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vigorliTitle: A Summer Place
Author: Ariel Tachna
Type: RPS
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Just sex
Disclaimer: I don’t know the actors. I just make up stories when I get bored. Any real places or historical figures are represented to the best of my knowledge and with nothing but the most profound respect.
Feedback: Please.
Beta: the irreplaceable namárië120
Summary: In protecting a local blacksmith from a murderer, overseer Viggo Mortensen meets the love of his life. Does he dare to claim that love for his own?
Banner by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mesnica
Chapter 7
The return to the camp was uneventful. They arrived just as Mrs. Weaving and Holly did, Harry in tow. “Mr. Mortensen!” the young man called. “Da said you were hiring.”
Viggo smiled at the lad who had tagged along with his mother and sister for as long as they had been cooking for him. “That’s right. How old are you now?”
“Sixteen, sir.”
“I see. That’s a good age to begin learning a trade. What part of building interests you most?” Viggo asked, knowing how important it was for the young man to choose something he would enjoy learning.
“All of it!” Harry replied enthusiastically.
Viggo chuckled. “With that attitude, you’ll be an overseer one day for sure. In the meantime, I need to assign you to a journeyman as an apprentice so pick something for me, lad.”
“I’d be glad to teach you to work stone,” Karl offered.
“Or wood,” Eric pitched in.
“Even the forge,” Orlando added, “if your father approves.”
Harry looked back and forth between the three men. “I… I don’t know.” He looked back at Viggo. “Where should I start?”
“With the stonework,” Viggo replied firmly. “That’s the heart of what we do. While it’s all important, the stone is the foundation for all the rest. If you find that it’s not for you after a few weeks, we’ll switch you to a different crew.”
“Come on, then, lad,” Karl said, cuffing the boy on the shoulder. “Let’s get started.”
“Now?” Harry squeaked.
Karl laughed. “Unless you’re planning on helping your mother cook.”
“No!” Harry exclaimed. “I’d rather work with you.”
The men chuckled at Harry’s answer as Karl led the boy toward the storehouse where the blocks of stone, marble, and granite waited. When they were out of sight, the others set about unloading the wagon, Johnny directing the storage of all the supplies. “Here’s the oilcloth you wanted,” he said, handing it to Orlando when it came off the wagon.
“Thanks,” Orlando replied, setting it aside with his tools.
When everything was put away, Orlando picked up the hammer with the damaged handle. “Eric, you work wood, don’t you?”
The big man nodded. “Why?”
“Because I need new handles for some of my tools. I can do it, but it would take me awhile. I was wondering if you’d make one for me. I’ll pay you when I get paid.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Viggo interjected. “It’s part of the general repairs on the site. If there’s a metal tool damaged, I’ll expect you to repair it, too.”
“Of course, but those are the crew’s tools. These are mine.”
“Most of us bring our own tools,” Eric contradicted. “At least, those of us who are journeymen. We’re just as particular as you are and this way we don’t have to get used to new tools when we arrive at a site. You’ll be sharpening adzes and chisels for me more than once before the summer’s gone. Let me see what you have there.”
Orlando handed Eric the hammer.
“How long do you want the handle?”
Orlando showed him and Eric nodded. “I’ll work on it this evening. You’ll be ready to go in the morning.”
Viggo smiled at the interaction between the two men. Creating the cohesive bonds that made a successful crew was always an iffy proposition. Some years it happened seemingly without effort and other years, it never quite happened. It appeared this year would be a good one, at least in that respect.
“We should get the rest of the camp set up. Bana, I’ll let you get the tools fixed for Mr. Bloom since he can’t start work without them, but the rest of us need to get those tents pitched and the rest of the camp ready for the crew.”
Orlando and Johnny nodded. “Ever pitch a tent?” Johnny asked Orlando.
“No, but I’m a quick learner.”
“These are big tents. They’ll sleep four, or six in a pinch. It’ll take all three of us to get them up,” Viggo explained.
