Chapter Text
Rodney McKay, third and insignificant heir to an unimportant estate (and who cared anyway because it wasn't like he had any interest in land) struggled against the hands holding him and shouted more muffled insults through the smelly bag that was currently over his head. Then he kicked hard in a likely direction and grinned smugly when he connected with something and heard a grunt of pain.
"Goddamn!" The satisfaction died slightly when he felt himself slammed back into something solid. Perhaps that had not been the best idea.
"Oi! Don't hurt him!" snapped the second of his captors, his voice slightly deeper than the first man's.
"Why the bloody hell not? He kicked me."
"Because that flash gent is paying us a bleeding fortune to deliver him unharmed, that's why not."
Rodney considered trying to offer them more money to just let him go, not that he could outbid the man who he suspected was behind this outrage, but someone else spoke from behind his shoulder before he could. "And unharmed being specified, you should unhand the man. Now, if you please gentlemen."
The hands dropped from Rodney's arms almost immediately, obedient to the strange voice. He vaguely heard one of the ruffians muttering something about not getting angry as he dragged the sack from his head and then he turned, blinked in the suddenly dazzling sunlight, and smacked his fist into the jaw of the man behind him as hard as he could. There was no way on this earth he was just going to let someone kidnap him.
The man staggered back, hit his head on a tree branch and went down, dropping a pistol on the ground. Rodney snatched it up and pointed it determinedly at the other two men, roughly-dressed and unshaven and looking every bit the low criminal class he had assumed from their speech. "Go away. Very, very far away and don't come back, or I will shoot you."
They glared and exchanged glances then the shorter one shrugged. "Caper was more trouble than it was worth anyway."
"Wait," Rodney called as they turned to leave. "What about him?"
"What about him? He ain't with us."
"What?" Rodney shrieked, "He's not the man who hired you?"
"Till you punched him, he was the one pointing the iron at us. And I don't reckon he'll be very happy with you when he wakes up neither," the big man replied and smirked nastily at Rodney's shock before they both ran off.
Oh damn. It appeared Rodney, with his usual good fortune, had attacked his rescuer by mistake. He'd been so sure that it had been Lord Gennington behind him, though now that he had time to think, the voice hadn't sounded particularly the same. He sat down beside the still-stunned man, who didn't even look like his supposed kidnapper. He was too tall for a start, and much more finely built, with the kind of long, slender legs that actually looked good in the current fashion for tight breeches. He was younger too, about Rodney's own age, with a smooth-shaven narrow face, slightly crooked nose, soft-looking lips and straight dark brows under tousled dark brown hair.
He looked, in fact, like the kind of man Rodney had always secretly wanted just a little bit to be, even while openly decrying them. Handsome, roguish, the kind of man who caused scandalous occurrences and had beautiful women sighing over him wherever he went, just like Rodney's cousins. Inveterate rakes, the lot of them.
He reached out and turned the man's head gently to the side to check for injuries. Rodney was not a small man and did not punch lightly, but he suspected that it was the knock from the branch that had done the real damage in this case. There was a large bump on the back of his skull but it wasn't bleeding so hopefully Rodney hadn't caused him any serious injury and wouldn't have to beg for his life when he woke up. He pulled the stranger's head into his lap, and settled down to wait, idly stroking his hand through the soft hair while he went over some ideas he'd had before he'd been so rudely interrupted by inconvenient abductions.
Sometime later, while Rodney was talking his way aloud through a particularly tricky formula, he looked down and nearly bit his tongue at seeing amused hazel eyes watching him. "You're awake!" he yelped, and jerked his hand away. What had he been thinking, stroking him like that, he wasn't a cat. The man simply grinned infuriatingly and gave a brief nod and a wince. "Why didn't you say something?" Rodney demanded.
"I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice," the man drawled, and Rodney sputtered for a minute before realising that he should probably be apologising instead of getting annoyed, no matter how aggravating his would-be rescuer was.
"Well, I had a great deal on my mind, after being abducted and forced to listen to my captors' witless conversation all that time, but I do appreciate you trying to rescue me. At least, I assume that is what you were trying to do, however it turned out."
"Yes, you are fortunate I heard you yelling for help," the man said, finally sitting up from Rodney's lap.
"I wasn't yelling for help, I was telling them what I thought of their ancestry," Rodney said, slightly indignant. "I would have found a way out of the situation myself quite handily if you hadn't turned up."
"When I turned up you had your head in a sack and were pinned to a tree. If I hadn't intervened, you would still be a prisoner," the man replied, rising carefully to his feet and stretching out a hand. Rodney took it automatically and found himself pulled to his feet before he was quite ready. He stumbled slightly and the man wrapped his arms round him and pulled Rodney close until he pushed away, feeling a little unnerved and more off-balance than before.
"Yes, all right, your ability to act as a minor distraction was useful, but I managed just fine after that without your help. In fact, I had to rescue myself in the end anyway."
