marlowemuses | The One Secret I Never Told You

Ronan made another face. "Or I can punch him in the goddamn face," he muttered with some heat, leaving the bags lined up against the wall. Again, Adam was right, and Ronan didn't like it one bit. Being under Declan's rules was already grating and he'd only been there for about ten minutes. It made him sick. Angry. It was tempting to punch the wall, break open the skin on his knuckles and relish the way the wound would throb—but he resisted, not wanting Adam to see him like that.

He'd get drunk later. That usually worked.

The maids stepped inside, still whispering to each other, and Ronan stepped over to the edge of the loft again. With a crisp, clear voice that was not to be argued with, he said, "I'll be staying here, in the loft, for the foreseeable future. Adam will oversee everything that needs to be done. You'll listen to him or you'll hear from me. And believe me, you don't want to hear from me."

The girls quieted, eyes wide as saucers at how intimidating the young master had become. Quickly, they nodded, hands folded in front of their skirts and eyes demurely facing down.

"I think you know what I want," he said, softly, for Adam's ears only.

Ronan gave Adam one last glance before sliding down the ladder, shoes crunching beneath scattered hay. The maids jumped at his sudden drop but otherwise stayed quiet.

"I'm going to step outside," he said, looking up, "to see the flowers. When you're done directing them, Adam, meet me there." He wouldn't stay and breathe over Adam's shoulder as he directed the girls as to what they were to do. He trusted Adam, and he wanted Adam to have a taste of that power without him there. So with one final nod at the maids he stepped out of the barn and around back to the little garden of flowers. They were more beautiful than he remembered.

Grateful for being put in charge, Adam descended the ladder with as much dignity as possible and began his instructions. One girl would stay and begin cleaning. The other was to return to the house for supplies and additional help. Fresh mattress, clean sheets and blankets, a mouser--he seemed to recall that one of their neighbors had recently had kittens?

Ronan would want to wash up from his journey, so he would need a working bath. The bath pump would need to be checked, and the water heater should be cleaned and repaired as necessary. The entire loft area should be scrubbed. The little iron stove would need to be cleaned out and supplied with fresh coal to warm the loft.

Satisfied with his orders, Adam went outside to report to his new master. "Everything is in order," he murmured, stepping to Ronan's side.

When Adam found him, Ronan was busy cradling a rose between his fingers. It was a purple rose, an oddity that his father had brought back for his mother after one of his many travels. The both of them delighted in seemingly impossible things. Purple roses had apparently made the list, and his mother had gotten seeds to grow some of her own. They reminded Ronan of her most of all.

His thumb traced along one of the wide petals with surprising tenderness. Velvety soft.

At Adam's voice, Ronan glanced up from his thoughts and gave a curt nod. "Time to deal with my brother, then." He did not sound the least bit excited about it. Standing straight and shoving his hands into his pockets, he began to stride back to the house, reluctant yet not willing to back down. Declan wouldn't get the better of him.

Though when the arrived in front of the door to Declan's study room, there was the undeniable giggle of a woman, and the murmur of a man. Ronan's face twisted up in disgust and he pounded on the door with an incredible ferocity. The woman gasped and there was the sound of clothes being hastily thrown on before the door opened and the maid rushed out, blushing and straightening her skirts as she rushed past them.

"You're disgusting," Ronan said, staring at his brother from the hallway. Declan, smoothing his hair back, shot his brother a look.

"You'd do yourself a favor to find a woman of your own," his brother said, leaning back in his office chair, behind his desk.

Ronan was quiet, not quite ready to parse that particular conversation with Declan—not in front of Adam, especially. "Come on, Adam," he said, stepping inside, "what are you going to need for the loft? Tell him. I forgot everything."

Declan looked confused, "The loft?"

"Sir," Adam said, stepping forward and remaining a half step behind Ronan. He kept Ronan on his good side so that he could hear better. "Mr Lynch has asked me to serve as his personal valet, and he would prefer to reside in the Barns so as to intrude less upon your household. I've begun making arrangements for Mr Lynch's comfort during his stay."

His heart was pounding with anxiety. He almost never had occasion to speak directly to the master of the house, being so far below him in authority that there were several rungs of reporting between them. Head ringing, he tried to think of what else he might need for Ronan's comfort.

