What had been a long and uncomfortable coach ride now became a longer and more uncomfortable cart ride. The city faded to farms, and the farms eventually faded to forest. Every so often, they passed through a town, but Slim Brown was disinclined to stop. Onwards they went, and the further west they travelled, the stormier the sky grew; Thomas tried to shake off the thought that it was an omen.
After several hours, the cart jolted to a halt. Vincent and Thomas exchanged a frown, shifting in their seats to fix their looks on Slim Brown.
"Why have we stopped?" Thomas asked.
Slim swung her head over his shoulder, stumpy neck struggling over the roles of fat. "Yers asked to go where the chit went. This is where she got off."
Each man scanned the area around them.
"This is the middle of nowhere!"
Vincent could not have agreed more. Though they remained on the main road, this stretch seemed to run through crown land; there were no houses and no signs of life.
Slim scowled at them. "It's where she got off!"
The man's chin was jutting out now, his frown indignant, and his lip was drawn up into the smallest of sneers. Vincent worked to form a question.
"It... The... How far from Abbottshire are we?"
The driver rolled his jaw until the bones gave a crack. "'Bout an hours drive, I'd say."
Out of the corner of his eyes, Vincent saw Thomas' own jaw clench. "Did she 'get off' by choice? Or did she run out of 'kisses' by then?"
The dog let out a low whine, sensing the hardness in his tone, and he absently stroked the animal's head. Slim's lip twitched.
"What's it matter to you! Point is, she got off. If you wanna follow 'er, you lot can piss off here as well!"
"She stopped putting up with your advances, so you threw her out, is that it?" Thomas all but growled. "Unbelievable!"
He moved quickly, disrupting the dog who yelped his protest, and jumped down from the back of the cart. Vincent echoed his dismount, giving Mutt a gentle pat on the head as he passed. His friend was clearly upset, his movements jerky as he tugged his coat back into place and stalked to the edge of the road.
"Oi, what about my coin?"
This time, Thomas most definitely growled. He spun so quickly Vincent could almost feel a breeze flutter against him from several strides away, and stormed back to the cart. Ungraciously, he tossed the small coin purse at Slim's feet.
"Fine," he snapped, moving closer still to the rear of the cart. "But I'm taking the dog!"
A better man might have protested. Slim Brown did not. As soon as the animal was lifted out from amongst the cabbages, the cart sprung forward, releasing a puff of dirt from the road. As the cloud faded, it revealed a glaring Thomas.
"So help me if I ever see that man again..." He took a deep deliberate breath, and focussed on Vincent. "Which way would she have travelled to reach you?"
Vincent looked down the road, then over his shoulder. In the end he pointed behind himself, off the track of the road and into the dense trees that bordered it.
Thomas sighed. "Excellent." He lowered the dog to the ground, straightened his shoulders, and nodded once. "After you."
Vincent thought this might not have been the moment to remind the man that he'd declared this and exciting 'treasure hunt'.
They walked for a long while, negotiating tall trees and prickly bushes in companionable silence. It was interrupted only by the occasional whine from Mutt. Every so often the flora would thin into patches of sparse growth or clearings, and here the going was easier. The first clearing they stumbled into looked awfully familiar. Vincent pressed his way across it, not intending to pause, and it was Thomas who slowed, turning in one slow circle.
"The last time I was here Henry rearranged my face," he commented softly, without any of the acidity one might expect to accompany the memory.
Indeed he was correct. They were standing in the middle of the same clearing the Thornes had lured them to only a year previously; if his family had had their way, neither the Humphreys or David or he would have been alive to tell the tale. And yet somehow the beating he'd taken was not the most painful part of that memory. Instead, it was the questions that followed after.
"You're the only one who never asked what the secret was," Thomas commented suddenly, his hands set deeply in the pockets of his coat. "Even Beth had me in her crosshairs at one point, though it was kindly meant."
Vincent's head tilted back and forth; that wasn't strictly true. "The... If... Just because I never asked you doesn't mean I never asked."
Thomas huffed a small laugh. "Then who did yo-" His smile froze. "Matt." He took a moment, bending down under the pretence of scratching Mutt's chin to hide his expression. When he straightened, he was the very picture of equanimity. "Did he reveal anything like you'd hoped?"
"No." Vincent wasn't aware how bitter he remained about that until he felt his teeth grind. "He seems to have taken your side in the matter."
Although his gaze was fixed on the grass between them, he could feel Thomas' gaze burning into the top of his head.
"I'm sorry," he offered after a long moment.
The apology surprised Vincent, and he looked up. Thomas was still watching him, but there was a softness around his dark eyes that hadn't been there before.
"I know how close you are. It must be," he thought for a moment, "difficult to have him keep something from you."
Vincent's heart thumped once in agreement. "It's not pleasant," he admitted. He and Matt had shared everything since the moment the younger was born. Mistakes, victories, adventures, tragedies... there had not been a secret between them in twenty years. And now one stood between them by the name of Thomas. "But his support of you has value. I know that whatever your secret, it cannot be all that bad."