"Only because you hit me," the stranger said pointedly, retrieving his gun from the ground.
That certainly brought Rodney up short; he'd almost forgotten that it was entirely his fault the rescue had gone less than perfectly. "Ah. Yes. I apologise for that. When I couldn't see you, I thought you were the man who paid for my abduction, but you're much too good-looking."
"Well, that's flattering," said the stranger, the infuriating grin reappearing while Rodney flushed red and wished the ground would open. That hadn't been what he had meant to say at all. "Though I'm going to assume that you believe you know who was behind this plot, rather than you believe morality and aesthetics to be intrinsically entwined."
Rodney opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it. The conversation was getting out of hand. He had no proof other than his instincts and he had lost enough dignity and been unsettled enough for one day. "I thank you for your assistance, but I do not believe that is any of your concern. If you will excuse me, I have had a very, very trying day and I would like to return home."
He stepped forward then stopped, seeing only trees and bushes in every direction. When he turned around, his unsettling rescuer was propped on one arm against a tree and watching him with amusement. He raised an eyebrow and waited until Rodney sighed and gave in. "Where is home? And how did you happen to find me in the middle of the woods anyway?" That was actually quite suspicious, what if his apparent rescuer was a double-bluff and he was really in league with the villains? "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
"My name is John Sheppard, I was travelling to London, we're only a few yards from a road and you were shouting quite loudly. I'm afraid I can't answer the other question until you tell me who you are, but if it helps we're currently not far from Cornwall. I think the nearest town is probably Launceston."
"London? Then you can take me back with you," Rodney decided. Despite owning a small amount of land there, the only acquaintance he had in Cornwall was Lord Gennington, a fact that simply lent credence to his theory that the man had tried to have him kidnapped, and he knew next to nothing of the country. He could give this man the benefit of the doubt. Indeed, he would have to since he had no other way home.
"Oh really," said Sheppard, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking. "I thought you didn't need my help?"
"What is that supposed to mean? You can't just leave me stranded here, it's the middle of nowhere, it's completely uncivilized, there are probably bandits and ruffians everywhere! What kind of rescuer are you?"
"So you admit I rescued you?"
"Is that what this is about? You're going to leave me here because I criticized your technique? That is very petty and incredibly stupid and just the kind of behaviour I would expect from someone who looks like you," Rodney fumed.
"You wound me," Sheppard replied drily, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. "I thought you liked the way I looked. Also, insulting me is not the best way to inspire me to help you and you still haven't told me your name."
Rodney threw up his hands in frustration, "What does that have to with the issue?"
"I like to know the names of the people I save from uncertain fates," Sheppard shrugged. "A little quirk of mine."
Rodney gave him one of his best glares. It was the one that always caused his servants to scurry off like frightened rabbits, but all Sheppard did was raise his eyebrows expressively again. "Fine. My name is Rodney McKay. You rescued me beautifully, now will you take me with you?"
"Oh, I was always going to take you with me. I just wanted you to acknowledge that I rescued you," said Sheppard and smiled sweetly and strolled off before Rodney could come up with a response. "Come along Rodney," called what was clearly the most aggravating man in the world and Rodney stomped after him, wishing fervently that he had had the foresight to hit him much harder earlier.
It turned out that Sheppard's description of the thoroughfare in question as a road was highly optimistic. To Rodney's eyes, it more closely resembled a narrow track, suggesting his abductors had made an effort to get off the beaten path. On the track there stood a team of extremely good horses attached to an expensive-looking light phaeton carriage, presumably belonging to Sheppard since the men who had snatched Rodney were unlikely to be able to afford such a conveyance.
"Aren't you travelling with a groom?" asked Rodney.
"He caught a terrible cold in his head so I left him to recover. I assure you, I'm quite capable of handling the team myself though," Sheppard replied, hopping agilely up.
Rodney found he was strangely reluctant to take the hand that Sheppard reached down to him, but the step was high and he was quite tired. He was pulled up so enthusiastically that he very nearly landed in Sheppard's lap and for a second he found himself looking into the man's eyes from just a couple of inches away.
He had very long eyelashes and Rodney didn't think he had seen any other eyes that particular mix of colours before.
Not that he went around gazing into people's eyes as a matter of course, and he really ought to sit down properly and stop gazing into Sheppard's eyes before he decided Rodney was a half-wit. He shifted back fully onto his side of the carriage and fussed with his coat a little. When he sneaked a look sideways, Sheppard didn't appear annoyed by his clumsiness or to be looking askance at his behaviour; in fact he was smiling slightly, an expression Rodney had already noticed he favoured.
They bowled along in pleasant silence long enough for Rodney to relax and start to feel hungry before Sheppard spoke again. "I'm curious as to how you found yourself in such a predicament, McKay. How did your former companions take you prisoner?"
