“You’re an idiot, Townsend. And ye drink too much.”
“I don’t drink too much. I am appropriately drunk. Anyway, your fault.”
A beat of silence followed that assessment. “How is it my fault?”
“I was trying to keep up with you, but you must weigh a stone more than me.”
“How do you know I’m not as drunk as you are?”
He lifted his head. “Are you?”
“If I was, I wouldn’t act like it.”
“Are you telling me you’re hiding your drunkenness from me?”
“Aye.”
His head fell back against the stones with a soft thunk. “That’s completely against the spirit of companionable drinking. There’s a code, and you have broken it.”
Cameron seemed unconcerned. “I’m surprised ye can say ‘companionable’ without stumbling over it.”
Robert bridged the space between them with his hand and gave Cameron a healthy shove—or at least, as healthy a shove as he could manage with his heavy limbs. “Companionable,” he said again, crisp and clear. “See—I’m articulate to the last drop.”
He realized he hadn’t lifted his hand from Cameron’s shoulder. He wondered how long he could leave it there without crossing the border of friendship. He slipped it away reluctantly.
Cameron huffed, a sound that was half exasperation and half amusement. “Now you’re just showing off.”
“Cameron…”
“What?”
He was going to say, “Just share them with me. If you share things with anyone, choose me. Just me.” But he stopped himself at the last moment. He didn’t think their tentative, fledgling friendship could weather that sort of statement. At best, it was possessive. At worst…at worst it revealed that Robert’s feelings went somewhat beyond male camaraderie.
“Point out some constellations to me. I don’t know many.”
Cameron hesitated, but finally he raised his arm, and Robert followed its shadowed outline. “The cross, with the bright star at the front—that’s Cygnus. The swan.”
Robert cocked his head. “I see the cross. But it doesn’t look like a swan.”
A soft, amused exhale. “Use your imagination.” Cameron’s arm moved north. “And that’s the plough—the four in a square with the three branching off.”
“…A plough? Truly?”
“Don’t say it,” Cameron warned.
“It’s a square. A square with a handle.”
“You’re not a very good student,” he noted. “What do they teach you in England?”
“When I went to university, it was philosophy and history, mostly. A lot of Greek readings. Very important things,” he said, scoffing slightly.
“Did ye speak this way to your teachers?”
“No. But they were all very old. I wouldn’t have wanted to give one of them an apoplexy. You’re hardy enough to take my insults.”
“Thank you?” His voice lilted in a question.
Robert felt his mouth curving in an irrepressible grin. He could do this, he thought, every night. Talk to Cameron. Joke with him. If Cameron would let him. “You are most welcome.”
Cameron chose not to comment. “And if ye follow the corner of the plough, you’ll see Polaris.”
“The North Star?” Robert asked.
“Mmm. Find it, and you’ll always know true north.” He paused, catching Robert’s attention. Robert realized he was already becoming more attuned to Cameron’s silent ways of speaking—a pause, a hesitation, an indrawn breath, a subtle shift. He was very careful with his words, Robert realized. He did not take them lightly. “Polaris is a binary star.”
“It’s a what?” Robert asked. He had no idea what that meant.
“A binary. Two stars that orbit each other.”
“It looks like one star.”
“They’re close together. That’s why it looks so bright.”
Robert hadn’t known that two stars could orbit each other. But it was a nice thought. That they weren’t entirely alone in the vast expanse that surrounded them.
“See, it isn’t so awful,” he muttered.
“What isn’t?”
“Sharing.”
He didn’t hear if Cameron said anything in response, or if he paused, or hesitated, or drew a quiet breath, because his heavy eyelids finally closed, and he was lost to the world.
…
Ian sighed when he realized Townsend had fallen asleep, his breath heavy and even in the still night. The next time they were together like this—if there was a next time—Ian shouldn’t let himself drink whisky. He knew he was just as drunk as Townsend was—somewhere between acceptably relaxed and too-weak inhibitions.
But drink seemed to affect them differently. It loosened Townsend’s tongue and made him even more talkative. Ian didn’t get much more talkative than he normally was, but whisky smoothed out his edges and made him feel…softer…somehow. As if he could just take life as it came, and share things, and not get too worried if he and Townsend crossed certain lines that he’d already told himself he wouldn’t cross.
No, drinking whisky with Townsend was a bad idea.
He pushed himself to a sitting position and glanced at the other man, though he could only make out his outline in the dark—long limbs sprawled carelessly, one arm thrown back to cushion his head.
If he slept with his arm like that for too long, he’d be in for a painful awakening.
Before he could stop himself, Ian reached forward and touched the side of Townsend’s face. Stubble scratched the pads of his fingers, and for a second, his breath slowed and his heartbeat felt too heavy. He paused; time seemed to turn around him sluggishly. Then he pulled back, resisting the urge to let his fingers trace a path to Townsend’s mouth.
Instead, he kicked his ankle.
Townsend started. “What the devil?” His head turned and he glowered. He clearly didn’t like to be woken up abruptly. “What was that for?”
“Would ye rather I left you here all night? The stone floor won’t be as pleasant a few hours from now.”
Townsend pushed to his feet, surprisingly steady for someone who’d just been dragged out of slumber. “Troublesome bastard.”
But he fell into step beside Ian, and the silence that fell around them as they made the trek back to the castle wasn’t an uneasy one.
And if Ian’s fingers still burned where he’d touched Townsend’s face, he figured that as long as he didn’t think about it, or repeat the gesture, the feeling would fade quickly enough.
Chapter Nine
“Are you truly trying to settle this?” Worthington asked Robert the next morning.
They were currently the only two people in the drawing room, where herring and barley cakes and eggs had been set out on a sideboard. The other man sat down across from him, and Robert took a sip of tea.
The sun was out, gently filtering in through the sash windows, leaving squares of light on the polished wooden floor. He wondered if Cameron was working outside.
Somewhat reluctantly, he fixed his attention on his guest. “What do you mean?”
“Have you discovered anything? Are you any closer to finding our belongings?”
“I am doing my best,” Robert said.
“I don’t want vague answers!” Worthington said. “Have you questioned the servants?”
“Not yet.”
“You should. You should question them directly. They’re your servants; you should be able to tell if they’re acting suspicious.”
“I would rather search the castle and find the items first. If I let on that they’ve been accused of stealing, the thief might panic and destroy your belongings.”
Worthington mulled this over. “I suppose that’s true. But you’ll have to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t leave now that the weather has improved. It would be intolerable to simply let them get away to sell the items in Oban or Fort William.”
To simply let them get away— Worthington seemed quite positive one of the servants was a criminal, though he had no evidence.
“And forgive me if I step too far”—Robert forced his face to remain pleasant. Starting a statement with those words was a sure indicator that one was stepping too far—“but your relationship with Mr. Cameron is a bit odd.”