They spent the next two hours erecting the canvas tents and wooden cots that the construction crew would live in for the summer. Viggo took advantage of the time to cast surreptitious glances at the blacksmith, admiring the strong, powerful body as they worked together to raise the poles and set the stakes that would hold the tents in place. He appreciated once again the younger man’s strength as Bloom maneuvered the heavy canvas, a job that often required a second set of hands. He eventually had to force himself to stop looking because he could feel his groin tightening at the sight of the powerful muscles flexing as they worked.
When they were done, they had a small village set up on the grounds of the manor. “Will you fill all of them?” Orlando asked Viggo as he marveled at the number of tents. They could sleep a hundred men in the tents they had set up, not counting the ones Eric, Johnny, and Karl were already using.
“And more,” Viggo replied. “The islanders don’t usually stay on site, though they’re welcome to if they choose. Most, though, would rather return to their own beds and their own families.”
That, Orlando understood. Given the choice, he knew he would choose his home over the sea of tents, if only for the privacy it provided. He was especially concerned about how the men who shared his tent would react to him once they learned he preferred the company of men, as he was sure they would if they spoke with anyone from town. Orlando knew they need not be concerned – his attention was focused solely on the overseer – but the other men could not know that and he could not tell them, not when Mr. Mortensen had evinced such an interest in the ladies in town. Perhaps if the desire were mutual – just perhaps – he could assure them, but he would never put Mr. Mortensen, or anyone, in that position without being assured of the other man’s interest and agreement.
“Mr. Mortensen!”
The three men turned at the sound of the female voice. Mrs. Weaving stood at the head of the trail, ladle in hand. “Dinner’s ready. The other men are already eating.”
“We’ll just wash up and be right there, ma’am,” Viggo replied, heading toward the pump. He worked the handle a few times to start the water flowing, then stripped off his jacket and shirt. He knew the water would be frigid, but he was hot and sweaty and wanted to clean up. He stuck his head under the fall of water, running his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, sluicing away the dust and sweat from the day. Later, perhaps, he would have time to take a proper bath, to wash away the salt air from his sea voyage, but this would have to do for now.
Orlando’s eyes bulged and his mouth went dry when the overseer removed his upper garments. He had pictured the man’s body in his feverish dreams the night before, but the reality was even more fascinating. Mr. Mortensen’s body was lean and hard, clearly a product of a lifetime of physical labor. His skin was pale from the long winter, but Orlando suspected it would darken to a honeyed gold over the summer if the color of the man’s hands was any indication. Orlando hoped it would, anyway because that would give him plenty of opportunity to store up images to fuel his fantasies. He knew his imaginings would come to naught given the attention his boss had paid to the women in town, but that would not stop him from dreaming of feeling that whipcord body against his own once again, moving over him, into him. His hands itched to touch, to learn the texture of the pale flesh. Trying to resist the temptation, he stuck his hands in his pockets. Then the overseer stood up, shaking his head like a wet dog. Orlando coughed to cover a gasp. Knowing what he was feeling had to show on his face, he averted his gaze.
“Who’s next?” Viggo asked, using the kerchief he habitually wore around his neck to wipe away the water that ran down his neck and onto his chest.
Johnny glanced at Orlando, but when the blacksmith did not immediately move to the pump, he performed his own ablutions, choosing simply to wet his bandanna and use it to wipe his face and hands.
“Your turn, Orlando,” he said, stepping back.
Viggo envied the easy way Johnny addressed the blacksmith by name. He wanted that liberty for himself, but he had never taken it with any of the crew, even the three bosses. If he started now, someone would remark on it immediately. He hoped, although he wished he could deny it, that Orlando would follow his lead and remove his shirt to clean up for dinner, giving the overseer a chance to see clearly what he had glimpsed that morning at the forge. It seemed the blacksmith was more modest, or at least more self-conscious, than that, though, because he simply splashed water on his face and rubbed his hands together under the stream of water.