"I was at a social engagement and received a note purporting to be from a friend of mine wishing to speak with me in the gardens. I realise now that it was a ruse, but at the time I had no reason to be suspicious so I went outside and some large, smelly men grabbed me. Before I knew what was happening, I was in very uncomfortable carriage with a bag over my head and a pistol pressed into my ribs. We travelled a long time and then they told me to get out and that they were taking me to meet someone."
"It seems England is a more dangerous place than I remember. I suppose they were going to ransom you?" asked Sheppard.
"Hardly," Rodney snorted. "My family is nowhere near rich enough and most of my nearest and dearest relations would be too delighted at getting rid of me to even consider paying."
"How decidedly odd of them," was the bland reply to that unguarded remark, causing Rodney to look at his companion suspiciously for signs of mockery; but for once Sheppard seemed quite serious. "Though, it is true that in my experience, families very rarely act as they should."
To Rodney's relief, the topic of his kidnapping was dropped after that as Sheppard concentrated on the road and horses. His own theory as to the reason and likely culprit still lacked a great deal of information, for example a rational motive, and the evidence he did have was not the sort he felt comfortable sharing. He also didn't want to dwell on his own stupidity and weakness in being captured more than he had to; he was sure that Sheppard probably thought he should have fought them off and he hated feeling incapable.
With nothing else to do, Rodney found himself concentrating once more on the emptiness of his stomach. To his embarrassment, it rumbled loudly but before any comment could be made, it was echoed by a much larger rumble and Rodney turned to see a bank of dark clouds piling up in the sky behind them. "Oh, wonderful. Now I can get drenched and die of pneumonia. The perfect end to a perfect day."
"Cheerful aren't you? I admit we won't reach the inn I had intended to spend the night in before that hits but there is a welcoming barn over there that will do equally as well."
Rodney stared at Sheppard. "A barn? You want to shelter for the night in a barn? How wrong I was to despair, my health will obviously be completely safe in a dusty, filthy cowshed."
Sheppard barely gave a shrug in answer, already turning the phaeton towards the rough building. "If you'd rather stay outside, that's up to you, but the horses and I will be quite happy under a roof." He jumped down as they arrived, pulled the door open then led the horses in.
Once he was inside, Rodney had to concede that it wasn't as bad as he had expected. It was a hay barn rather than a byre and though there was indeed enough dust to make him sneeze several times, it merely smelled of sweet hay and earth. He climbed down as Sheppard unhitched the animals, talking softly to them and rubbing their necks, and then found his way up a crude ladder into the hayloft. It was a shame he couldn't munch down hay like the horses were below. How unfair that the weather had caused him to miss out on the prospect of an inn.
By the time Sheppard climbed up to join him, Rodney had shaped himself a rough chair of hay and was listening to the rain that had started in earnest outside. "Feeling comfortable?" Sheppard asked.
"Oh absolutely, nothing could compare to such luxury. Except possibly a hayloft with supper included."
"Allow me to make your joy complete," Sheppard smirked and tossed a packet to him. When he opened it to find actual sustenance, in the form of bread and cheese, Rodney decided that the other man might be a hero after all.
He did remember his manners enough to share the food between them both. Sheppard ate neatly and sparingly, giving Rodney back roughly a third of his share and passing over a water flask at the same time. By the time they had finished, the combination of the storm and night drawing in had made the interior of the barn too dark for Rodney to make out the other man's features clearly. When Sheppard suggested that they might as well get some rest, Rodney agreed readily. He felt like he had been awake for roughly a fortnight and the hay was positively inviting.
He settled down, expecting to fall asleep straight away. But though the hay was surprisingly comfortable, he found himself unable to relax. The clothes he had been wearing when he was abducted were suitable for a drawing room, but not roaming around the countryside and the temperature had dropped with the storm. He rolled up in his jacket as best he could but he was forced to move about every so often to try and generate more warmth.
"McKay, would you please stop rustling like that? I'm trying to sleep," Sheppard finally growled.
"So am I!"
"Lie still then."
"I can't. I'm too cold," Rodney muttered. The only reply he got was a sigh, before Sheppard's silhouette moved suddenly and the hay dipped as he flopped down right next to Rodney. "What are you doing?"
"Allowing us both to get some rest," Sheppard said, rolling Rodney onto his side and spooning up behind him. "Now, close your eyes and count fluffy little sheep."
He slung an arm round Rodney, pulling him back into his chest. Rodney tensed at the feel of Sheppard's breath against the back of his neck but gradually the warmth of the other man's body seeped through their clothing and Rodney relaxed. The sound of Sheppard's breathing evening out into the steady rhythm of sleep soothed him into a doze and soon he was fast asleep himself.
*
Rodney screwed his eyes up against the daylight and burrowed into his bedclothes. He was warm and comfortable and not ready to get up just yet and the fact he could hear the dawn chorus of birds meant it was far too early to even consider doing so. He was just dozing off once again when an unwelcome thought intruded: his bed was moving slightly and that was not usual.
