Chapter Three
Not A Marrying Man
DISCLAIMER: Once again, nothing is mine except: a) the plot, b) Harold, c) Kyle, and d) various and sundry characters. Lawsuits not appreciated.
"It is our decision that you shall, henceforth, be Drake Morning, Earl of Countingham, for your service to your King and your Country. We thank you, Earl Countingham, and we are in your debt. May you go with the favour of God," finished King Stephen.
Drake smiled. He'd done it. He'd managed to get the earldom for his 'service' to the king in expelling the Empress Maud from her throne. He bowed before the King and headed out for the town square, where Harold was waiting for him.
Harold was sitting on a bench near the castle. Drake dashed to him, sitting next to him. He took Harold's hands. "We did it! We got the earldom!"
Harold wrenched free of Drake's grasp, turning away. "Great. Bloody fantastic." He was considerably less ecstatic.
Drake shook his blond head. "There's a problem? I'm an Earl, Harold. Nothing will ever be a problem."
Harold looked genuinely hurt. "And when you need heirs? What in the name of darkness am I supposed to do about that?"
Drake frowned. "But, Harold, you'll come to the Manor with me, right?"
Harold laughed sarcastically. "Sure. Why don't I just sleep at the foot of the bed while you and the Contessa frolick about. Sounds like great fun. I think not."
Drake had really become part of the time after all, he realized. "Don't be silly, it wouldn't be that way. You'd be--"
"--A consort?" Harold snapped. "A bloody sex toy you keep in the closet for fun and games? Not me."
Drake's eyes threatened tears. "We've been together ten months, through thick and thin, and you're going to abandon me now? What will I do without you?"
"I imagine you'll get on just fine." Harold stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my dear, I've got to find a place to stay while you leave me behind."
Drake clung to him. "I'm not leaving you behind! I'm just--"
"Going in a different direction, right?" Harold put a hand on his hip. "One that doesn't involve me?"
Tears streamed down Drake's cheeks. "It doesn't have to be this way, Harold!"
"Oh, but it does!" Harold shouted, with no concern for Drake's feelings. "You've made sure of that." He turned to leave again. "I'll be staying at Winchester, Drake. Have a good life for me."
Drake watched him leave. "But I love you, Harold," he whispered, but it was too late. The man was already heading to the inn. Soon all Drake could see was the brown curls on his head as they bobbed up and down like waves on a guilty ocean.
Harry sat by the phone, looking back and forth between the handset and the napkin with Kyle's number.
Resolving himself, he pulled the phone off the hook and dialed the number.
"...Kyle? ... Hi, this is Harry...Yeah. Are you free tonight?..."
It was a lovely manor. It was designed in the best and most modern of styles, yet it was missing something.
It was missing Harold.
Drake stared into the fireplace, burying the emotions that threatened to rise up under his placid expression. He pushed the depression back to the dark recesses of his mind, trying to merely enjoy his house.
"--Sir?"
Drake jumped. "WHAT!" he barked.
The little serving girl was frightened. "Lord Morning, the Duke of Wittham is here, with his daughter, to see you."
Drake frowned. "They're two days early!" he sighed. "Too bad, they'll have to tolerate the lack of preparations. Get to the cook, girl, and have him start on dinner."
The girl curtsied. "Of course, sir. Where shall I put them?"
Drake frowned, thinking aloud. "Their rooms are not ready yet--Perhaps I should set them up with servants' quarters?" He paused. "No, I'll just have to leave them in the sitting room."
She prompted him. "The sitting room?"
Drake nodded. "Set them up there, and apologize for their rooms not being ready. Make it obvious that we were not ready for their arrival."
"--Sir?"
Drake sighed. "Tell them they're early. And send them to the sitting room."
She curtsied again and left. Drake sighed. "What will I do with these servants of mine?" He sank down into his chair. "Harold would know what was to be done."
"Hello?" Kyle opened the door.
Harry stood on the mat in front of Kyle's flat, holding out a bouquet of lilies. "Happy Birthday," he grinned.
"Oh!" Kyle gasped. "Lilies are my favourite!"
"Really? I hoped you'd like them."
Kyle adjusted his shirt nervously. "Did you find the place okay?"
Harry grinned, toying with Kyle's curly red hair. "Of course I did, love. Your directions were perfect." He hoped Kyle couldn't tell how nervous he was.
Kyle opened the door wider, to allow them both through. He gestured toward the living room. "I'll just put these in water. Make yourself comfortable."
Comfortable, Harry thought. I'm to make myself comfortable when I'm this nervous.
Kyle fussed about the kitchen, obviously putting finishing touches on the dinner he had prepared. Harry looked around the place, fascinated by the decor.
The flat was lovely. Kyle had somehow combined modern American design with traditional Irish styles, creating a beautiful marriage of tastes and colours.
Kyle was the epitome of beauty tonight, with a silk green shirt to complement his curly red hair. Harry watched happily as Kyle bustled around the kitchen, fussing over the meal with an adorably frantic manner.
Finally, everything was ready. "Dinner's done, Harry!" He gestured toward the small café-style table, set for two with a wine bucket in the center. Harry took a seat and Kyle brought the plates to the table.
