When he saw the cart, rambling along the road, a dark, muddled shape that gradually grew clearer, his heart lifted.
Ian pulled to a stop less than twenty feet away.
Robert’s pulse quickened and he drank him in—cinnamon hair, darkened from the damp, steady gray eyes, soft, thin lips that held the ghost of a smile. And this was a smile that held no derision, only the promise of joy.
“You’re lurking,” Ian said.
“I do not lurk,” Robert said, offended. “This is the first time I’ve been here, I swear it. I was dropping something off.”
“What?”
“It’s a surprise. You have to come inside.”
Ian’s brows lifted.
“I bought you a gift.” It had seemed a good idea at the time. More than a good idea, as he’d rushed off to Glasgow to procure it. Now that Ian was staring at him, a bit blankly, he felt somewhat ridiculous.
“I haven’t gotten a gift since…” Ian paused. “My father used to carve wooden animals sometimes. Not since then.” He lowered himself from the cart and turned to unhitch the pony.
Robert’s heart clenched. “How were they?”
Ian paused, his hand on the pony’s back. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, and then, “My father’s dead. I got there at the end.”
Even if Ian resented his father, Robert knew a part of him loved him, too. Such bonds could not be easily shaken. “I’m sorry.”
Ian made a noncommittal noise.
“And the rest?”
“I don’t think things will ever be easy between us. But I’m glad I went.” Ian patted the pony’s neck and the hardy beast tossed its head and trotted out toward the moors. “I’ll tell you about it later. I want my gift.”
“Greedy bastard.”
They went inside together, and Ian lifted the package from the table, proceeding to open it without further ado.
“Wait.” Robert stopped him, plucking it from his hands. This wouldn’t do at all. The gift needed to be seen in action to be truly appreciated. He glanced around then took the tinderbox that rested by the hearth and proceeded to fumble with flint and steel until a spark caught.
He lit three candles and placed them in a row on the center of the table.
“Sit on the bed,” he commanded Ian.
“Should I be nervous?” Ian asked, but he acquiesced while Robert drew the curtains shut.
It was dark as night in the cottage now, except for the soft glow of the candles.
Robert sat by Ian on the bed, facing the table. “Close your eyes.”
Ian huffed out a breath, but he closed his eyes without question. Robert unwrapped the package and took out the first card. He held it up to the light in front of them, and then, feeling, all of the sudden, incredibly nervous, said, “It’s ready.”
Ian opened his eyes, blinked, and then his breath caught. “Cygnus.”
The cards were of constellations, holes cut out where the stars would be, so one could hold it up to the flame and see the points come to life with twinkling yellow light.
“It’s not as good as the real thing, I know, but I thought you might appreciate it on starless nights. You can make your own stars now.”
“I do appreciate it,” Ian said quietly, intently. “Thank you.”
Warmth filled Robert’s chest. “And there are illustrations, too.” He turned the card so the face caught the light and illuminated a colored illustration of a flying swan, great wings sweeping the air.
“Show me the rest.”
They took them out and held them up to the light—Cygnus, Sagittarius, Draco, Gemini, the Northern Fly—one by one until they’d gone through all of them.
Robert didn’t mention that, as far as he knew, these weren’t actually for sale anywhere yet and he’d had to do some bribing to get a handful of them from an astronomer in Glasgow. He’d pay any amount, give everything he owned, to see Ian look like this—in awe—like he had the heavens at his fingertips.
“It is the star to every wandering bark,” Robert murmured, and he saw Ian’s mouth curve softly in the dim light.
He set the last card down and grunted as Ian took him by surprise, capturing him in a tight embrace.
He returned it, sliding his arms around Ian’s back, clutching at the fabric of his coat.
“I’ve missed ye terribly,” Ian said, so low Robert could barely hear it.
“I’ve missed you, too.” Robert pressed his nose into his lover’s throat so he could breathe in rain and peat and brine. His heart ached sweetly. “Welcome home, Ian.”
Ian’s arms tightened around Robert, and when he drew back, it was only far enough to kiss him.
“Aye,” he agreed. “I’m home.”
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