The Soldier's Tale by RJ Scott

blanket, milking the injury for all it was worth. So far Mark had made drinks, cooked food, and tidied up the small cottage that Jack had rented. His accident meant he wouldn't be pegging out boundaries on the dig site for the preliminary geophysical survey before the excavations started next summer. Given it was freezing cold, he didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed at that. Well, he was always one to handle whatever cards life dealt him, and life had dealt him warm comforting thoughts of making love in front of the fire with his boyfriend.
    Finally he'd had enough of Mark bustling around him. He caught the belt loop of his jeans as he scurried past with a pile of archaeological tomes.
    "Come sit down," Jack encouraged, but Mark just shook his head, attempting to pull himself away. With a hard tug Jack managed to get his lover to topple sideways, his centre of balance off, and with a hmmmph, Mark was finally next to him.
    "I need to—" Mark began, but Jack twisted his body enough so he could straddle Mark's lap. With only the faintest reminder of pain from his wrist, he captured his lover's mouth in a heated kiss to stop him talking. They kissed leisurely for a long time until the spikiness of Mark's worries had dulled to soft whimpers of need.
    "Now. Will you tell me what's wrong?" Jack asked softly, frowning as Mark closed his eyes and pursed his lips. "Mark?"
    "That man, Daniel, the soldier… our soldier… Jack—"
    "What?"
    "He has the knife. God, do you remember I said…" His voice trailed off, and he tugged at his lower lip with his teeth. "When Curtess was in the flames, there was a knife thrown, and it killed him before he could suffer."
    "I remember."
    "That guy…" Mark paused. "He had the knife that was used under his shirt, in those jeans. I could sense the connection. Somehow he… God, the curse…"
    "The curse?"
    "When the warrior and the healer stand to swear a sacred bond… This Daniel guy, this soldier, he's connected."
    "He's the warrior?" Jack didn't doubt what Mark could see, not any more. "And the doc is what? He's the healer? Should we tell someone?"
    "No!" Mark sounded horrified. "They have to find their own path."
    "What if they don't?" He couldn't hide the worry inside him, this curse was playing on his mind more than he had realised. Mark huffed a small sigh, closing his eyes and nodding.
    "They will Jack. They have to if there is any chance for the Fitzwarren family."

Chapter Six

    Sean waited before visiting Daniel at home. He waited exactly ten minutes after Jack and Mark had left, and then he had his jacket and boots on and was tramping down the side roads between the surgery and his house and the Francis family's cottage. There was stuff unfinished between them, something indefinable that had sparked between them, and he wasn't sure why, but he wanted more and wanted to know more. There was only one way to do it. The cottage was neat and small, and beyond the wrought iron gate, the garden was a tumble and tangle of cottage flowers—chrysanthemums, nasturtiums and late roses, mingling with the scent of rosemary. Passing through the gate, he then walked the short path. The knock sounded loudly on the heavy oak door, and he glanced up at a thatched roof and tiny windows in the whitewashed house. Daniel's cottage was typical of the chocolate box dwellings that dotted the periphery of the village.
    He wondered as he waited for the door to be answered if it was Daniel who did the gardening.
    The door opened, and Daniel glared at him angrily. Sean didn't actually blame him, realising he couldn't really defend landing on the guy's doorstep for absolutely no reason.
    "I was waiting for you," Daniel finally offered, and turned to retreat into the cool interior, leaving the door wide open. Sean stepped in.
    "You were?" he asked curiously. Why would Daniel be expecting him?
    They ended up in the kitchen. Daniel leaned against the sink, staring out of the small crooked window, seemingly