Declan's mouth open and then closed, like a fish. Ronan grinned.

"No," Declan snarled, slamming his hands down on the desk. "What the fuck, Ronan? Sleeping in the damn barn like an animal? Always causing problems. Getting drunk, getting into brawls, horse racing and ruining our name wasn't enough for you? Now you're just outright downgrading to a beast. What's wrong with your old room?"

"I don't want to stay there," Ronan snarled right back, staring at his brother heatedly. The friction in the air between them was thick enough to be felt. "You wouldn't get it, Declan. If I'm not staying in the barn I'm fucking leaving. Take. Your. Goddamn. Pick."

The Lynch brothers stared at each other, ready to pounce like animals, salivating for the jugular. Then Declan rubbed his hands against his temples, sighing.

"Whatever he needs, see it's taken care of. Money is of no concern." Because, in the end, Declan Lynch would always choose having his brother near enough to have under his thumb. Even if it was in the barn.

"Sir," Adam said, and bowed. He took a step back, heart rabbiting in his chest, and hoped desperately that Ronan would leave with him. He felt distinctly unsafe here, vulnerable, in front of this man who had so much power over his life.

His breath had quickened by the time he reached the hallway, though he allowed no other outward sign of his panic. His deaf ear rang loudly and his head ached.

Ronan made to follow after Adam, but Declan stopped him.

"We need to talk about you managing the country estate," his brother said. "Not to mention going through dad's old things. We need to divide them up."

Ronan pressed his lips together. "Why do you think you managed to convince me to come back? We'll do it. But I've got no interest in the country estate. I'm here for what dad wanted me to have and then I'm gone."

Declan frowned yet said nothing more. Ronan left. Reaching the hallway, he stepped beside Adam, watching him carefully.

"Are you all right? Need to rest?"

Adam had a good constitution when they were kids but times had changed. He looked tired and worn now, like he'd seen far more than a young man should have. Ronan worried, but wasn't good at expressing it.

"You don't need to worry about me, sir," Adam said, closing his eyes briefly and then drawing himself up, restored to himself. "I'm ready to serve."

He glanced around them subtly, knowing that these hallways were nearly as hostile to Ronan as they were to Adam. The gossip was vicious, and Declan's household was not fond of Ronan, aside from the few older servants who had known him as a child. "Your rooms may not yet be clean. I ought to return and supervise the process. Is there anything else you require of me at the moment?"

Ronan watched Adam with sharp eyes, taking in the other man's state. There would be no making Adam rest now; too stubborn, prideful, he'd refuse and insist on working. Which was fine. It simply meant Ronan had to be more creative in getting him to relax a little.

"No," he said, finally looking away and down the hall. There was a shadow lingering; someone hiding around the corner and listening, but not realizing that their shadow betrayed them.

"No. You are dismissed."

Ronan hated what his brother had down to this house. Before, servants spying was a rare thing. Now? One had to watch their tongue lest Declan get wind of something. Not that Ronan cared about fighting his brother. Adam, on the other hand, was a different story.

"Thank you, sir." Bowing to Ronan, Adam retreated out to the Barns. There was plenty to do, and he wanted to personally manage as much of it as possible. Thankfully, the cleaning was underway, though with less enthusiasm than he would have liked.

He took command of the situation immediately, getting the servants to report on the maintenance of the place so that he could decide what to prioritize, what to clean, what to repair or replace. He arranged for a smaller pallet for himself to be placed in the corner, with thicker blankets than he'd ever had before.

Preparing a home for Ronan made him feel deeply satisfied. Even though he could never have the love he wanted from Ronan, he could at least have the pleasure of caring for him and making sure that everything was to Ronan's taste.

Ronan stood in the same spot as Adam retreated, and then wandered the halls. Halls of his childhood. It hurt, to think that he would never find his father walking them again. Back when Declan wasn't as much of an asshole, and his mother would float outside, happy to simply live life.

Eventually he made his way back to the Barns, chewing on a piece of meat bread that the cook had given him when he passed by the kitchen.

"How's it looking?" he asked Adam, glancing around as he strode inside. It looked and felt cleaner. "No huge rats nests, I hope." But if there was, maybe they could transport them to Declan's room. It was a satisfying thought.