When they were all presentable, they walked down to the small pavilion that sheltered the tables and chairs, giving the workers a place to eat out of the sun and rain. Mrs. Weaving had prepared a veritable feast for the five men, a venison stew, cornbread, the early greens from the island farms and a strawberry shortcake for dessert.
Viggo greeted her with a smile and effusive praise, the meal a luxury after weeks at sea. She replied with her usual indulgence, treating all the men, even the overseer, like she did her son.
Sitting together at one table, the men enjoyed a moment of tranquility in the quiet evening. Viggo waited until they had poured themselves cups of coffee before bringing up business. “We need to decide how we’re going to handle the extra security this summer, not just in terms of watches, but in terms of explaining the change to anyone who has worked for me in the past and knows how I’ve done things before. I think what happened in town drove home to all of us how serious this is. And while Mr. Bloom is clearly the target, anyone could be struck accidentally.”
“The first thing is that despite having tents up, Orlando shouldn’t be in a tent alone,” Johnny declared. “At least that way, if the murderer gets past whoever’s on watch, there’s someone else right there to hear and stop the man. For the time being, you can stay with me, Orlando. If you decide later you want to be in one of the other tents, that’s fine.”
“If I’m going to share a tent with someone, I’d just as soon share it with you,” Orlando replied. “At least I know you and know you aren’t disgusted by me. Some of the others will probably react like Craig, Brad, Mark and Marton today.”
“Not if they want to keep their jobs,” Viggo insisted. “Nobody harasses my crew, including other people on the crew. I hired you. If they have a problem with that, they can take it up with me.” He saw the disbelieving look on Orlando’s face. “I’m serious, Mr. Bloom. Even if there were no murder and this was just harassment, I would want to know about it, but given your circumstances, we can’t afford to ignore any threat against you.”
Orlando shook his head, not in rejection, but in amazement. Only Sean had ever defended Orlando with the vehemence Mr. Mortensen was displaying. The difference was that he had known Sean for years, but he had only met the overseer a day ago. He could not help but marvel at the situation. “I’ll tell you if anyone says or does anything I can’t handle.”
That was not what Viggo wanted, but it was, he realized, the best he was likely to get from a man so obviously used to relying only on himself. He fixed the crew bosses with a firm gaze, transmitting his seriousness to each of them. He would not tolerate anyone persecuting Orlando on this job site. One by one, the three men nodded.
“Until we have a crew we can trust, I think you, Karl and I should share the night watches,” Eric suggested. “Since Orlando’s staying in Johnny’s tent, Johnny’s effectively on watch all night, even if he’s sleeping. Besides, if he takes a watch, that leaves Orlando alone.”
“The other option,” Karl suggested, “is for all of us to use one of the big tents for the next few days. That way, we can split the watch four ways and still not leave Orlando alone. We wouldn’t even need to move our stuff, just our bedrolls.”
“That’s a good idea,” Johnny agreed. “I’d feel guilty not standing a watch.”
“As do I,” Orlando added with a dejected sigh, “though I don’t know how I could since you’re guarding me.”
“As you say,” Viggo replied. “We knew what we were undertaking when we agreed to this last night. You certainly don’t deserve to be shot at like you were today or be attacked verbally like you were in town. We’ll do what’s in our power to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Who’s taking first watch?”
“I will,” Johnny said. “All I have to do tomorrow is finish up the supply inventory. Until we’re ready to start actually setting stone, I’m not of much use.”
“Not true,” Karl, Eric, and Viggo declared in one voice, all three of them knowing how much Johnny’s organizational skills contributed to the smooth running of the camp.
Johnny chuckled. “It was a joke. I’ll still take first watch, though. Who should I wake up?”
They quickly decided on the order of the watch. Eric and Karl rose to move their bedrolls into one of the big tents and get some sleep so they would be ready for their watches. Johnny went back to his tent for his rifle and started his circuit around the camp, leaving Viggo and Orlando sitting at the table facing each other over their steaming mugs.
“Sean was right about you,” Orlando said after several long minutes of silence.
“Really? In what way?” Viggo asked even as he told himself he should insist the blacksmith retire for the night.