Taking the seat opposite Harry, he uncorked the wine. "I didn't know what kind of wine you liked, or if you like it at all." He held up the bottle. "Do you take Merlot?"
Harry nodded. "I love Merlot."
Kyle smiled, pouring a glass for Harry, then one for himself. His deep chocolate eyes probed Harry's. "You look lovely this evening, Harry."
Harry broke the gaze, suddenly forgetting just exactly what he was wearing. He glanced down, remembering his cream shirt and crimson sweater. "Thank you," he whispered. "You do too."
Kyle blushed slightly. They clinked glasses, and each took a sip.
Harry looked at his food. A chicken breast, grilled, and garnished with crushed tomatoes and green beans. He took a bite from the chicken and found it to be delicious. He savoured it, chewing slowly.
"Is the meal all right?" Kyle sounded worried.
Harry nodded. "It's fantastic!" he said, taking a sip of wine.
Kyle smiled, taking a small bite.
They continued eating in silence, each unsure of what to say to the other. Harry broke the silence. "Kyle, why all this for me? Why not one of your good friends to celebrate with? I mean, I'm flattered, but I hardly know you!"
Kyle looked down at his plate. "Harry, I can't help it. It's like a dream of mine to be with you, and now it's coming true, even just for tonight. Really, I'm sure this is giving me more than you know."
Harry slowly lifted his wine to his lips, his eyes never leaving Kyle's. Taking a sip, he set the glass down. Kyle licked his lips nervously, a gesture which Harry found extremely attractive. Kyle slid out of his chair, laying his napkin on his plate. "Have I given you the tour of the flat?"
Harry shook his head, his heart starting to quicken.
Kyle led him down the hallway. "This is the hall..." He came to a stop at the door. "And this is the bedroom."
He opened the door, allowing Harry through. It was a lovely room, painted in a rich blue-purple with unbleached, unaltered woods creating a pleasing contrast. Kyle stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room to the bed, sitting down tentatively on the edge of it. Harry sat beside him taking his hand. "Are you sure?" Kyle's eyes seemed to ask.
Harry nodded. He unbuttoned Kyle's shirt slowly showing more and more of Kyle's slender chest. Feeling the excitement leap within him, Harry slid the shirt off his shoulders, tossing it gently to the floor. He sat back, admiring his body, from his freckled shoulders to his smooth abs--Kyle took Harry's hand, pressing it to his chest. Harry's heart quickened as he realised how warm his skin was, how quick his heart was too.
Kyle lifted Harry's sweater over his head, dropping it to the floor with the green shirt. He undid Harry's cream shirt, sliding down the sleeves so it fell to a pile on the bed. He gasped as he saw Harry's perfectly toned body, lean and muscular, as a golden afterglow filled the room. Harry stood, allowing Kyle to admire him. Kyle stood, drawing Harry close to him as he caressed Harry's smooth skin, gently stroking his arms.
Kyle reached for Harry's belt, unlatching it--he slid the belt off, tossing it aside, as he slid Harry's pants to his ankles. Harry helped him remove the pants entirely, then helped Kyle to remove his own trousers. Harry took Kyle's hand, leading him to the bed. He pulled back the deep purple sheets, turning to place a sensuous kiss on Kyle's lips before sliding into bed.
PBPBPBPB
"Thomas! It's good to see you, and so very early!" Drake put on his best 'welcome to my humble abode' smile and extended his hand.
Thomas, the Duke of Wittham was fat. Extremely fat. So much so that his great ghastly legs could barely hold him up, and he wheezed and panted at the slightest exertion. His daughter, Elizabeth Wittham, was lovely, charming, and an angel; the perfect housewife. This was exactly what Drake detested.
Thomas plopped down into a lovely overstuffed armchair, which creaked and whined as if there were no tomorrow. "Now then, Drake. Let's get to business!" he roared. "You're looking for a bride, I imagine, and I believe my daughter is a perfect match."
Drake smiled politely. "Yes, Thomas, but--"
"Elizabeth!" the Duke shouted, cutting Drake off completely. "Tell the Earl your, er, qualifications."
Elizabeth smiled and stood up. "I'm an expert seamstress, I've been taught to read Latin AND Greek, I'm well-versed in the Bible, I can cook for any occasion. I've been exposed to the pox, and pulled through without scar or circumstance--"
"Look, Elizabeth," Drake frowned, holding up his hand. "There is only one thing you need to do to become Lady Morning."
She looked up eagerly. "What?"
Drake put down his hand. "You must think for yourself."
She hesitated, glancing to the Duke.
Drake sighed. "No, Thomas. I'm afraid she won't do at all. Good day."
The Duke turned red. "Now, see here!" he sputtered.
Drake sighed, bored. "I mean that your daughter will not do, now do you wish to leave or do you require an escort?"
He snatched his daughter's hand. "We are on our way out, Earl Countingham," he scoffed disdainfully.
"Harry! Harry, wake up!"