Memory returning all at once, he opened his eyes to find he was lying half on top of Sheppard, with one hand wrapped in the other man's shirt, their legs tangled together and his head tucked on Sheppard's shoulder. He shifted slightly, feeling Sheppard's encircling arm slide a little further down his back, and Rodney found himself looking at Sheppard's bare throat from scarcely an inch away. Sheppard had loosened his collar so the little hollow between the ends of his collarbones was exposed. Rodney could see his pulse beating strongly and steadily, could smell the scent rising off his skin and suddenly Rodney's face was burning and his heart was hammering in his chest.
He rolled away frantically, and sat facing in the other direction with his head in his hands until he could breathe normally again. There was nothing to panic about. He hadn't done anything wrong, nothing had happened. He'd been asleep and confused and that was all there was to it.
A rustling from behind made him freeze but then Rodney made himself turn around. Sheppard was still sprawled in the hay, comfortable as a cat and rubbing a hand lazily back through his hair while he yawned. Rodney could feel himself flushing again as he met Sheppard's eyes but the other man simply smiled at him and Rodney began to calm down. Sheppard must have been fast asleep until Rodney had moved away; he would surely not be looking so relaxed if he had been awake and aware.
"Good morning, Rodney," Sheppard said in a voice still rough from sleep.
Rodney chose to ignore the fact that he had to clear his throat several times in order to reply. He was thirsty, that was why his mouth was dry. He also ignored the way Sheppard had used his Christian name despite the impropriety of such intimacy on their short acquaintance.
But in the back of his mind he was deeply grateful for the knowledge that once they reached London, he and Sheppard would most likely never cross paths again. It was clear from Sheppard's accoutrements and style that he belonged to the most fashionable sets of society, a fully-fledged member of the ton. He would be welcomed into the type of clubs that wouldn't even consider Rodney, and he would be invited to all the glittering occasions that Rodney detested and avoided as much as possible.
He kept telling himself this was a good thing while he held the horses for Sheppard to harness them back to the phaeton and while they set off on the road again. Sheppard looked curiously at him a few times but Rodney was not inclined to conversation and responded shortly to his comments until he gave up and they both fell silent.
Rodney found himself dwelling on calculations for astronomical theory as time went on. There was a particularly tricky problem that was bothering him and though he had been trying to solve it for a while now, it was refusing to behave.
He would never admit it out loud, but on the night he had been kidnapped he had been eager to see Count Zelenka at the Natural Philosophy Society in order to discuss his progress. The foreign nobleman was not quite as idiotic as the rest of the members and while he was nowhere near as brilliant as Rodney himself, he did occasionally manage to spark an observation that Rodney could work with. Since the note Rodney had received had obviously not been from Zelenka and he had not seen the man inside, it would appear he was still out of town. He could vaguely remember being told that Zelenka was going to the country to pursue what he called a "most interesting acquaintance". It was very inconvenient altogether.
He was roused from his reverie by the carriage stopping and he looked up to discover they were in the courtyard of a coach inn. "What's going on?"
Sheppard gave him a blank look. "We're at an inn."
"Yes, my eyes do actually work. I meant, why are we stopping so soon? I would like to return to my home as quickly as possible."
"We're stopping after nearly three hours because I could personally be inclined towards cleaning up a little and having some breakfast. You don't have to join me if you do not wish to, of course," and Sheppard's eyes were mocking as he said that, no doubt perfectly aware that Rodney was starving.
"I suppose that is an acceptable plan," he muttered. Sheppard simply smiled and jumped down, handing over the reins to a groom. Rodney clambered down as well and followed him into the building. The innkeeper took one look at Sheppard's obviously expensive clothing and showed them into what looked like the best private dining room, telling them that breakfast would be with them shortly, sirs. At Sheppard's request he also agreed to provide hot water and soap, something Rodney had far less interest in, though a wash would prove welcome.
The food appeared first, trays covered in teapots and plates with bacon, sausages, kippers and rolls with pots of jam. Rodney barely held himself back from grabbing it off the serving maid, who spent far too long giving Sheppard saucy smiles and looks before finally putting everything on the table and swinging her hips back out of the door. He was about to pounce on the feast when a thought occurred that left him staring at it gloomily.
"Something wrong, McKay?" asked Sheppard, while he nibbled at a sausage. "The food's going to get cold and all you're doing is gazing at it longingly."
"I am not gazing longingly." Rodney replied loftily.
"Would you prefer mooning like a lovesick maiden?" Sheppard inquired politely. "I know you're hungry, I can hear your stomach complaining from here."
Rodney squirmed. He had been hoping it wasn't that obvious. He sighed and gave in. "I am simply experiencing slight pecuniary embarrassment. I'm afraid I don't have any money to settle my half of the bill."
Sheppard's eyebrows shot up and he put down the sausage. "Let me see if I understand this correctly. You are quite content to punch me in the face, complain about my rescuing style and appropriate my phaeton to convey you home…"
"You were going to London anyway! And I did apologise about the punch," Rodney protested, trying not to look at the bruise darkening Sheppard's jaw.
