!” exclaimed Riga. “If the Clan Aedui controls the king …”
“They control the king!” Alaric cut off the aggravated chieftain. “I should risk my life and the protection of the Fuíl for this?”
“M’Lord?” Arn bowed deeply beside Alaric, interjected quietly, “A word in private?”
Alaric glowered at him, barely masking his fury over the interruption.
“Bring the Chieftain a chair, and a warm drink. I shall consult with my Master at Arms.” He motioned towards a serving wench. “In my chambers,” he finished, waving Arn towards the private rooms.
Arn deferentially stepped aside so that he could follow Alaric, at his right hand. They entered the study outside of Alaric’s private rooms. Arn closed the door, squeezing his eyes shut to brace himself for the onslaught.
“Just what in all the Hells were you thinking?” Alaric launched into his tirade. “How dare you!”
“Calm down, Alaric.” Arn met his challenge with cold logic. “Think! Think how much we could accomplish with the alliance of the Belgae!”
“We do not need alliances. We are the Iompróir!” Alaric shouted, slamming his hand down on the desk for emphasis. The talisman swung on its gold chain, catching the light as it moved. Arn stared at it, transfixed for a few seconds.
“We are the Iompróir but look closely at what just happened!” Arn shook his head and averted his eyes from the mesmerizing ruby. “He did not even realize that Sarah no longer protected the Fuíl! Witches and wizards lose respect and standing with every passing year.”
“Explain how helping this, this…” Gesturing wildly with his hands, Alaric searched for words before finally spitting out, “Mortal will help us?”
“Show them the power of the Fuíl, your strength, m’Lord. Make them fear you. With fear comes respect. Think, Alaric! He will owe you a life-debt,” Arn whispered as he placed his hands on the tabletop, on either side of Alaric’s. He stared up into the dark, brooding eyes of his Lord, trying to read his reaction while curbing his own rather inappropriate reaction to the power radiating from Alaric.
“How much do you desire this intervention, Master at Arms?” Alaric queried, knowing full well that Arn would be both easily distracted, and persuaded to grant favors, as Arn’s own rising reaction was nearly at eye level with Alaric.
“I desire you, m’Lord Alaric,” Arn growled. “As well you know. I believe that helping Riga will gain us influence and favor far beyond that of a single clan.”
“How far will you go to defend your beliefs, then?” Alaric wondered as he sat back in his desk chair.
“How far must I go to defend my beliefs, Alaric?” he countered tiredly. “Why must we always play these games?”
“I enjoy them, Arn. You know that well. I thought you enjoyed them as well. Was I so mistaken?”
“I do find pleasure in certain aspects of these games,” Arn admitted with a sigh and a becoming blush of pink tingeing his cheeks.
“Would you drop to your knees and pleasure me under this desk? If I agree to assist this disrespectful mortal?” Alaric challenged him.
“If you wish, m’Lord,” Arn answered, stepping back and bowing with stiff formality.
“Why are you waiting?” Alaric demanded, shrugging his shoulders.
Arn dropped to his knees and crawled under the desk. Alaric let his head fall back against the headrest of his chair, closing his eyes as he felt Arn’s hands unlacing his trousers. Alaric braced his feet against the floor to lift his hips so that Arn could tug those trousers down, freeing his pulsing erection. Arn hesitantly nosed the tip, inhaling the familiar, musky scent of his lover. He brushed his cheek against the smooth, hot shaft, rubbing his chin in Alaric’s coarse pubic hair. He breathed out, as he drew his face back. With a knowing smile, Arn wet his lips with his tongue, opened his mouth and plunging down, swallowing Alaric completely. Alaric gave a little shout, arching upward into Arn’s hot mouth.
“Yes!” Alaric gasped, succumbing to Arn’s persuasive tongue. “Yessss!” he groaned. He clenched his hands on the edge of the desk, turning his knuckles stark white. “Touch yourself, grádh. Come with me!” Alaric commanded.
Arn willingly complied, shoving his hand underneath his waistband, tugging harshly on his bent cock to straighten it for stroking. Arn moaned around his mouthful, coaxing Alaric with his tongue and the vibrations helped to send the wizard into climax. Arn swallowed all his Lord had to offer and his own hand squeezed out his own release. He licked Alaric clean before shuffling back out from underneath the desk. As he stood up, he made to wipe his hand clean but Alaric grabbed his wrist, pulling Arn’s hand to his mouth and licked him clean with a smug grin. Arn shuddered as Alaric used his tongue to reach between each finger, taking great joy in the taste.
“My Lord,” Arn panted, becoming quite aroused once more.
“Mmmmm,” moaned Alaric, savoring the tastes. “Now to arms, Master. We ride to rescue a boy.”
“Dear gods …” Arn complained. “Even when I win the arguments, I fear I lose.”
“Perhaps someday, you will cease with the arguing?” Alaric teased as he ripped through the clothes in his wardrobe.
“Do not hold your breath while waiting, m’Lord,” Arn bantered as he made for the door. “I will alert the guards. You will discuss the plan with Chieftain Riga?”
“Yes, as soon as I find my good leathers …” He threw some fancy dress robe onto the bed. “Damned servant-girl must have hidden them.”
“By your leave,” Arn addressed him as he slid out the door.
“WENCH!” Alaric’s bellow chased Arn further down the hall. The small servant girl ran past him, her eyes wide in alarm.
Alaric barreled into the great hall, his face a mask of fury hiding a dread fear. He bellowed at Arn, “Full ARMS! Full guard! We ride!”
Riga leapt to his feet, excited, eager. Arn stared at Alaric, alarmed at the sudden change in his Lord. Alaric glowered, touching the emerald ring with a meaningful glare at Arn.
“No!” Arn mouthed.
Alaric nodded and pointed towards the door. “The bastards have taken my bride as well as your child.” Rage radiated from his core, the Fuíl gleaming like an evil red eye on his chest, demanding satisfaction.