If Vincent was persuaded to look into his heart of hearts, he might admit that Thomas did not need Matthew's support for him to be sure his secret was conscionable; the man already had Vincent's.
Thomas seemed to absorb that slowly, his dark face marred by a frown. "If you guessed it, I'd own to it," he said quickly, before he could think better of it.
Brushing his hair back out of his face, Vincent shrugged one shoulder. "I'm afraid I have no good guesses. I have thought of nothing that could insult the duke, garner Matt's support and reconcile with... you. Unless..." he frowned, but the curve of the lips gave away humour. It was most... un-Vincent-like. "If you'd had an affair with a person your father viewed as unsuitable, perhaps fathered a bastard? You would be supporting them, no doubt, but perhaps your father objects to you legally claiming the child? I'm not sure where Matt would come into it though... The woman might be an acquaintance of his?" His eyebrow raised slightly. "Have I hit the nail on the head?"
Thomas was grinning. "Funnily enough, no."
Vincent shrugged. "Perhaps next time."
The other man narrowed the distance between them. "You're a very confusing man, Daniel Vincent Humphrey. Each time I think I've accurately sized you up, you do something to surprise me."
Vincent blinked, the humour fading from his eyes. "I don't think anyone of my acquaintance would describe me as 'surprising'."
"They clearly don't know you well enough."
As if fate were destined to repeat itself, the comment was followed by the sudden break of the storm above them. Within seconds, Thomas's hair was plastered to his face, his coat doing its best to fight off the downpour. Mutt seemed confused, whining at Thomas' feet, and with a sigh, the man bent in two and scooped the gaunt dog into his arms. It burrowed into his warmth easily enough, and he wrapped the edges of his coat around the animal before he met Vincent's gaze.
"What?" he said with a shrug. "The poor thing was barely making the journey without the rain, and now-"
He fell silent as Vincent waved him off, shaking his head. "Let me know when you tire," he said, "and I'll take my turn."
.
Each man had many turns at carrying the poor dog by the time they reached the edge of the Humphrey Estate.
The wind whipped around them, bringing with it a spray of rain that was almost painful as it struck them. Thomas raised one arm, shielding his face with the crook of his elbow as he turned to Vincent.
"This is getting ridiculous â we cannot stay out in this any longer!" he yelled, hoping his voice carried through the storm.
Vincent nodded though, pushing soaking hair out of his face as if it was the reason he was all but blinded. Thomas was right â the longer they were at the mercy of the elements, the more they risked getting lost or injured, not to mention missing any signs of Gabriela. For now at least, he still knew where they were, with the fence before them the eastern border of his brother's estate.
After a moment to consider, he nodded again, pointing into his family's lands, but further south than they had been headed
Thomas hesitated for a moment, but as he felt the squelch of drenched socks and the shiver of the animal clutched to his chest, he nodded.
Vincent strode forward first, stepping up onto one panel of the fence and then swinging his other leg over. As he descended, Thomas imitated the movement. As he crested the fence however, Mutt squirmed and his boot slipped out from under him, unable to find traction on the mossy, soaking timber. He stumbled, almost landing on his back in the mud if it weren't for Vincent. The other man caught him by the elbow, his other hand gripping the top of the treacherous fence to keep them both upright, and tugged him forward. He toppled over, releasing Mutt from his grasp.
The dog landed, alarmed but unharmed in the mud beside them.
Thomas landed atop Vincent.
Initially, the fall knocked the wind out of both of them, and their vision grew even more shadowed at the edges. Then, with gasped breaths, their eyesight was restored and they came to the slow realisation of their position. Vincent was on his back, slowly sinking into a thick layer of mud, with a somewhat startled appearance on his face. Thomas was almost perfectly aligned with him, their faces inches apart, their legs tangled together, and each heaving breath shifting them against each other slightly.
Had they been opposite sexes, one might have called their position compromising.
But that was not the thought on Vincent's mind.
Vincent was hyper-aware of their contact, but once again it did not bother his nearly as much as he was used to. Rather than an itchiness that encouraged him to move away, their shared warmth felt almost... pleasant. Perhaps it was because the biting chill meant Vincent could no longer feel his toes.
As he watched the other man's face, Thomas' tongue dipped out of his mouth, wetting the centre of his lower lip so quickly that Vincent might have imagined it. He did not, however, imagine the immediate roiling in his abdomen.
He frowned, his head tilting slightly to the side. Was it illness setting in? An injury he'd sustained in the fall? Or was it hunger...
Thomas rolled off him suddenly, a groan barely audible over the raging storm. "Nice catch."
Vincent let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "You're welcome."
The other man's laugh took the rest of the tension out of Vincent's shoulders, and he slowly clambered to his feet, avoiding using the treacherous fence. By the time he was upright, Thomas had scooped up the affronted dog, and was ready to continue on their way. All he did was point, wait for Thomas' nod, and then begin the walk south.