A smile flickered over Adam's face at the sight of Ronan healthy and relaxed. Hope looked better on Ronan than rage, though Adam loved him either way. "Go and look," he said, nodding toward the ladder.

"The structure of the building is sound," Adam continued, as he watched Ronan climb the ladder. "There's no damage, only dust. Everything's just about finished. Shall I go ahead and draw you a bath now?"

At the top of the ladder, Adam had arranged to have the bed made with dark blue sheets, a soft pale blue blanket, and the blue and white patchwork quilt that Ronan's mother had made, long ago, patterned like the ocean. He'd arranged to hang draperies from the hooks in the ceiling, offering a canopy above the bed to protect it, and drapes all around for privacy and warmth. Soft rugs carpeted the loft floor, and a tea service was waiting, still hot, on the little table. Only Adam's cot looked out of place, tucked into the corner with white sheets and dark green blankets. It looked cozy, and Adam was excited to have something so lovely for his own, but it was still ill-fitting and disappointing by comparison to what he'd prepared for Ronan.

Ronan was entranced the moment he saw the quilt that Adam managed to find. Stepping forward, he brushed his hand across the patches, remembering when his mother had stitched it together. The rest was lovely as well; Adam had quickly turned the empty loft into something livable.

"You did a good job," he said, not because he was trying to make Adam feel good, but because it was true. It felt clean and homey. Much better than every inch of the mansion did.

It was good that the structure was sound. There was no need to bother Declan about anything, then. Which was how Ronan preferred it.

At the mention of a bath Ronan turned his head. It had been a long trip, and a bath actually sounded nice.

"Yeah," he said as he unbuttoned his vest and made to kick off his shoes, "that'd be good. It's been a long day."

Adam knew he had done well. He remembered Ronan well enough to recognize the signs of his pleasure and approval.

Heart soaring with pride to have pleased Ronan, he bowed briefly and headed for the bathing room. There was a shining copper tub, freshly polished, and a little coal stove, already lit, under a basin of water. It pumped up from the wells below the ground, fresh, sweet water.

Adam opened the spigot, finding the water already plenty hot. He pulled his hand back quickly, lightly scalded, and let the basin fill. It was scalding at first, the heated water from the basin, but as the basin drained, Adam worked the pump to fill it with cold spring water, mixing with the heated water and cooling it until it was merely steaming.

A small array of bath salts rested by the side of the tub, scents that Adam had chosen. He added one that was scented with juniper and bergamot, hoping Ronan would like it.

While Adam was in the other room, Ronan stepped a bit closer to where he'd set his own bed up. It was ... shabby, in comparison to what he had given Ronan. Not that Ronan cared about anything looking shabby. It was very Adam. He'd always been an abstemious kid.

Quietly, Ronan went to his bags. There were things he'd brought back for Adam, but now that he saw what Adam was like, he didn't think he'd outright accept his gifts. So he would have to slip them into Adam's life quietly, one thing at a time. The first was a rich hand cream. He remembered that Adam had sensitive, dry hands. Now, he was especially happy he'd picked this up, seeing how poorly Adam had been cared for.

He slipped the bottle underneath Adam's covers. He'd find it there.

Then he stripped himself of his shirt, leaving it folded on the bed. Normally he'd have just tossed it anywhere, but if Adam stayed with him, he'd probably try and clean up after him. Better to not make any extra work for his old friend.

Stepping into the doorway, he leaned against the frame, bare-chested and arms crossed. Only his pants were left on, hanging low on his hips, showing off the scant hair below his navel.

"What's that? Smells good."

Adam's eyes flicked over him, noting with appreciation that Ronan had gotten even more muscular in addition to the gained height.

Grateful for his darker complexion, which hid the blush as his eyes slipped downward, Adam quickly returned his attention to the bathwater. "Juniper and bergamot bath salts, sir," he said, stirring it with his hand to make sure it was the right temperature and then turning off the tap. Then he went to Ronan, eyes averted, intending to serve as a valet and aid him in undressing.

Breath quickening with nerves, he reached for Ronan's fly to help him out of his trousers.

Once Adam was close enough, standing right in front of him and hands helping unfasten his trousers, Ronan reached up and traced a finger lightly along Adam's hair. Longer. Much longer. But as soft as he remembered, sharing his bed as boys and tangled up together, limbs thrown this way and that.