“He said you were a fair man and that you’d make sure I was safe.”
“I like to think of myself as being fair,” Viggo agreed, “and I’ll certainly do my best to keep you safe.”
“But why?” Orlando asked. “I mean, if it were Johnny or Karl, I’d understand, but you don’t know me, or didn’t when Sean asked you to do this. Why do you care what happens to me?”
“Nobody deserves to be attacked like you were today,” Viggo repeated.
“Is it really that simple for you?”
It was not simple at all, Viggo thought, but he could not tell Orlando the rest of his reasons. He could not explain to the blacksmith that he, too, sought lovers among his own sex, that he, too, feared the kind of ostracism Orlando had faced from some of the town, that he had taken one look at the younger man and fallen in lust and that everything he had learned since then only added to the attraction. No, it was not simple at all and sitting here with Orlando only made it more complicated. “Yes,” he replied firmly, knowing it was a lie. He told himself he should send Orlando to get his things and retire for the night, but he did not rise, did not say the words that would send the blacksmith from his side.
Orlando had no answer to Viggo’s assertion and so he fell silent, waiting for the overseer to end the conversation. The other man made no move in that direction, though, so Orlando stayed where he was, enjoying the opportunity to look his fill without trying to hide it. “How long have Eric, Johnny, and Karl worked for you?” he asked after a few more minutes of silence, wanting an excuse to hear the raspy voice again. He knew he would be hearing that voice in his head every time he touched himself for the rest of the summer and possibly beyond.
“Eight years,” Viggo replied, still surprised it had been that long.
“Why don’t you use their first names?” Orlando asked, surprised. “I mean, you hardly know me, but eight years? Surely you know them well enough to address them that way.”
“It’s not about how well I know them,” Viggo explained patiently. “It’s about who I am and who they are. They’re my employees.”
“And you think they’d treat you with less respect if you used their first names? Or that I would? I owe you my life at this point. If I’d been home last night, I certainly would have gone out to investigate the vandalism to my homestead and he would have killed me, whether he simply shot me or whether he hurt me the way he did Jude. Nothing you could say or do could make me respect you less.”
Even if I told you how much I want you right now? Viggo wondered silently.
The flicker that crossed Viggo’s face was so subtle Orlando was not sure he had seen it, but for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of desire in the overseer’s deep blue gaze. “What does Mrs. Mortensen think of you spending your summers here on the island?” he asked impulsively, wanting to know if had indeed seen what he thought he saw.
“There is no Mrs. Mortensen,” Viggo replied flatly, afraid to ask what had brought on this line of questioning.
“Whyever not?” Orlando inquired. “A well-set up man such as yourself…. You must have plenty of choices.”
“I would make a poor husband,” Viggo demurred honestly. “As much as I’m away with work, it would require a very patient wife indeed.”
“You do not desire companionship?”
Desire shot through Viggo as he thought of the companionship he craved but could not have. “You of all people know it’s possible to find companionship without being married,” he replied harshly. “I’m alone because I choose to be.”
Every muscle in Orlando’s body went tense at the overseer’s words. Yes, he knew it was possible to find companionship outside of marriage, but in his case, as the other man well knew, marriage was not an option. Did that mean…? He stared at Mr. Mortensen intently, trying to decipher the layers of meaning in the seemingly innocent words.
Seeing the look on Orlando’s face, Viggo forced himself to stand. “You should get settled for the night,” he declared, ending their conversation.
Orlando watched him leave, retreating into the cabin where he would spend the summer. Slowly, he rose to his feet and headed for Johnny’s tent to get his bedroll, the conversation playing over in his head again. You of all people know… Those words were the sticking point. Why say those words? Why not simply make the statement? Did it mean, could it mean, that Viggo shared his preferences, even his current interest? He did not have the answer to his questions. He knew only that he had to figure out a way to learn what he wanted to know without losing his job. If he was right, perhaps his feelings were not so hopeless after all.