Harry opened his eyes to a vibrant purple canopy above Kyle's bed. Kyle was standing by him, leaning close. He held Harry by the shoulders, with concern in his eyes. "You all right?"
Harry nodded, still in the haze of his dream. "What--What happened?"
Kyle stroked his hair. "You were thrashing about and you kept calling out somebody's name. It sounded like Rachel, but I didn't--"
"Draco." Harry knew immediately exactly what his dream had been.
Kyle nodded. "That sounds about right. Was he...?"
Harry's eyes misted as he fought back tears as the painful memory returned after a sojourn of nearly a month. "Yes. He was."
Kyle's face fell. He turned away from Harry. "Oh" was the only word he could manage to say.
Harry felt a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. "No, Kyle, it's not you." He stood up, following Kyle to the other side of the room. "I just have these nightmares every once in a while." He put his arms around Kyle's slender waist, nuzzling his neck.
Kyle sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little cautious right now."
Harry slipped his hands into Kyle's, nibbling on Kyle's neck. "Can I move in with you?"
Kyle nodded. "Do you need anything from home?":
Harry shook his head, kissing down Kyle's shoulders. "I don't want to go back there."
Kyle smiled. "We'd better get you some clothes then. You could wear my shirts, but you're probably too tall for my jeans."
Harry grinned, tickling Kyle vigourously. Kyle burst into peals of laughter, trying to push Harry's hands away. Harry tackled him to the ground, laying kisses all across his laughing face.
The wedding had been two weeks ago. Drake had decided to marry Elizabeth anyway. She became Elizabeth Morning and did eaverything Drake wanted. She seemed to be even thinking for herself, with a little prodding. Ironically, the only thing she wasn't doing was bearing children; the reason he married her was to continue the line.
He longed for Harold's touch with a fierce desire, dreaming of him, thinking of his warm body around him. It really was the only thing that kept him waking up in the morning; he tried to find a way to reach Harry.
He sighed and headed to his wardrobe for his robe. Slipping on the well-groomed wool, he smiled and imagined Harold's strong arms. He twirled round as the skirt of his robe spun about in a lovely circle.
A piece of paper fluttered to the ground; Drake picked it up and glanced it over.
It was in his mother's hand. How was that possible? He hadn't brought anything along with him!
My Dearest Son,
I trust that this letter finds you well. Your father and I arranged this little getaway for you. We decided you had been spending all too much time with that Potter boy, and decided that your disappearance from wizarding society was due to that boy's influence on you.
No, you won't be returning to this time. Your father has seen to that. Instead, you will live out your life in isolation from the rest of the world.
It's a wonderful place, Old England. Your father and I shared our honeymoon here. We realized that if 'getting away from it all' was your desire, the twelfth century couldn't be a better place.
Oh, now, don't be put out. Think on the positive side; we could have sent you through the Inquisition. And we wouldn't have taken your wand from you.
Ever and Always,
Narcissa
His hands shook with rage as he read the letter. He realized that he had to get a message to Harry, somehow. He crumpled the letter angrily, then paused as a thought occurred to him. He could write a letter to Harry!
How would the letter get there? He pondered over this for a while. His eyes fell upon a small wooden box sitting on his desk (designed by himself to create an eighteenth-century feel in a twelfth-century world) that seemed to serve almost no purpose. It was ornately decorated, and probably had held Elizabeth's jewelry at some point.
He sat behind his desk as his mind raced. He pulled out a piece of his finest parchment and hastily scratched a letter out to Harry. He paused as he prepared to sign his name; correcting himself, he signed 'Draco Malfoy' for the first time in--God, he didn't know how long. Finally he pressed his lips to the bottom. He knew Harry wouldn't see it, but he had the satisfaction of one last kiss.
He folded the letter and placed it inside the box. He sealed the box closed, stamping the box with the Morning family seal (made three weeks prior). He thought back remembering the day he had left. It had been warm that day, even hot. What was the christmas month? December. He chiseled a date in December on the top of the box, and placed it under the desk, promising himself that he would never forget.
His wife flung open the door, her face flushed. "Drake! Drake!"
Drake sighed. "What ails you, Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth was actually very pretty when excited, especially around her eyes. "A baby has come!"
Drake blinked. "You're with child?"
Elizabeth's eyes shown as she ran to her husband. Drake laughed, catching her in a warm embrace. "Darling, that's wonderful!"
Even though the child was indirectly at fault for Drake's loss of Harold, he couldn't help but feel giddy about the prospect of having a son or daughter.
He didn't know how it all worked! It suddenly struck him that he had never participated in a Muggle birth, let alone a birth without the modern conveniences!
A wave of panic hit. His children had to survive, the Morning name had to remain a fixture in England if Harry were ever to get his message. The birth HAD to go well.
He took a deep breath as his wife headed distractedly out of the office. If humans could be alive, they must have learned how to have babies on their own.
He decided that now was not the time for anthropological debates. He just hoped the baby would be all right.
e n d
A/N: I'm really churning these chapters out, eh? Lucky you if you happen to be reading! Unlucky if you're not! Pooh! A pox on all your weasels!
Er, well, anyway, thanks for reading again. Love to all, see you soon.