Part 16: Sean grimaced in pain as Marton checked the wound on Sean’s shoulder, dabbing it with a clean cloth. Marton looked at him with apology, “The wound, it is still painful?” the man asked as he wiped away the fresh blood. It had hurt like hell when Marton had extracted the bullet. He had given Sean a rolled up rag to bite down on when he had pulled it out. The pain had been unbelievable and he had roared in agony but he had not moved, just as Marton had told him to do. The man had immediately handed him a bottle of whiskey which the Englishman had eagerly accepted. The Russian had smacked him on the back with a short laugh. “Big man! Drink, and all will be well.” Sean had had almost the whole bottle before he stopped, and had fallen into a fitful drunken sleep. He dreamt of fields and sunsets and Orlando. Sean nodded at the man’s question before glancing down to look at the angry wound. He hissed at the sight but Marton shook his head at him. “No, the red is good. It is healing, no sign of sickness in it.” Sean tried to move his arm, but it hurt too much, so he left it be. There was no way that he could sit and be comfortable though, and soon his new companion took notice. The Russian walked to where Sean’s old battered clothes lay and took up his shirt. The dark haired man examined it before ripping it across the chest. “Wait…!” Sean protested when he saw what the man was doing, but he was too late. Marton now held the arms of the shirt in his hands, and tied them together. She clucked his tongue at Sean, holding up the remains of the garment. “This is no good anymore. Do not complain, I will give you one of mine. You see…” he stepped forward to Sean and held the man’s injured arm across his middle, before wrapping the make-shift sling around it to hold it in place. He then stood back and gestured to his handy work. “You see? It has a use now.” The man then turned back to the dinner he was making and stirred what Sean guessed to be a stew. It smelled wonderful to Sean’s hungry belly and it rumbled its desire to consume the entire contents of the pot. He tested his new sling and saw that it worked well, and alleviated the stress off of his injured arm. Marton was whistling a tune that Sean did not know as he went back and forth across the room, preparing different things. “In this country, you are lucky. In Russia, there was nothing for miles. Here, food is all around. If you want food, you shoot rabbits. Today, I shot five, right together. They make a good stew, you like Rabbit stew, English?” “I would like anything that you fed to me right now,” Sean admitted. “But yes, I do enjoy rabbit stew.” Marton smiled. He sliced more meat with a large knife before depositing it in the pot. “Meat is good. Its will give you your strength, and you need it Englishman, to heal your arm.” The Russian turned to Sean and with an exaggerated wave of the butcher’s knife, he asked, “I do not yet know your name. Mine is Marton, I told you, but I doubt you remember. You were…out of your mind at the time…not really awake, yes?” Sean nodded. “My Name is Sean Bean. I was the groundskeeper at the house that burned.” Marton frowned and gave him an apologetic look. “You worked there? I thought you were rich man, land owner.” Sean laughed slightly and shook his head. “Lord no, I was a servant. I worked for a very good man, he treated me like a son…” Sean’s voice trailed off as he thought of Christopher. He wished that he could have been closer, could have gotten upstairs in time to save the man he cared for so much. “He is dead then? That is very sad, few rich men are good anymore, to me.” Marton wished he had a better grasp of the language to offer his sympathies in a more supportive manner, but Sean seemed to appreciate his simple words. He returned to the strew and added some chopped vegetables. The dark haired man wiped his brow with the back of his hand, clearing off the sweat that had begun to show from his close proximity with the heat of the fire. The man took down some cracked bowls from a simple cupboard and placed them on the rough table. Sean looked about him and got a better view of their humble surroundings. He almost wondered if the man before him had built this cottage himself. Marton returned to his side, this time brandishing a pot and ladle and began to heap the stew into Sean’s bowl. “Eat,” The man told him, gesturing to the bowl. “You need the feed. Do not wait for me.” Sean gratefully took up his spoon and began to scoop up as much of the stew as he could. The alluring scent filled his nostrils, and his stomach rumbled in the excitement of the impending meal. He took the first big mouthful and chewed appreciatively, his eyes closing in pleasure at having his first real mean in about four days. At least his first real meal that he could remember eating. The meat was extremely good and tender, and several tastes