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Chapter 16
Ewan settled on horseback and eased into a steady clop behind Baldwin. His eyes remained sturdy and sure across Baldwin’s back and upper shoulders. He wanted to know every movement, every hesitation, every breath. He’d spent the majority of his life in constant correspondence and view of Baldwin. Thusly, this fresh perspective on Baldwin’s newfound— should he call it attraction?—was rather alarming.
Ewan had never imagined what it would feel like to watch Baldwin fall in love. He’d watched throughout the wretched, albeit brief, affair between Penelope and Baldwin, an entire concept that had seemed laughable at the time, if only because Baldwin had had little to no interest in the poor girl.
No. In fact, Ewan had more or less wrapped his mind completely around the idea that Baldwin would never have time for such frivolous encounters. He had pledged his undying friendship to Ewan, and there went his many hours and beautiful days, his freedom, all tied up in Ewan’s time. Outside of that relationship, Baldwin had little more than meetings and schedules and propriety, and stoicism.
Ewan’s responsibility, thus, had been to bring about colour and life.
Now, it was clear that Baldwin felt that colour and life elsewhere.
He’d first sensed it between Baldwin and Marta during that first encounter. Of course, at the time, Ewan had teased Baldwin about the potential of it—dragging him to that first dinner as a sort of sport. Ewan had long-ago forced himself to face the wretched truth: that in this life, this world, he and Baldwin could never be what he so yearned for.
And it wasn’t as though Baldwin wanted any such thing, either.
Ewan’s hands gripped the reins still harder so that the fingers became blotchy, white and red. Baldwin’s horse raced forward, flashing his perfect black curls out behind him. Baldwin turned and drew a perfect, crooked smile towards Ewan. “Are you going to ride this slowly the rest of the afternoon, then?”
Ewan chuckled. “You really don’t allow for any moment of calm, do you?”
“I cannot understand it. All the hours I spent in my study, I ache to be on the moors.”
Ewan rolled his eyes and cut his ankles into the sides of the horse. The horse flashed his hooves forward and back, flipping him faster across the hills. Baldwin cried out, yelling like a boy so that his voice echoed through the sky and against the yonder line of trees.
Finally, after twenty minutes of hard riding, Baldwin staggered his horse to a halt near a little pond. Ewan and Baldwin had spent a seemingly-unending number of afternoons at that pond, in various stages and seasons. Now, the sun had begun its trajectory towards the horizon, burning orange above the trees. Baldwin sneaked his fingers into the top of the water and splashed his cheeks. He again grinned at Ewan. Ewan marvelled that if he truly knew what lurked within Ewan’s dark and chaotic heart, perhaps he wouldn’t look at him in such a handsome manner. Oh, but how could Baldwin possibly not know? He’d spent so many days with him, so many useless hours; he knew the inner mappings of Ewan’s heart.
No. Perhaps he simply couldn’t help how he looked at Ewan. Perhaps he only wanted to skate over the fact of Ewan’s overwhelming love and find whatever common ground on which they both could stand.
“It’s a strange thing, finding you so eager to attend the Regent’s party,” Ewan said. He matched Baldwin to splash water across his cheeks. His beard dribbled with it. His eyes, unable to latch onto Baldwin’s dark ones a moment more, scanned the flashing orange of the sun across the pond.
“Perhaps I’m devolving,” Baldwin said.
“Perhaps you’re simply ready. Ready for the sort of life my mother wants for both of us,” Ewan said.
Ewan could feel Baldwin’s eyes studying him. He still refused to look back.
“Have you completely discounted yourself for such happiness?” Baldwin asked.
There was an element of intelligence behind the words: knowledge that the world in which Ewan lurked was far murkier than even the pond before them.
“I dare say it isn’t something for us to decide right here,” Ewan said.
“You speak in such vague terms. It’s difficult for me to perceive precisely what’s happened,” Baldwin murmured.
In the distance, several cows seemed to throw back their heads and let out humming moos across the hills. There was something strange and sad about it: two men, at the edge of some sort of beginning and ending, listening to soon-dead cows echo out their sad tidings.
“They sound so terribly sad,” Ewan whispered.
Baldwin laughed slightly. “Everything doesn’t always have to be so wretchedly sad, Ewan. I know you read a stupendous amount of poetry and thus perceive it all to be so.”
“I refuse to live in a world lacking in emotion,” Ewan countered.
Ewan allowed his shoulders to fall forward. His heart thumped about for a few moments, proof to himself that he was on the verge of saying something enormous, something a bit over the line. Something that proved that both of them could see what lurked beneath the surface of everything else.
“She really could be someone essential for you, Baldwin.”
Baldwin made a soft, strange sound from his throat.
“Perhaps it will be something of a balance. She’s far more volatile and fiery than you could ever be. And you’re balanced and clear-headed and articulate. Perhaps you could bring out the best in one another,” he continued.