They trudged along the fence line for what felt like hours, but was probably lucky to be one. The way was hard going, littered with patches of mud, puddles of water, and fallen tree branches that provided unnecessarily tricky obstacles in the pouring conditions. Both men had surpassed exhausted, and they travelled in heavy silence that was only occasionally pierced by Mutt's snuffling or the crack of thunder, with Vincent leading the way.
The first Thomas noticed of the cottage was the moment the rain eased. He glanced up in surprise, expecting perhaps a break in the clouds, and was even more surprised to find a small cabin less than an arm-span away from him. Beneath the eaves, he was protected from most of the weather, leaving only the cold wind plastering his breeches against the backs of his legs. A few steps away, Vincent struggled with a door. He had one hand on the handle, the other pressed to the frame, and with one wet boot he kicked leaves, mud and stones out of the way. Inch by inch, the door swung open, until it finally acquiesced and twisted wide.
"What is this place?" Thomas asked loudly as they both ducked inside.
The cabin was clearly unoccupied. That was evident from the outside â there were no lights lit and the door was almost immovable â but if there was any doubt, the almost completely unfurnished interior confirmed it. All that remained was a stool, missing a leg and collecting dust on the floor, and the fireplace.
Mutt squirmed, and Thomas lowered him quickly to the floor. As he stretched his weary arms, the dog shook rain and mud from his scrappy coat, scattering droplets throughout what was an otherwise dry interior.
Both men watched him with slight frowns, but offered up no complaint. It wasn't until they saw the poor creature shiver that the cold registered. Being out of the rain was one mercy, but at that time of year the air still had enough bite to make them regret their drenched clothing.
Thomas turned quickly, moving back towards the door and pulling it firmly closed behind them. It did nothing for the temperature inside the cabin, but cut off the slight breeze that had been creeping in. Pushing his drenched hair out of his face, Thomas turned back to the room to find Vincent kneeling by the hearth, his hands running along the edge of the pit and up the brickwork.
"What are you doing?" Thomas asked, his arms folded across his chest in an attempt to keep some of the warmth in.
He didn't answer, instead pulling back victoriously with a flint and firesteel clasped in his hands. There'd been a gap in the brickwork, a small cavity to hold the essential items.
Thomas blinked. "Good of the old occupants to so readily accommodate us."
"It's common courtesy to leave them behind so that new tenants can easily light their first fire," Vincent explained as he clambered to his feet, too caught up in what he was doing to realise Thomas had been being facetious.
"There should be wood, too..." he continued as he perused the room. Then he frowned. "It must be outside."
"How inconvenient," Thomas sighed. He stepped to the side, scooping up the broken stool with one hand. "Not attached to this, are you?"
Together they made light work of the fire, and a small flame took hold only a few minutes later. Both stepped back with nods of approval, wiping sooty hands on their wet breeches and creating an awful, charcoal paste. Mutt scampered closer, positioning himself as close to the flames as he dared, and curled himself into a tight, pitiful, ball.
Vincent sighed, raising his now stained fingers to his cravat and untying the dishevelled piece of cloth. It wasn't until his coat and vest also joined it laid out on the floor and he began to unlace his shirt that Thomas reacted.
He stepped away with wide eyes, one hand extended towards Vincent as if he was worried about the man. "Woah, what are you doing?"
Vincent glanced from him, to his wardrobe, and back to him. "The... A... We will never get warm in these soaking layers. If we lay them out, they might even dry off somewhat by morning."
Thomas' jaw worked, but no words came out. It was logical â of course it was â and it did nothing to explain the heat in his cheeks and the racing of his heart. They were together in this cramped, dark cottage, discussing removing their clothes and Thomas realised in surprise that he was... flustered!
Vincent was oblivious to his thoughts. "It is not inappropriate." The statement came out sounding like a question, and Vincent frowned at the other man as he waited to hear if he had committed some serious faux pas.
All Thomas did was blink once, slowly, and raised his gaze to the rafters. "No, I don't suppose it is." He looked down quickly, pointing a cautionary finger at Vincent. "Be sure to leave your undergarments on, though!" he coughed, trying to find an excuse for the squeak in his voice. "We wouldn't want to offend Mutt on such casual acquaintance."
He reluctantly joined Vincent in shedding his drenched clothing, and as the other man stripped, he frowned. Thomas was an enigma. He was loud and daring, with a soft spot for the vulnerable â be they people or animals â but that did little to explain his sudden bashfulness now.
If Vincent didn't know better, he would have guessed that Thomas was embarrassed.
He just wished he knew why.
~~
Hello Lovely Readers!
It's 12:09 AM here, I'm unwell, I have class tomorrow (today! :'( ), and I have NOT proofread this! Apologies for any glaring mistakes, but I hope the general plot is there. My next couple of weeks will get a little hectic - I am a huge fan of procrasti-writing though, so maybe it will mean more chapters? Who knows!
Please remember to vote and comment if you enjoyed the chapter!
xx Flo