filled his mouth as he ate the simple yet delicious meal. Marton smiled as he watched the Englishman eat. He knew that man must have been hungry, but it was always amusing to see someone so seemed so reserved let themselves go. He ladled his own helping, and set the hot pot on the table, in easy reach for a second helping. “You like it?” Marton asked, a knowing smirk on his face as he fetched a pitcher of water and two mugs. He poured one for Sean first before pouring himself one. Sean drank most of the water in the glass before answering, “Very much, thank you for your hospitality.” Marton nodded and sat, picking up his spoon and beginning to eat. He eyes the Englishman every once and a while to make sure he did not need more. “In Russia, when my wife lived and we lived together, I would cook. I would always cook for she could not at all. I liked to cook for her, it was not a problem to me. My brothers, they would laugh, but at the end of the day, I had a happy wife who had no complaints.” he winked at Sean and took another bite. Sean smiled at him, but inside, he hurt. He thought of Orlando, and all of the plans he had made for their future. He would have loved to cook for the boy; to pamper him and dote on him. He felt his eyes beginning to sting with unshed tears, and he tried to divert his mind to other things. “Marton?” he asked, trying to catch the man’s attention. Dark eyes looked up at him in response and he continued. “Do you work on this land? Are you employed here? Is tat how you got the house?” Marton laughed heartily. “No, not at all, English!” he leaned forward in his chair as though about to conspire with Sean and continued. “I came to this country to get away from work. I had to work, and be away from my wife. I did not see her die, so I left my home and came here. I said, ‘no work.’ I would not work hard for no money, you see. I come here, but I had no house. My cousin, he works in a house, like you. He had told me it was good work. I came here, on the road, and saw this shack” the man gestured to the house around them. “There was an old man walking. I knew he was a rich man by his clothes. I asked him if he knew of work. I told him, I need a house, I asked if he knew where I could get one. He pointed to this. He told me this land belonged to no one, and the other rich man nearby thought that this old man owned it. You understand?” Sean nodded and Marton continued. “The old man told me that no one but him knew the house and land was…open…free…” “Unoccupied?” Sean offered. Marton’s face lit up. “That is it, yes! He told me he would keep my secret, and let me live here. He said he would tell no one that I did not work for him. So I live here, three years now. I fixed this place, made it better. I have a small farm in back, and I have traps.” He pointed to the gun that he had set on another table by the window. “I traded food for that in town. My vegetables are a good kind. Now I can shoot too. Food is easy.” Sean was impressed at how the immigrant had lived on his own for so long. He had done well for himself it seemed without needing much of anything in the way of money. Sean guessed that the clothes Marton had were his from Russia. “You have done very well,” Sean said, complimenting the man on a job well done. “Do you know who the man was that told you about the land?” Sean knew all of the lords in the surrounding area. He could not really think of any though that would give a wandering immigrant free land. Marton nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I have seen him several times. He would take walks and see me from time to time. His name I cannot recall so well. Kristof…Kris…” “Christopher?” Sean asked, leaning forward, his stew forgotten. “Yes, that is his name!” Marton said happily, slapping his big hand on the table. “Christopher Lee. I am not too good with those things. You know him?” “He was my employer…the old man in the fire…” Sean said, thinking how amazing it was for them to have the connection, and wondering at how the old man had never told him. Everyone must have at least one secret, he guessed. Marton’s face fell as he heard this. “That is very sad. He was a good man. I hope the fire was accident…it would be a great shame if not…In Russia, men would take what they want. It is sad when a good man is killed or robbed because another man is jealous of him.” Something sparked in Sean’s mind. He was not sure why, but his heart stopped when the Russian uttered those words. Marton shook his head. “I am very sorry, friend. How very odd that you say this man was like a father and I knew him as well. This is a strange country.” “I am also sorry for you, friend. Did you not say that you lost a wife?” Sean asked Marton as he raised another spoon of stew to his lips. Marton looked at him with eyes that had long since given up its tears and nodded. “Yes, my beloved wife Sonia died