Chapter Three
Then with no explanation, he withdrew from me and stood slightly aside, looking white as the moon despite his dark hair, next to my peasant boy’s sunburnt skin. He was all white fire and flowing raven locks, his eyes intensely watching me, looking at every part of me. The tremble that I noticed before resumed. What had I done? What had produced this displeasure, this trembling rage? I wanted to kiss him again and again. I yearned for him, his lips, his hands, his chest and tarse, for his body next to me in any way he chose.
Finally I could bear the silence no longer. “Have I provoked my young lord?” I asked.
He closed his eyes again. I missed their blueness.
“Provoked? Do you think I am unpleased?”
“I know not what. . . .” I answered.
“Thomas, you have no idea, how happ