Author: Ariel Tachna
Type: RPS
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Just sex
Disclaimer: I don’t know the actors. I just make up stories when I get bored. Any real places or historical figures are represented to the best of my knowledge and with nothing but the most profound respect.
Feedback: Please.
Beta: the irreplaceable namárië120
Summary: In protecting a local blacksmith from a murderer, overseer Viggo Mortensen meets the love of his life. Does he dare to claim that love for his own?
Banner by
mesnicaChapter 7
The return to the camp was uneventful. They arrived just as Mrs. Weaving and Holly did, Harry in tow. “Mr. Mortensen!” the young man called. “Da said you were hiring.”
Viggo smiled at the lad who had tagged along with his mother and sister for as long as they had been cooking for him. “That’s right. How old are you now?”
“Sixteen, sir.”
“I see. That’s a good age to begin learning a trade. What part of building interests you most?” Viggo asked, knowing how important it was for the young man to choose something he would enjoy learning.
“All of it!” Harry replied enthusiastically.
Viggo chuckled. “With that attitude, you’ll be an overseer one day for sure. In the meantime, I need to assign you to a journeyman as an apprentice so pick something for me, lad.”
“I’d be glad to teach you to work stone,” Karl offered.
“Or wood,” Eric pitched in.
“Even the forge,” Orlando added, “if your father approves.”
Harry looked back and forth between the three men. “I… I don’t know.” He looked back at Viggo. “Where should I start?”
“With the stonework,” Viggo replied firmly. “That’s the heart of what we do. While it’s all important, the stone is the foundation for all the rest. If you find that it’s not for you after a few weeks, we’ll switch you to a different crew.”
“Come on, then, lad,” Karl said, cuffing the boy on the shoulder. “Let’s get started.”
“Now?” Harry squeaked.
Karl laughed. “Unless you’re planning on helping your mother cook.”
“No!” Harry exclaimed. “I’d rather work with you.”
The men chuckled at Harry’s answer as Karl led the boy toward the storehouse where the blocks of stone, marble, and granite waited. When they were out of sight, the others set about unloading the wagon, Johnny directing the storage of all the supplies. “Here’s the oilcloth you wanted,” he said, handing it to Orlando when it came off the wagon.
“Thanks,” Orlando replied, setting it aside with his tools.
When everything was put away, Orlando picked up the hammer with the damaged handle. “Eric, you work wood, don’t you?”
The big man nodded. “Why?”
“Because I need new handles for some of my tools. I can do it, but it would take me awhile. I was wondering if you’d make one for me. I’ll pay you when I get paid.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Viggo interjected. “It’s part of the general repairs on the site. If there’s a metal tool damaged, I’ll expect you to repair it, too.”
“Of course, but those are the crew’s tools. These are mine.”
“Most of us bring our own tools,” Eric contradicted. “At least, those of us who are journeymen. We’re just as particular as you are and this way we don’t have to get used to new tools when we arrive at a site. You’ll be sharpening adzes and chisels for me more than once before the summer’s gone. Let me see what you have there.”
Orlando handed Eric the hammer.
“How long do you want the handle?”
Orlando showed him and Eric nodded. “I’ll work on it this evening. You’ll be ready to go in the morning.”
Viggo smiled at the interaction between the two men. Creating the cohesive bonds that made a successful crew was always an iffy proposition. Some years it happened seemingly without effort and other years, it never quite happened. It appeared this year would be a good one, at least in that respect.
“We should get the rest of the camp set up. Bana, I’ll let you get the tools fixed for Mr. Bloom since he can’t start work without them, but the rest of us need to get those tents pitched and the rest of the camp ready for the crew.”
Orlando and Johnny nodded. “Ever pitch a tent?” Johnny asked Orlando.
“No, but I’m a quick learner.”
“These are big tents. They’ll sleep four, or six in a pinch. It’ll take all three of us to get them up,” Viggo explained.
