Abel watched as the old woman banked the fire. She loaded on the wood generously, and the heat of it immediately radiated through the room. Even in a room of this size, the stones held the heat, and the comfort of it went bone-deep after the days--the years--of privation. It reminded Abel of his youth of comfort and luxury, before he'd rebelled against his father's wishes to make him a leader of men.
Nights in the monastery had been cold and silent, in the bare apprentices' hall or in the chilly priest cells, where every morning Abel broke the ice on his ewer to wash his face, and some days there was no water, only ice. He barely remembered being comfortably warm, except on summer days when he could bask in it.
Lost to memory as he stared into the flames, the creak on the sill startled him back to reality.
Or something like it. The stranger in the doorway was young and healthy, with broad shoulders and white teeth. The people of the village had all looked stout and strong, but this young man was something else entirely. He might have been formed wholly from one of Abel's more sinful dreams.
Abel's breath caught in his throat, heart quickening. He knew perfectly well that he had a weakness for men like this, strong and young and handsome, and it had never been any trouble because they'd never looked his way. They'd never smiled at him.
"Thank you," Abel stammered. His hands curled in on themselves, tightening, and he put them behind his back, trying to regain control of himself. "I'm very grateful for your kindness."
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Nights in the monastery had been cold and silent, in the bare apprentices' hall or in the chilly priest cells, where every morning Abel broke the ice on his ewer to wash his face, and some days there was no water, only ice. He barely remembered being comfortably warm, except on summer days when he could bask in it.
Lost to memory as he stared into the flames, the creak on the sill startled him back to reality.
Or something like it. The stranger in the doorway was young and healthy, with broad shoulders and white teeth. The people of the village had all looked stout and strong, but this young man was something else entirely. He might have been formed wholly from one of Abel's more sinful dreams.
Abel's breath caught in his throat, heart quickening. He knew perfectly well that he had a weakness for men like this, strong and young and handsome, and it had never been any trouble because they'd never looked his way. They'd never smiled at him.
"Thank you," Abel stammered. His hands curled in on themselves, tightening, and he put them behind his back, trying to regain control of himself. "I'm very grateful for your kindness."