"What did I say," said Ronan, voice low, "about calling me sir?"

Where Adam averted his gaze, Ronan refused to look at anything but his old friend. They were alone; they would hear anyone lurking outside. Even if they were, voices did not echo in the Barns. Never had. The old farm hand used to say that faeries protected the Barns. Ronan liked to believe that.

Closing his eyes, he dropped his hand. Touching made him want and wanting was dangerous.

"Juniper and bergamot, huh?"

Adam stilled, shivering briefly. It was unbelievably difficult to do this, standing so close to Ronan, with the man he loved tracing a finger over his hair. Adam yearned to tilt his head up and steal a kiss, but the thought of Ronan being shocked and disgusted was enough to prevent him.

"I beg your forbearance, sir," Adam murmured, unfastening the buttons of Ronan's trousers and kneeling so that he could draw them down along with Ronan's undergarments. He didn't dare look up, cheeks burning from how close he was to Ronan's naked cock. "It would be dangerous for me to call you Ronan." The name slipped like a thief from his lips, and Adam's heart thudded with fear and delight.

Rising quickly to his feet, Adam turned away. The wrong way, he realized after a moment. He'd put Ronan on his deaf side. Turning again, though it made him face the wall, Adam kept his eyes averted while he waited for request or command.

"I like when you do," he murmured, but that was when Adam turned away the first time. With a quizzical look Ronan watched as Adam turned again. Weird. It was enough to distract him from the fact that he was very, very naked in front of his childhood love. It meant nothing, he reminded himself, and to Adam he was probably like a piece of furniture. Just another thing in the house to be scrubbed down and made to look presentable.

Ronan watched him a moment longer, as though he expected an answer, and then looked away. "You can call me asshole, if you want. Been called that plenty of times." Stepping toward the bath, he passed Adam and stretched, showing the slick ink parading across the entire expanse of his back. Feathers and claws flexed with him.

Reaching down, he skimmed the top of the water with his fingers. It felt good, a careful temperature. "You don't have to wait around," he said, glancing at Adam from over his shoulder. "You can have the rest of the night for yourself."

"Thank you, sir," Adam said, taking it as a dismissal. He headed for the door, then paused, glancing back. His eye flicked again over that tattoo, those broad shoulders, the powerful muscles. The art was beautiful, and so heartbreakingly Ronan.

"I like your tattoo," he said, quietly, and then slipped out the door to escape.

He'd been given the evening off. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Instead, he spent some time attending to Ronan's needs, ensuring that he would have everything he needed. He ordered a large meal to be sent up, laying it out and taking a little for himself where the loss wouldn't be noticed. Leaving it for Ronan, Adam slipped off his boots and curled up on the bed with a book. His eyelids were heavy, but he didn't want to risk sleeping if Ronan still needed anything.

Ronan watched as Adam left. I like your tattoo. Those words lingered when he eased himself into the bath and scrubbed himself down. No one else had said they liked it. And Declan... his brother still didn't know. That was going to be an eruption. Ronan looked forward to it.

He took his time scrubbing himself down and thinking about Adam, about his homecoming, how everything seemed to have a bitter tinge. His childhood home was ruined by Declan. Adam... he'd was browbeaten. The only bit of magic left was in the barn. The barn, and one other place.

Once he was finished he dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He didn't say anything when he found dinner waiting, just a short nod, not surprised that Adam had done so. But he only ate half, leaving the other half for Adam to have, since he doubted Adam had been given a decent dinner in a long while.

Dressing in black on black, a tight fitting shirt and pants, Ronan stuck his hands into his pockets. "I'll be going out," he said simply, looking out the window as he spoke. It was night. Not that such things mattered to him.

Ronan looked breathtaking in his dark clothing. Like a shadow. A dragon. A blade. A viper.

Dressing up like that, Ronan would most likely be going out to find... companionship, Adam supposed. The thought hurt, though he knew that it was part of Ronan's birthright to enjoy the company of the young and beautiful, to marry a doting wife and have a string of mistresses. Like Declan.

"I understand," Adam said, heart aching. He kept his eyes averted, feeling abandoned even though he should have gotten used to the feeling of being left behind by Ronan. "Have a pleasant evening, sir."