of sickness many years ago. I believe six years. She died, and I worked to get money to leave my country. Three years I worked to buy my ticket.” “I am very sorry for you, Marton. It is very hard to lose a spouse…” As he spoke, Sean’s voice wavered, and he choked as he thought of Orlando. Marton looked up at him intently, leaning forward in his seat to look at the Englishman closely. “You speak as it is something you have known yourself.” The Russian said quietly. He let his words come slowly, as he figured he already knew the answer. He remembered how the man had cried out for the lost youth. Sean lowered looked at the man firmly and slowly nodded. He did not know how this foreign man would accept the love he had for Orlando, and he was worried that the small favor he had come to in the man’s eyes would fade if he found out. He looked down at his stew, playing with the spoon idly and hoping that Marton would change the topic. Not only did he worry of what the man would think, but the burning in his eyes was back and he was near to tears. “It was the boy, wasn’t it?” Marton’s voice cut through his thoughts and Sean’s head shot up. He could not form any words and the man’s kind face let him know he did not have to. “I figured that you were in love with him, that night…you had yelled his name, like I yelled for my wife. I would know such a cry from any man.” Marton watched Sean intently and saw a tear run down his golden cheek. “I had no one to speak of my wife to, and in time, I forgot her, I could not remember her face. That is my one great regret, Sean Bean. What did your…love look like. How was his face?” “He was the most beautiful vision I have ever seen,” Sean said, a slow smile spreading of no account of his own across his face. “His beauty though was not only in his form, but in his heart. He loved all and all loved him. For some reason, he loved me, and all I could do was celebrate his affections and devote my life to him. I there is not a single thing I would have not done for him, and if I could I would gladly have laid my life down so that he could live.” Sean had to stop for a moment and retrieve his breath, as it had caught in his throat. Hot tears welled from his eyes and his voice broke as he continued, but he felt he had to, he owed it to Orlando. “He was so full of life, there was almost a glow about him. When he smiled it warmed my heart and there was nothing I would not do if only it would bring that smile to his sweet lips.” Sean lowered his head and rested his face in his hands. His sobs finally broke free and shook his sturdy frame. Marton saw the man before him break and was at a loss for what to do. He leaned walked around the table and set beside Sean, resting a hand on his shoulder firmly, to show his support. “It is all right, friend,” he assured the blonde man. “There is no harm in grief, your lovely boy does deserve it.” “I can’t,” Sean said through a gasp of pain. “I can’t go on without him. I was fine all my life…but not now…not without Orlando…” Sean’s arms pushed his bowl away as he slumped forward onto the table, ignoring the shooting pain the movement sent through his injured arm. Marton once again put a strong arm around the man, just letting Sean feel the presence of another person in case he needed the comfort. He placed a hand on the other man’s back and sat patiently as the man let out his grief. Nurse Bates slowly closed the door to Orlando’s hospital room and turned to Colin. “That poor sweet boy,” she said with genuine compassion and worry. “I would like to think he is faring better than he was, but I really can’t. He lays all day and night, but never sleeps. The only food he has eaten I have had to feed him with my own hands! It is though he has no will to live anymore, yet does not have the ability to will himself to die.” Colin looked at the floor. He had seen the same thing before. He had witnessed the nurse coax Orlando to open his mouth and accept bits of bread and meat to keep him alive. He had fed him like a child, even telling him to chew and swallow. Colin himself had on a few occasions had to take over the task if the nurse was called away to other duties. He would sometimes tear the food into little pieces so the youth only had to swallow. Nurse Bates had been extremely hopeful when Orlando had spoken to them in the bath, but it was the last time he had uttered a word. She had tried her best to keep the doctors out of the boy’s room, afraid he would be diagnosed as insane and sent away to rot in some asylum. She knew that condemning the fragile youth to such a place would in fact merely be signing his death warrant. She had never been married, but she had once worked in a house where she had fallen into an unfortunate situation which left her an unwed mother. To keep the matter quiet, the baby had been given away, and Nurse Bates had been sent to work as an