"But you are overcome with scruples at the thought of my buying you breakfast? I think my purse can stand the expense." He filled a plate up with food and shoved it towards Rodney. "Eat, or I'll have to stop too to be polite and I'm really hungry."
Rodney wavered slightly, trying to hold onto his willpower, but the delicious bacon scent was too enticing. "I'll reimburse you once I am home," he said and shoved a forkful in his mouth, closing his eyes in appreciation of the taste. He heard a choked snort of laughter from the other side of the table and opened his eyes to find Sheppard watching him with a sort of exasperated amusement.
"You are being ridiculous," he sighed.
Rodney raised his chin stubbornly. "It may seem ridiculous to you, but it is my policy to always settle my debts. A man must have some principles after all."
Sheppard opened his mouth to reply, then apparently changed his mind and nodded instead while eating some bread and jam with a thoughtful look on his face.
Rodney suddenly had the feeling that he had said rather too much, but it wasn't like his family's circumstances were a secret. His father's gaming had saddled them with frighteningly large debts on his death and his mismanagement of the land they had inherited from their mother's side meant it had taken Rodney and his siblings several years to pay them off and regain some semblance of social standing. It would have been far easier to sell off the land, but their mother would not hear of such a thing and threatened hysteria and swooning at the very mention. Fortunately, Henry and Edward had both recently managed advantageous marriages so there was little chance of their fortunes reversing once more and Rodney could finally concentrate on his own pursuits and not have to think about boring money problems. Even more fortunately, his brothers were both still out of the country on their wedding tours so Rodney wasn't currently forced to deal with their disdain for his interests or lectures on his behaviour.
The remainder of the meal passed with no more meaningful conversation than remarks on the food and the likely weather prospects. Rodney was slightly dismayed when Sheppard pointed out that even travelling all that day, they would not reach London before nightfall and would have to avail themselves of another inn. He had not thought he had been travelling for that long after he had been snatched from the meeting, but after the immediate panic had receded he had rather lost track of time. He knew he had occasionally succumbed to exhaustion and fallen into brief restless dozes and the bag over his head had made it difficult to judge the hours passing.
The washing supplies were brought in just as they were finishing up the last fragments of food. Rodney was annoyed to see that the same flirtatious maid that had served the meal accompanied the men with the basin, water jugs and shaving mirror. He was sure they could have managed the soap and towels as well without her help and she clearly saw it as an opportunity to attract Sheppard's attention, lingering long after the other servants had left. Indeed, she was so blatant about her intentions that Rodney was beginning to wonder about the respectability of the inn.
Sheppard didn't seem to mind her behaviour at all, of course. He simply smiled at her coy glances and let her touch his arm and lean in to his body when she handed over the towels. It was disgraceful. He had opened his mouth to say as much when he noticed that Sheppard had somehow manoeuvred her over to the door and with a last "thank you very much," he was nudging her through it. She was still twittering on about him needing any more help when he casually closed the door in her face and Rodney found himself gaping at the smoothness of it.
Sheppard leaned against the door and sighed. "I thought she'd never leave," he said and grinned and Rodney grinned back. "After you," Sheppard added, gesturing at the basin.
"No please, you go ahead," Rodney replied. It was the polite thing to do and besides, there were still some rolls on the table and the jam was really very good. He turned away from Sheppard's pleased look and busied himself with the butter knife.
A moment later, the sounds of splashing and a sigh of pleasure made him look up and then Rodney stared, unable to look away from the sight of a shirtless Sheppard bent over the basin to wash his face. He was slender enough for Rodney to see the shape of ribs underneath skin but he looked strong too, with smooth muscles shifting in his arms and back as he moved. Rodney's eyes drifted down the line of his spine and past the waistband of his trousers before he could stop himself. He was just thinking that Sheppard had clearly been made to wear the tight trousers when the rest of his brain caught up with how inappropriate that thought was and he jerked his eyes back to his plate.
Please, please let Sheppard not notice that he was blushing and breathing hard. If he could only have that one moment of grace, he might even reconsider the non-existence of God.
He had just got himself under control when Sheppard wandered past him, still shirtless, and propped the mirror on the windowsill to start shaving. "Water's all yours," he said, and Rodney didn't notice the line of hair crossing Sheppard's flat stomach or the way his chest moved as he breathed, before he fled from the table to the basin. He didn't notice them at all and his hands were not shaking as he washed his face and hid in the towel for a few minutes.
Thankfully for Rodney's shaky composure, Sheppard had replaced his shirt by the time he re-emerged from the towel. He'd moved away from the window so he was much closer to Rodney though, something that made Rodney a little nervous.
"Here, McKay, you can borrow my razor if you want to shave," he said.