They spent the next two hours erecting the canvas tents and wooden cots that the construction crew would live in for the summer. Viggo took advantage of the time to cast surreptitious glances at the blacksmith, admiring the strong, powerful body as they worked together to raise the poles and set the stakes that would hold the tents in place. He appreciated once again the younger man’s strength as Bloom maneuvered the heavy canvas, a job that often required a second set of hands. He eventually had to force himself to stop looking because he could feel his groin tightening at the sight of the powerful muscles flexing as they worked.
When they were done, they had a small village set up on the grounds of the manor. “Will you fill all of them?” Orlando asked Viggo as he marveled at the number of tents. They could sleep a hundred men in the tents they had set up, not counting the ones Eric, Johnny, and Karl were already using.
“And more,” Viggo replied. “The islanders don’t usually stay on site, though they’re welcome to if they choose. Most, though, would rather return to their own beds and their own families.”
That, Orlando understood. Given the choice, he knew he would choose his home over the sea of tents, if only for the privacy it provided. He was especially concerned about how the men who shared his tent would react to him once they learned he preferred the company of men, as he was sure they would if they spoke with anyone from town. Orlando knew they need not be concerned – his attention was focused solely on the overseer – but the other men could not know that and he could not tell them, not when Mr. Mortensen had evinced such an interest in the ladies in town. Perhaps if the desire were mutual – just perhaps – he could assure them, but he would never put Mr. Mortensen, or anyone, in that position without being assured of the other man’s interest and agreement.
“Mr. Mortensen!”
The three men turned at the sound of the female voice. Mrs. Weaving stood at the head of the trail, ladle in hand. “Dinner’s ready. The other men are already eating.”
“We’ll just wash up and be right there, ma’am,” Viggo replied, heading toward the pump. He worked the handle a few times to start the water flowing, then stripped off his jacket and shirt. He knew the water would be frigid, but he was hot and sweaty and wanted to clean up. He stuck his head under the fall of water, running his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, sluicing away the dust and sweat from the day. Later, perhaps, he would have time to take a proper bath, to wash away the salt air from his sea voyage, but this would have to do for now.
Orlando’s eyes bulged and his mouth went dry when the overseer removed his upper garments. He had pictured the man’s body in his feverish dreams the night before, but the reality was even more fascinating. Mr. Mortensen’s body was lean and hard, clearly a product of a lifetime of physical labor. His skin was pale from the long winter, but Orlando suspected it would darken to a honeyed gold over the summer if the color of the man’s hands was any indication. Orlando hoped it would, anyway because that would give him plenty of opportunity to store up images to fuel his fantasies. He knew his imaginings would come to naught given the attention his boss had paid to the women in town, but that would not stop him from dreaming of feeling that whipcord body against his own once again, moving over him, into him. His hands itched to touch, to learn the texture of the pale flesh. Trying to resist the temptation, he stuck his hands in his pockets. Then the overseer stood up, shaking his head like a wet dog. Orlando coughed to cover a gasp. Knowing what he was feeling had to show on his face, he averted his gaze.
“Who’s next?” Viggo asked, using the kerchief he habitually wore around his neck to wipe away the water that ran down his neck and onto his chest.
Johnny glanced at Orlando, but when the blacksmith did not immediately move to the pump, he performed his own ablutions, choosing simply to wet his bandanna and use it to wipe his face and hands.
“Your turn, Orlando,” he said, stepping back.
Viggo envied the easy way Johnny addressed the blacksmith by name. He wanted that liberty for himself, but he had never taken it with any of the crew, even the three bosses. If he started now, someone would remark on it immediately. He hoped, although he wished he could deny it, that Orlando would follow his lead and remove his shirt to clean up for dinner, giving the overseer a chance to see clearly what he had glimpsed that morning at the forge. It seemed the blacksmith was more modest, or at least more self-conscious, than that, though, because he simply splashed water on his face and rubbed his hands together under the stream of water.
When they were all presentable, they walked down to the small pavilion that sheltered the tables and chairs, giving the workers a place to eat out of the sun and rain. Mrs. Weaving had prepared a veritable feast for the five men, a venison stew, cornbread, the early greens from the island farms and a strawberry shortcake for dessert.