assistant for the doctor of a neighboring town. All she thought about was the little boy that she had lost, and the mother that she was came out in her care for the lovely Orlando. Everyday, she tried to coax the youth to speak. She had tried to get him to say more about Sean, but he had not uttered another word. Colin had talked about the man, hoping to get a reaction, but all Orlando did was quietly cry, and it broke Colin’s heart to think he was adding to the hurt the boy was already experiencing, so he had left him be. Colin kept a close watch on Orlando’s door, keeping track of any person that went near it. The hospital was filled with all sorts of types of people, and Colin would be damned if any man would take advantage of the gorgeous boy inside while he was near. The Irishman would hover around even when doctors were near, never giving any room for mishap. If a day had been a busy one, Colin would spend the night in a chair next to the door, his arms across his chest. As Colin was always around, he saw everything and everyone that passed, and one person in particular had been around more than he liked. Lord Mortensen. Colin hated the man with all of his being. He hated the way the man lurked around pretending to worry for all the wounded members of the Lee staff that were wounded, yet oddly only asking for Orlando’s physicians. He had seen the way the man had watched the innocent youth with that wolfish glint in his eyes. Colin distrusted Mortensen more than anyone else he had even known, and hated most of all that he did not know what the man’s intentions were with Orlando. The noble had taken to making weekly visits to the hospital, and every time he would have private meetings with the physician caring for Orlando to discuss his improvements. Nurse Bates had told Colin in confidence that the man was paying for Orlando’s medical expenses, and was paying quite highly at that. She had said that without Mortensen’s sponsorship, the youth surely would have already been placed in an asylum. It was the wealthy man’s presence that mostly made Colin feel it was necessary to keep his post by the door, and he did not move from his seat when he saw the odious man enter the wing of the building. He had locked eyes with the other man on more than one occasion, and he could not tell whether Viggo was infuriated or amused when Colin would stare him down. The moment had finally come when Lord Mortensen had straightened up to his greatest and most intimidating height and approached the dark haired Irishman. The sandy blonde man had decided it was time to assert his dominance over this scruffy Irish piece of trash. Viggo strode over to Colin, making sure his pace was casual with one hand in his pocket. Colin stayed seated at his post, arms crossed as usual, watching the aristocrat step for step. Viggo stopped before him and placed his other hand in his pocket as well, looking down at the recently unemployed man. “Your name is Farrell, right?” Mortensen asked him, looking down at the other man as much as possible. “Yes, it is. Is there something I can do for you, Lord Mortensen?” Colin’s voice was just as condescending as the other man’s, and he knew that he could be reprimanded, but probably would not as Mortensen would more than likely see it as a strike against his pride. He saw anger flicker in the man’s bright blue eyes. The flicker was only there for a moment though before it was gone and that steely confident composure was back. “Terrible tragedy. Christopher Lee was a wonderful man. His death has really affected all of us, especially poor Orlando. That sweet boy really was attached to him, and in such a short period of time.” Viggo said, watching Colin’s face as he spoke. He was hoping that he and the Irishman could come to some sort of understanding. “Orlando may have cared for Lord Lee, as we all did, but we all also know that that is not the death he is mourning.” Colin did not blink as he spoke the words, and that little flash of anger returned in the man’s blue eyes, lingering a little longer at the reference to Sean. Mortensen forced a smile that ended p looking much more like a sneer. “Yes, well, that very well may be. But we are going to have to help Orlando get through this terrible ordeal.” Viggo was struggling to maintain his composure, refusing to loose face in front of this ignorant servant. Viggo motioned Colin closer but the man did not move a muscle. Viggo continued nonetheless as though nothing was amiss. “I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your looking after Orlando, and I assure you that your loyalty will not go unrewarded.” “I do not need a reward for caring for those I care for,” Colin said. “Of course not, my good man, I did not say that you did. But I personally believe that good deeds should not go unrewarded.” Viggo said, his triumphant smile returning a little. “Then