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“And yet ye have not.” Struan looked around, then his gaze met Lachland’s.
The man knew. Somehow he knew.
“Ye can say it is not for me to intercede. However, when something affects one of my archers, then it is my concern. Ye and Caelan may not ever be together, however, do ye not think it is better to at least be friends? If ye care for someone, why not have good moments instead of bad?”
Lachland’s blood went cold. “I do not know what ye think ye know, but...”
“I saw ye,” Struan interrupted. “Months ago in the forest.” The man held a hand up. “Do nae worry. Erik and Torac are also aware. But have ye noticed a change in how any of us have acted toward ye? Nay. That is because ye are both good warriors and part of the guard.”
Lachland was frozen in place. That his preference toward men was known by the leaders was not something he’d ever expected. He’d been careless. Stupid.
“I can leave.”
“Do not be daft,” Struan replied. “Have ye not heard a word I said? Who ye prefer to fuck does not affect our respect for ye as a warrior.”
“And as a man?”
Struan chuckled. “Well if anything, by the bit I saw. I was impressed.”
Despite the situation a bark of laughter escaped and with it all the tension eased. “I am not sure what to say. Thank ye.”
They turned to study the target, both still chuckling.
Caelan won second place. It seemed most of the archers were not surprised surrounding him to congratulate and slap him on the back. A wide grin on his face, he graciously accepted the bag of coin and much deserved praise from the laird.
Once the sun sank below the horizon, campfires filled the air with light and smoke. People danced to lively music and most of the men sat drinking ale, hoping to avoid being yanked onto the dance floor by mothers, aunts or wives.
Caelan approached Lachland who’d walked to where ale was being poured. “Moment?”
“Aye,” Lachland replied, his heart racing. He wanted to look around and see if anyone watched, but he’d learned long ago, when someone did that, it drew more attention.
“What is it?” Lachland stood with a tankard in one hand, the other arm to his side.
“The inn at the village. Second floor, first room on the right.” Caelan said, his expression not changing. Then he walked to the man serving ale, refilled his tankard and walked away.
There were only two men at the Tavern when Lachland walked in. The owner was gone to the competition, leaving an old man at the bar, who was too drunk to mind the place properly. A second man, also older, sat at a table, head thrown back, snores erupting.
Lachland slipped past and up the stairs to the first room. The door was slightly open. He slipped inside and closed it.
Caelan sat in a chair removing his boots and looked up as he entered.
“This is dangerous,” Lachland said. “Not a good idea.”
“Then why are ye here?” Caelan remarked tugging at his boot, pulling it free and tossing it to the side.
“Because we should talk,” Lachland said lowering to the chair opposite. “We have to change how we are around each other. Someone has taken notice.”
Caelan chuckled. “I doubt anyone other than perhaps Torac and Struan know anything.”
“How can ye be so indifferent about it. Men who fuck other men are beaten, killed.”
There was a bit of silence, and he studied the flames in the fireplace.
Caelan met his gaze. “We should agree to stop the hostility and even if we’re not friends at least not fight all the time.”
“I am not sure I will ever be yer friend,” Lachland leaned back into the soft chair suddenly feeling tired.
“Ye hate me,” Caelan stated. “If I am to be honest there is little I like about ye.”