In Rodney's current mood, even such a commonplace object as a razor seemed to take on an unsettling intimacy and he declined the offer quickly. "Thank you, but I would prefer to wait for less primitive conditions and I have a little longer before I need to shave for appearances sake."
"Hm," Sheppard said, tilting his head slightly to one side and looking at him consideringly. Then he stepped closer, reached out and stroked the tips of his fingers lightly down the side of Rodney's face.
The simple gesture completely undid Rodney. He was frozen into immobility, unable even to breathe at the feeling of Sheppard touching his skin. All he was capable of was staring into Sheppard's face and waiting for the axe to fall, for the ever-present warm amusement lurking in the back of the other man's eyes to turn into cold disgust.
He was saved by a knock at the door and the wonderful voice of the serving-maid enquiring whether the gentlemen were finished with their breakfast. Sheppard's head turned away from him, his fingers trailing from Rodney's jaw as he moved back towards the table and Rodney could breathe again.
"I think you are right, Rodney. You can wait a little longer," Sheppard said and called for the maid to come in.
*
Less than ten minutes later, Sheppard had settled their account with the innkeeper and they were once again on the road. Rodney huddled as far as he could into the side of the carriage and panicked very quietly.
Did Sheppard know? He didn't seem to be treating Rodney any differently than before, which argued for an optimistic outlook, but Rodney knew that his behaviour would have seemed odd at the very least. He was sure that if he hadn't been slightly overset by the ordeal of being kidnapped he would have better control, or if he had only been aided by someone ordinary, who didn't have such pretty eyes or a smiling mouth and a lazy teasing voice.
It just wasn't fair; he'd always been so careful. It was not uncommon for boys at boarding school to experiment with the acts of pleasure, but to wish to do so as an adult was unpardonable and showed that one possessed what he had heard termed le vice allemande, though why it should be considered particularly German Rodney had no idea.
He preferred the Platonic term Uranian, but there were other less palatable descriptions too. Sodomite. Buggerer. Names descriptive of activities that would earn a man a trip to the hangman's noose. Rodney had known for years his tendencies leaned that way but he had never dared to so much as visit a Molly-house and he'd prided himself on his willpower and ability to resist his desires, when all along he had simply never known what desire truly was.
Now he knew. It was the feel of Sheppard's hair against his fingers, the way looking in his eyes made Rodney quiver inside, the way a glimpse of his skin dried Rodney's mouth and quickened his pulse, and a touch heated his blood.
He was completely lost already and he still had to survive another day and a half before he could escape. It would take a miracle for him to reach London without ruining himself.
After a while, Sheppard's voice broke into his muddled thoughts. "What was that you were muttering over my head while I was unconscious yesterday, McKay? For a moment I thought I'd really damaged something and then I realised you were apparently just speaking in tongues."
"What? Oh, yes, that. I was trying to work something out and it sometimes helps me to think aloud." He tried to remember what it was he had been thinking at the time but it was unfortunately gone. Not that it had been any better than his previous attempts to solve that particular problem, but it was annoying that he had forgotten.
"Well?" asked Sheppard after a few minutes, sounding slightly impatient.
"Well what?" Rodney replied absently, still trying to remember how he'd been trying to refine the equation.
"What were you saying?" Sheppard repeated, turning in Rodney's direction and poking him in the arm with a finger.
"Ow! There was no need to poke me," said Rodney, rubbing his arm ostentatiously and provoking a glare from Sheppard. "If you must know, I was working on some aspects of astronomical theory."
"Astronomy? Isn't that akin to fortune-telling? You don't look much like a spiritualist."
Rodney gaped at him in horror. "Oh, good God! That's astrology, you, you nincompoop. Astronomy is an exact and beautiful science, not meaningless hocus-pocus! It is the study of heavenly bodies through mathematics and ingenious telescopic inventions, and an attempt to understand the indescribable majesty of the universe that we inhabit. It is not anything to do with gypsies or charlatans who try to remove money from idiots by telling them they are going to meet a dark stranger and go on a journey, though anyone who is stupid enough to pay for such irrational advice deserves to be gulled in my opinion."
"That seems a little unfair on the gypsies. If one had told you that yesterday, they would have been perfectly correct," Sheppard returned.
"Only by pure coincidence!" sputtered Rodney. "And since none did, that remark is a complete irrelevance, and please tell me you don't actually believe in that rubbish, because if you do, I will be forced to conclude that you were either dropped on your head as a child or that you lack all capacity for rational thought."
Rodney took a breath to continue, almost relieved to discover such a flaw in the man beside him then stopped, suddenly noticing that Sheppard was shaking with suppressed laughter. "You! You knew perfectly well what the difference was, didn't you?" he accused, folding his arms and glaring as Sheppard dissolved, laughing so hard he nearly slid off the seat.
"Oh," Sheppard said, wiping his eyes, "You should have seen your face! I've never seen anyone look so horrified; it was like I'd accused you of enjoying unnatural congress with farm animals."
