Bee Among the Clover by Fae Sutherland, Marguerite Labbe Page B

leaned back against the trunk of one of the trees, arms crossed over his chest, studying Roman, more questions piling up. “Where are you from? Not from this land or north of here either, that much is obvious.”
Roman’s smile was tight. “I’m from Rome.” A condescending look crossed his face as Aron’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “Roman… Rome? Wulfgar found it amusing at first and then it became habit.”
Aron was startled. Roman wasn’t his name. He felt foolish for not having figured that out before. It didn’t seem fair that Wulfgar had changed his name. What would’ve been the harm in keeping it? The way the slave accepted Wulfgar’s edicts irritated him anew. He would never allow the thane to change his name. Then he remembered how Wulfgar kept referring to him as “boy” and flushed. “What’s your name then?”
Roman hesitated, chewing on his upper lip, and then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m Roman now.” He equated it to any pet that had formerly been someone else’s. Wulfgar had renamed him, and any rekindling of his old identity the thane would see as Roman pining for his former life. Wulfgar did not like to know Roman pined.
Aron frowned. “I won’t tell him, I swear.” Roman tightened his lips, tired of Aron’s prodding, and Aron shrugged. “I was merely curious. If you don’t wish to tell me, you need not.”
Roman refused even to think the name. It was like reopening an old wound that had not quite healed over. It hurt too much and would sound strange to his ears after all this time, like it belonged to somebody else instead. He looked down, unable to meet Aron’s eyes, becoming more uncomfortable with the questions. If Wulfgar caught them talking about this, he would be very angry, though the silent hope that Aron was done prying into his past was short lived.
“How did you come to be here?” Aron asked.
Roman walked a few feet away, his eyes piercing the growing gloom. He looked southward, his heart aching so hard that at first he couldn’t speak past the bands around his throat. “I was young and foolish, Aron. The how doesn’t matter, I am here now.” And here was where he’d remain unless things changed in the foreseeable future, though he’d almost given up dreaming of going home. He wished he had Aron’s courage. He remembered Aron’s vow that he’d rather choose death than enslavement, but he wondered if that were true. Would Aron really choose to die and lose any chance that he might return home one day?
Aron cocked his head, watching Roman, who seemed lost in thought. Curiosity still nagged him, but it was obvious the slave didn’t care to discuss this further.
Another topic had him curious, in a morbid sort of way, though Roman wasn’t likely to want to discuss that either. Still, he approached him, hesitant. Roman had an intensity about him that made him wary, yet drew him in at the same time. It made Aron wonder what was beneath the mild exterior, at the core of the man.
“You said once that it was in your nature to submit. I will admit I don’t understand, but….” He was unsure how to phrase it without angering Roman or sounding callous. It had only been a month or so, and Wulfgar, to a certain degree, shared Roman with him. He was uncertain why what Osric had implied bothered him so much. One night, would Roman not join the other two in the bed because Wulfgar had sent him to service his men? “Does he share you often?”
Roman turned, and there was an utter stillness in his dark eyes that made Aron ashamed he’d broached the topic. “Not usually,” Roman replied. He glanced down toward the yard. “I take it you’ve talked to Osric.” There was a bitter twist to his lips.
“He spoke with me.” Aron studied Roman’s face. He gathered that it had not been an enjoyable experience. He wondered under what circumstances Wulfgar did decide to share the slave and if he would ever try the same with him. He dared the thane to