Viggo greeted her with a smile and effusive praise, the meal a luxury after weeks at sea. She replied with her usual indulgence, treating all the men, even the overseer, like she did her son.
Sitting together at one table, the men enjoyed a moment of tranquility in the quiet evening. Viggo waited until they had poured themselves cups of coffee before bringing up business. “We need to decide how we’re going to handle the extra security this summer, not just in terms of watches, but in terms of explaining the change to anyone who has worked for me in the past and knows how I’ve done things before. I think what happened in town drove home to all of us how serious this is. And while Mr. Bloom is clearly the target, anyone could be struck accidentally.”
“The first thing is that despite having tents up, Orlando shouldn’t be in a tent alone,” Johnny declared. “At least that way, if the murderer gets past whoever’s on watch, there’s someone else right there to hear and stop the man. For the time being, you can stay with me, Orlando. If you decide later you want to be in one of the other tents, that’s fine.”
“If I’m going to share a tent with someone, I’d just as soon share it with you,” Orlando replied. “At least I know you and know you aren’t disgusted by me. Some of the others will probably react like Craig, Brad, Mark and Marton today.”
“Not if they want to keep their jobs,” Viggo insisted. “Nobody harasses my crew, including other people on the crew. I hired you. If they have a problem with that, they can take it up with me.” He saw the disbelieving look on Orlando’s face. “I’m serious, Mr. Bloom. Even if there were no murder and this was just harassment, I would want to know about it, but given your circumstances, we can’t afford to ignore any threat against you.”
Orlando shook his head, not in rejection, but in amazement. Only Sean had ever defended Orlando with the vehemence Mr. Mortensen was displaying. The difference was that he had known Sean for years, but he had only met the overseer a day ago. He could not help but marvel at the situation. “I’ll tell you if anyone says or does anything I can’t handle.”
That was not what Viggo wanted, but it was, he realized, the best he was likely to get from a man so obviously used to relying only on himself. He fixed the crew bosses with a firm gaze, transmitting his seriousness to each of them. He would not tolerate anyone persecuting Orlando on this job site. One by one, the three men nodded.
“Until we have a crew we can trust, I think you, Karl and I should share the night watches,” Eric suggested. “Since Orlando’s staying in Johnny’s tent, Johnny’s effectively on watch all night, even if he’s sleeping. Besides, if he takes a watch, that leaves Orlando alone.”
“The other option,” Karl suggested, “is for all of us to use one of the big tents for the next few days. That way, we can split the watch four ways and still not leave Orlando alone. We wouldn’t even need to move our stuff, just our bedrolls.”
“That’s a good idea,” Johnny agreed. “I’d feel guilty not standing a watch.”
“As do I,” Orlando added with a dejected sigh, “though I don’t know how I could since you’re guarding me.”
“As you say,” Viggo replied. “We knew what we were undertaking when we agreed to this last night. You certainly don’t deserve to be shot at like you were today or be attacked verbally like you were in town. We’ll do what’s in our power to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Who’s taking first watch?”
“I will,” Johnny said. “All I have to do tomorrow is finish up the supply inventory. Until we’re ready to start actually setting stone, I’m not of much use.”
“Not true,” Karl, Eric, and Viggo declared in one voice, all three of them knowing how much Johnny’s organizational skills contributed to the smooth running of the camp.
Johnny chuckled. “It was a joke. I’ll still take first watch, though. Who should I wake up?”
They quickly decided on the order of the watch. Eric and Karl rose to move their bedrolls into one of the big tents and get some sleep so they would be ready for their watches. Johnny went back to his tent for his rifle and started his circuit around the camp, leaving Viggo and Orlando sitting at the table facing each other over their steaming mugs.
“Sean was right about you,” Orlando said after several long minutes of silence.
“Really? In what way?” Viggo asked even as he told himself he should insist the blacksmith retire for the night.
“He said you were a fair man and that you’d make sure I was safe.”