"Your sense of humour is vile," Rodney said, huffing with exasperation and trying not to notice how Sheppard became even more ridiculously good-looking when he was lit up with laughter like that.
Sheppard nodded with a grin. "Yes, it is. So, I assume that you have been following the findings of Herschel?"
"Yes," Rodney said, surprised. "His work on double stars is proving most useful since I'm occupied with the problem of stellar parallaxes at the present time. Not that I suppose you know what that is."
"You would be correct in that assumption, I'm afraid. I'm aware of some of his discoveries, but astronomy is not one of my particular pursuits. It isn't every day I wake up with someone reciting calculus over my head, though. I was curious to discover why."
"Well, I'm happy to satisfy you," Rodney retorted, too unsettled by Sheppard's knowledge, however limited, of his overriding interest to realise what he had said until Sheppard grinned at him again and Rodney found himself blushing. "What's so funny now?" he asked defensively.
"I was just wondering what would have happened if one of the locals had come across you muttering formulae over an unconscious man. They'd most likely have assumed you were practicing witchcraft." Sheppard gave him a teasing, sidelong look as he went on, "Are you sure you didn't put a spell on me with your exact and beautiful science, McKay?"
"Ha, ha, most amusing," Rodney said, giving up and smiling back. He supposed it would have appeared rather odd behaviour to a bystander, but he hadn't had anything else to do while he had waited for Sheppard to wake up. He didn't particularly wish to dwell on such an embarrassing incident however, and sought for a way to turn the conversation.
"What are your particular pursuits, then?" Sheppard's grin turned positively wicked at his question and he rephrased hurriedly, "I mean, what were you doing in the country?"
"I was visiting my estate at Weston. I had intended to leave for town rather sooner, but events necessitated a longer stay than I had anticipated," Sheppard replied, frowning slightly.
Weston. The name made a connection in Rodney's memory. "Oh. You're the new Earl. I'm sorry, my lord."
"For what?" Sheppard asked, surprised.
"For the loss of your brother," said Rodney. It was his brother, wasn't it? He had a memory of an Earl of Weston gaining quite a reputation in town a few years back and he was fairly sure that man hadn't been old enough to be Sheppard's, Lord Weston's father despite his death a year ago. And hadn't there been some scandal to do with the younger son, some reason he had been absent? Rodney suddenly wished he had paid more attention to the endless rounds of gossip.
"Thank you. But we were not close. Stephen was several years my elder and we had very little in common aside from our parentage. He was always my father's favourite; the old man would have been horrified to see what Stephen did with the estates after his death. I was surprised myself and I had very few expectations to be disappointed."
That sounded rather like Rodney's experience of inheritance. "He mismanaged his responsibilities?"
"To say the least," Sheppard, no Weston said, looking irritated. "He turned over control and management of our family affairs to unscrupulous and untrustworthy agents and then proceeded to enjoy himself in town while the Hall fell into disrepair and ruin around my mother. She and the servants did the best they could, but in the last few years arthritis has confined her to a few rooms and there was little enough that could be done. My sister tried as well, but she had no authority with the agents and when she criticized Stephen's decisions too openly he simply removed her to London."
"It sounds like your home is in quite a state."
"Oh yes, but I won't let it stay that way for long. I call the tunes now," Sheppard smirked. "I intend to undo every bad decision, put back everything the way it was. No, I intend to better things. I'll make the Hall glorious, a triumph of a residence and fit for a king to live in."
Rodney stared at him in surprise. He hadn't thought Sheppard capable of such determination as was evidenced by his voice when describing his plans. His perpetual air of lazy repose had suggested that he was unlikely to feel particularly strongly about anything, but clearly he was very invested in the restoration of his family home. Though Rodney couldn't even imagine the expense of achieving a glorious restoration, considering how difficult just reaching respectability had proved in his own family.
And why couldn't he think of the man by his proper title? He just couldn't seem to call him anything but Sheppard.
"Well, that will certainly keep you occupied enough to not require any other pursuits for several years at least. Or are you fleeing to the city because you have realised the magnitude of the task?" Rodney hadn't been intending to let the sarcasm slip out, but the memory of struggling with his idiot brothers over what to do with his father's mess was fresh in his mind.
It seemed to simply slide off Sheppard though. He just smiled and shook his head. "I need to change the management of the estates to a more respectable agent and I decided it would be best to conduct such affairs in person. Though I will admit to curiosity over how London and society has changed, and I have some acquaintance there I would like to see again."
Rodney was sure that he had. A man like Sheppard would have been the catch of any season and he would have had any number of beauties vying either to be his mistress or his wife. "Not exclusively a business trip then," he said, keeping his tone even with an effort.
"No," drawled Sheppard with a serious face and dancing eyes, "I'm hoping for my fair share of pleasure too."
Rodney could imagine only too well what Sheppard meant by that and he dragged his eyes away from Sheppard's, trying to disguise the breathlessness that had been caused by meeting such a joyfully mischievous look. Neither emotion was meant for him, and he would do well to remember it.