are you going to reward Miss Tyler for aiding Miss Winslet with her recovery from her burns and Dom for working to help pay for the medical bills as well? That is most generous, Lord Mortensen.” Colin spoke in mocking tones, smiling brightly, exposing his pearly whites. Viggo wanted to personally tear those bushy eyebrows right off the smirking man’s face and did not try and hide his sneer of distaste. “Naturally,” he all but hissed. “I would hate to see any of Lee’s loyal servants go without being provided for. I assume Miss Winslet is faring well?” Colin looked at him with surprise. “Do you not know? Miss Winslet was released three days ago. She was given a salve for her burns and is now living with Miss Tyler and Dominic.” Colin had kept track of every servant in the house and knew where every single one had ended up. Miss Tyler and Miss Winslet had decided to share a small apartment in the city to care for Miss Winslet while she healed, and Dominic had agreed to live there as well. He had taken a job in the city to help pay rent and Miss Tyler and set up as a seamstress. Dominic had been devastated by Elijah’s death, and had not wanted to be alone, so he had very eagerly accepted the girls’ offer. Old Mr. O’Toole had left and gone to go stay with his son, who was a carriage driver himself. Miss Blanchet had left to and gone south to live with her sister on the coast. The younger kitchen girls had all gone and placed employment with other houses, as did a few members of the household staff. Miss Dench had stayed near the house for the first few days. She had tried to collect anything she could of the old man’s and restore it. She had also visited the hospital to check up on her injured staff. Miss Dench had taken Lord Lee’s death extremely hard, as she had served him for so many years of her life, and had genuinely loved him. About three days after the house burned, Lady Smith arrived immediately set out looking for Miss Dench. Lady Smith had forgone all levels of propriety and offered Miss Dench a place in her home to live, not as a servant, but as an equal. Miss Dench had at first refused, but Lady Smith had insisted that the old housekeeper had given her life for Lord Lee, and he would now want her to live freely. Miss Dench had in the end accepted and as soon as she had said her goodbyes she left with Lady Smith. Miss Dench had visited Orlando, but had broken down into tears as soon as she had seen the boy. All she could do was hug his head to her breast and kiss the crown of his head. She then left without a word, but on her way out had informed Nurse Bates that the boy’s skin had a chill to it, and that he should be wrapped in a blanket. Everyone had been devastated to hear of Sean Bean’s death as well. Though not everyone knew him on a personal level, they all knew he was a good man, and the best thing that had ever happened to Orlando. Only Miss Dench knew how much the blonde man had meant to Lord Lee as well, but even she did not know the full extent. She only knew that losing men of such character and vitality was a cruel trick of fate. Colin thought of all these people now as he held the cold gaze of the man in front of him. So far, everyone had been nothing but kind and concerned, and all he could tell of this man was that he was trying to use the tragedy as a way to somehow get at Orlando. Mortensen was at the end of his rope with this insolent man, and therefore said his goodbyes. “I thank you for your conversation, Mr. Farrell, as well as your dedication. I am sure that were Orlando able, he would thank you as well.” “I am quite sure he would,” Colin said, nodding in a mimic of a bow as he watched the nobleman turn his back on him and briskly walk away. Colin stood and entered Orlando’s room. The youth lay on his stomach, and his eyes were closed. Colin was relieved beyond belief to see that the boy was finally sleeping. He sat next on the side of the bed and ran a hand down Orlando’s naked back gently. The bared flesh was cool to the touch, and Colin raised up the blanket and tucked it around the slender shoulders. Orlando was still naked from his bath, and nurse Bates had not yet returned with his clean garments. Colin could not stop himself from lightly caressing Orlando’s dark hair with the backs of his fingers. “I know that I could never replace your Sean,” he said in a hushed voice to the sleeping youth. “And I would never try to, but I refuse to leave you. I will take care of you, Orlando, and I swear to you that no matter what that bastard Mortensen tries I will not leave you.” Colin listened to Orlando’s slow breathing in the silence of the room and hoped that somehow, in the boy’s subconscious, he had been heard. He also hoped that Sean could also hear him, to try and give the dead man some peace and assurance. He figured he owed him at least that much. TBC… please oh please review!!!