Page 37 of King's Man

“You should have taken them off,” Nate called softly from the bank.

“Shut up.” Feeling his way, arms flung out for balance, Sam inched through the water. It became stony and painful beneath his feet, the water running fast, but at its deepest it only reached his knees and after a couple of minutes he was up on the shingly shore.

Nate stood watching, a lean shadow in the dark. He looked a lot like the Nate of Sam’s memory: the one whose eye he’d always wanted to catch, the one whose smile he’d always wanted to provoke. And for a moment he thought,maybe.Maybe he could wade back across, pull Nate into his arms, and let the resentment and loss flow away with the river. Maybe he could forget about everything else and let himself love and be loved again.

Maybe it was possible.

In the distance, a dog barked. Then another. Sam cast a wary glance over his shoulder. It was probably just MacLeod’s hunting hounds in their kennels, but nevertheless he made his way back across the river.

Nate crouched on the bank, tension narrowing his eyes as he watched Marlborough Castle. “MacLeod’s vicious,” he said when Sam reached him. “He probably has vicious dogs.”

The bank was higher on this side — which would pose a problem if they had to flee in haste — and Sam struggled to push himself up. He’d got one knee on the bank when Nate grabbed his arm and hauled him the rest of the way. “Someone’s there,” he hissed. “Come on.”

Sam grabbed his boots and coat, following as Nate darted back from the river toward the woods. In the distance the dogs still barked but Sam heard no sound of pursuit as they ducked into the shadow of the trees. “Ow,” he hissed, treading on something sharp in his bare feet.

Ahead, Nate stopped and came back. “Get your boots on,” he said, scanning the riverbank. He was nervy as a cat, and Sam wondered what he knew that he wasn’t saying.

Shoving his feet into his boots and his arms into his coat, he said, “Come on.” When Nate didn’t move, Sam touched his wrist to draw his attention from the house. “Nate, come on.” And somehow that touch lingered. Somehow, Sam’s fingertips were tracing over Nate’s knuckles. And somehow Nate’s hand turned beneath his own and their fingers tangled, threading together, pressing palm-to-palm. Nate’s eyes were very wide, full of questions that quickened Sam’s pulse. But all he said was, “We can cut through the woods to the cottage.”

He led the way and didn’t release Nate’s hand.

They’d been walking in silence for some time before Nate said, “MacLeodisdangerous, Sam. He’s a violent man, a gambler and a bully. If he were to catch you…”

“I’m not afraid of him.” Sam let his thumb trace Nate’s knuckles. He didn’t ask himself what he was doing; it was easier to ignore in the dark. “What can he do to me? I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Nate made an exasperated sound. “You’ve got your life,” he said, and stepped in front of him, putting a hand to his chest to stop him. “If he caught you, I’d —” He gave a frustrated shake of his head.

Sam stared, intensely aware of Nate’s warm fingers against his chest. Every touch drove his good sense further away. “You’d what?” he said roughly. “If MacLeod caught me, you’d what?”

Nate took a step closer, spreading his fingers until his palm lay flat over Sam’s racing heart. Could he feel it beating, pounding against his ribs? “I watched them hurt you once. Do you think I could let it happen again?”

“I don’t know —”

“Christ, Sam, of course I couldn’t.” He closed his eyes, and in a quieter voice said, “I wish I could undo that night. I wish none of it had ever happened. I wish —” His forehead dropped onto Sam’s shoulder, his hand fisting into his coat. On a shivery breath, he whispered, “I wish you still loved me.”

Those soft words pierced him. “Don’t.” He put a tentative hand on Nate’s shoulder, feeling the tremor of his muscles beneath his fingers. “Please don’t.”

But Nate didn’t move, he just stood there with his head bowed, shoulders shaking. And Sam couldn’t stand it. Helpless against a deep rush of emotion, he put his arms around Nate and drew him close.

God in heaven, but it was a relief. He felt it in his bones, as if his whole body had been hurting silently for years and he only now recognized that hollow, persistent ache as longing. Longing for this, for Nate. For home. Tightening his arms, he buried his face against Nate’s shoulder, and they clung to each other beneath the sighing boughs of the trees.

After a while Nate lifted his head and gazed into Sam’s eyes, nothing but the rustling woods and the distant burble of the river filling the silence. Sam studied him. There were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a sorrow in his face that only accentuated its sharp beauty. Sam lifted his hand to touch his jaw.

“You don’t wish none of it had ever happened,” he said softly. “The revolution is your passion, yourraison d’être.”

Nate’s eyes glittered but he didn’t deny it.

“You told me once that it was bigger than both of us, that our happiness didn’t matter compared with the tyranny you were fighting.”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“I don’t believe you think so.”

Jaw tight, Nate pulled out of his arms. “That doesn’t mean I don’t regret what it cost me. Or you.”

“But itdoesmean you’d make the same choices again, if you had to.”

Anguished, he scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “God, I wish we’d lived in different times, Sam. I wish we’d never known this damned war.”

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