"I won't," he promised, gaze lingering on Adam a bit longer. For a moment he considered asking his old friend to come with him—but Ronan was planning on being irresponsible, and didn't want Adam to get into trouble.

He would not have a pleasant evening. Upon arrival, it was only fitting for him to visit his father's grave. It was the only other bit of magic left.

Finally looking away, Ronan slid down the ladder and left the barn, stepping out into the crisp autumn night air. It was a bit of a walk to where the chapel and the family crypt was. On the outskirts of their land, with the chapel the topside, and the crypt of the Lynch family beneath. The estate had been in their family for generations, though Ronan had rarely heard much about his forefathers. Dreamers, inventors. Magical people, like his father.

He prayed at the cross. Sat in one of the pews and stared at the little stained glass windows. It was obvious that Declan hadn't kept the place up. Asshole. Pulling a flash out of his pocket, Ronan took swig after swig until he felt lightheaded. Then, he stumbled down the stone stairs of the crypt, hand against the wall to keep from falling. He took more swigs as he went. It was potent brandy, tasted like shit, but it hit him hard. Eyes glassy, he sat at the base of his father's stone, draining the flash of its contents—and then pulling out another one. Two flasks were better than one.

Ronan fell asleep there, cold and miserable, hating every second he was near his brother and their splintered family. Time didn't make it better, but alcohol did.

He did not return to the barn, not even when the sun cracked against the horizon. The cold was numbing and so was the booze.

"Sir?" Adam asked when Ronan said that. He wanted to protect Ronan from whatever unpleasant evening he had in mind.

When Ronan had gone, Adam curled up alone in his little bed, hoping to get some sleep. He was exhaustion, but worry and his fixation upon Ronan kept his mind whirling. Sleep was impossible.

He dozed restlessly for hours, worry increasing when Ronan didn't come home. Companionship was all well and good, he told himself, but it was unlikely that Ronan would spend the night with his... companion. And what had he meant when he had said he wouldn't have a pleasant night?

By dawn, Adam was out of his mind with worry. Ronan had gone out alone. What if he'd been hurt? Mugged? Stabbed?

He paced the loft, distraught. Where could Ronan be? Where else would he spend the night? With Gansey, maybe? But why... why say he wouldn't have a pleasant night? What had he intended to do? What had he done?

Worry tearing him apart, Adam tore at his hair. He'd let this happen. He'd let Ronan go out alone and he was hurt somewhere. Or he was simply being absurd and Ronan was fine. Ronan would come home any moment and want to know why his valet was useless with exhaustion.

Mid-morning, he finally thought of a possibility. Ronan had adored his father, and Ronan had always been deeply religious. He would have wanted to visit the crypt. He might still be there, or at least have stopped there on his way home.

It was a glimmer of hope, better than fretting endlessly. Adam seized his tattered coat, jumping down the ladder and hurrying out across the grounds to the old crypt.

He peeped into the chapel but saw nothing. Feeling like an intruder, he took a deep breath, then let himself down into the crypt, finding Ronan fast asleep with a pair of empty flasks on the floor near him.

Relief, dread, anger, and pain flashed through Adam. Hurrying to Ronan's side, he knelt by him, clasping Ronan's cheeks. His beloved--his employer--was cool, but not cold. There was still warmth in his skin, and his breath still stirred the air in shallow puffs. "Ronan," Adam said, beseeching and reprimanding, praying that his friend would awake. "Ronan."

Dreaming was easier in the crypt. He dreamed of his father, handsome Niall Lynch, all grins and mischief. Ronan had been his favorite, as Niall had been Ronan's favorite. In the dream Niall had been hugging Ronan, saying something that Ronan couldn't understand. It seemed important. Then Niall laughed and scrubbed at his son's head, through hair that was still thick and curled.

Then he heard his name. Once, twice. At first he thought it was his dad. Reprimanding, then worried. What did he do? What did he fuck up this time?

Slowly, Ronan opened his eyes. It wasn't Niall Lynch over him.

"Adam...?" he croaked, throat parched from too much booze and no water. Squinting, wearily, a little hung over and aching from sleeping on a cold stone floor.

"You look worried," he said, blankly, as though he couldn't quite fathom why.

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