He could see Sheppard watching him out of the corner of his eye, and he tried desperately to stop picturing Sheppard making love with some beautiful, sophisticated woman and think of something else to say.
"I assume from your remarks that you have not been in London for some time, my lord?"
"Please don't call me that," Sheppard said with a pained expression.
"What, my lord? But it's your title," Rodney said, confused. His brothers might claim he had no more idea of proper etiquette than a chicken, but he did know how to address someone of rank.
"But not one I ever anticipated having and it doesn't particularly feel like you're talking to me when you use it. Sheppard will do, or Weston if you really must though I doubt I'll remember to answer to it."
Rodney wasn't sure how to react to this. The way Sheppard called him McKay or occasionally even Rodney had suggested he had a preference for more familiar forms of address, but to be invited to speak to him on the terms of intimate friendship was unexpected to say the least, especially considering their disparity of social class. Not that Sheppard apparently paid much attention to the conventions or propriety, seeing as he had even introduced himself without a mention of his title. An unusual attitude in Rodney's experience, though he could understand how Sheppard might still be unused to having the right to it.
"As you wish, of course," he finally replied. "But you will have to get used to it sooner or later, or you will spend a lot of time ignoring and offending people who wish to converse with you. I imagine behaviour like that would cause your re-entry into the ton to be a rather interesting experience."
"Hm," Sheppard said, apparently unconvinced. "But it would also be a marvellous excuse for avoiding all sorts of tedious conversations and so make the social round more engaging." He must have observed Rodney's surprise at his words, for he carried on, "From what I recall, a large number of the so-called events of the Season are unutterably dull, don't you agree?"
"Well, yes," Rodney admitted. "I don't much intersect with the high ton social set though, so I would probably miss the more interesting ones anyway."
"You are fortunate. No, that is unfair; there are plenty of entertaining people and a good portion of enjoyment to be had. I am simply out of practice with the way of things."
That reminded Rodney that Sheppard had never actually answered him. "Which brings us back to my original question: where have you been if not in London, or England?" He realised a little late that if it had indeed been a scandal that had removed him from fashionable places, Sheppard might have been avoiding answering on purpose.
Sheppard didn't seem uncomfortable as he answered, however. "The Colonies, for the most part. I left four years ago and returned only a few weeks ago."
Well that certainly explained Sheppard's unfashionably tanned skin. Rodney had seen back in the inn that the pale golden brown of Sheppard's hands and face, expected from travelling in summer, extended down his torso but he had been far too distracted by actually seeing his skin to take notice of the oddity. He was not going to start thinking about Sheppard's naked back and chest again now, either. He was not.
"Where in the Colonies?" he asked hurriedly. "India? The Caribbean Islands?"
"Pulau Pinang, or Prince of Wales Island. It's off the Malay coast in the Strait of Malacca."
"That sounds indescribably exotic," Rodney sighed wistfully. The furthest from home he had ever been was for his sister Jeannie's wedding to Mr. Beckett, one of the Scottish gentry, and with the best will in the world, no-one would think to describe Lanarkshire as exotic.
"It's wonderful," Sheppard agreed softly. "It is more lush and beautiful than you can imagine, Rodney, nothing like English countryside at all. The plants look like they belong in the most fanciful descriptions of Paradise and they seem to spring up in a night so that every day a fresh beauty meets the eyes. In the evenings, the air is sweet with the scent of flowers and spices and the morning breeze carries the tang of the sea. The days are hot and filled with sunshine and even the rain in the wet season is warm, not like here where it freezes you to your bones. There are the most spectacular storms too, loud enough to make it seem like the place is being pounded by siege guns and the lightning illuminates everything so brightly that for a second it feels like the beginning of the universe when light was created for the first time, pure and perfect."
Rodney was left speechless by Sheppard's account of the island. It sounded unlike anything he had ever experienced and he was suddenly filled with a longing to see the place that had provoked such moving words and images from Sheppard. He wanted to hear more, but Sheppard seemed embarrassed by his sudden flight into lyricism and ducked his head under Rodney's gaze self-consciously.
Rodney tried to think of a way to convey some of what the description had made him feel without sounding like an idiot, but in the end all he could come up with was, "I would like to see it one day."
Sheppard seemed to have regained his usual composure while Rodney had searched for words and he met Rodney's eyes again with an oddly serious look. "I hope that you do," was all he said.
A strangely intense moment followed when they simply looked into each other's eyes. It made Rodney feel a little light-headed and hot, like he was starting a fever, but then one of the horses threw up its head with a snort and Sheppard's attention was jerked back to driving.
Sheppard did not seem inclined to continue the conversation after that and Rodney decided it would be safer for his own feelings to allow the other man his silence. The day was warm and the motion of the carriage gradually lulled him into a light doze, filled with dreams of fabulous flowers and clear blue skies.