“I like to think of myself as being fair,” Viggo agreed, “and I’ll certainly do my best to keep you safe.”
“But why?” Orlando asked. “I mean, if it were Johnny or Karl, I’d understand, but you don’t know me, or didn’t when Sean asked you to do this. Why do you care what happens to me?”
“Nobody deserves to be attacked like you were today,” Viggo repeated.
“Is it really that simple for you?”
It was not simple at all, Viggo thought, but he could not tell Orlando the rest of his reasons. He could not explain to the blacksmith that he, too, sought lovers among his own sex, that he, too, feared the kind of ostracism Orlando had faced from some of the town, that he had taken one look at the younger man and fallen in lust and that everything he had learned since then only added to the attraction. No, it was not simple at all and sitting here with Orlando only made it more complicated. “Yes,” he replied firmly, knowing it was a lie. He told himself he should send Orlando to get his things and retire for the night, but he did not rise, did not say the words that would send the blacksmith from his side.
Orlando had no answer to Viggo’s assertion and so he fell silent, waiting for the overseer to end the conversation. The other man made no move in that direction, though, so Orlando stayed where he was, enjoying the opportunity to look his fill without trying to hide it. “How long have Eric, Johnny, and Karl worked for you?” he asked after a few more minutes of silence, wanting an excuse to hear the raspy voice again. He knew he would be hearing that voice in his head every time he touched himself for the rest of the summer and possibly beyond.
“Eight years,” Viggo replied, still surprised it had been that long.
“Why don’t you use their first names?” Orlando asked, surprised. “I mean, you hardly know me, but eight years? Surely you know them well enough to address them that way.”
“It’s not about how well I know them,” Viggo explained patiently. “It’s about who I am and who they are. They’re my employees.”
“And you think they’d treat you with less respect if you used their first names? Or that I would? I owe you my life at this point. If I’d been home last night, I certainly would have gone out to investigate the vandalism to my homestead and he would have killed me, whether he simply shot me or whether he hurt me the way he did Jude. Nothing you could say or do could make me respect you less.”
Even if I told you how much I want you right now? Viggo wondered silently.
The flicker that crossed Viggo’s face was so subtle Orlando was not sure he had seen it, but for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of desire in the overseer’s deep blue gaze. “What does Mrs. Mortensen think of you spending your summers here on the island?” he asked impulsively, wanting to know if had indeed seen what he thought he saw.
“There is no Mrs. Mortensen,” Viggo replied flatly, afraid to ask what had brought on this line of questioning.
“Whyever not?” Orlando inquired. “A well-set up man such as yourself…. You must have plenty of choices.”
“I would make a poor husband,” Viggo demurred honestly. “As much as I’m away with work, it would require a very patient wife indeed.”
“You do not desire companionship?”
Desire shot through Viggo as he thought of the companionship he craved but could not have. “You of all people know it’s possible to find companionship without being married,” he replied harshly. “I’m alone because I choose to be.”
Every muscle in Orlando’s body went tense at the overseer’s words. Yes, he knew it was possible to find companionship outside of marriage, but in his case, as the other man well knew, marriage was not an option. Did that mean…? He stared at Mr. Mortensen intently, trying to decipher the layers of meaning in the seemingly innocent words.
Seeing the look on Orlando’s face, Viggo forced himself to stand. “You should get settled for the night,” he declared, ending their conversation.
Orlando watched him leave, retreating into the cabin where he would spend the summer. Slowly, he rose to his feet and headed for Johnny’s tent to get his bedroll, the conversation playing over in his head again. You of all people know… Those words were the sticking point. Why say those words? Why not simply make the statement? Did it mean, could it mean, that Viggo shared his preferences, even his current interest? He did not have the answer to his questions. He knew only that he had to figure out a way to learn what he wanted to know without losing his job. If he was right, perhaps his feelings were not so hopeless after all.
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Date: 2006-10-06 09:50 pm (UTC)update
Date: 2006-10-06 09:58 pm (UTC)Re: update
Date: 2006-10-06 10:22 pm (UTC)