Privileges Chapter Eight

[dysonrules]

Posting another one for no particular reason... *grin*

Draco watched with jaw agape as Lord Tensbury attacked Sir Davies. Surely Blackfell had gone mad; Davies outweighed him by four stone, at least. Davies recovered from the blow and launched himself at the black-haired man, but Tensbury sidestepped and kicked Davies with a booted foot on the way down.

"Draco, go back inside and let Molly tend to your wounds," Tensbury said.

Draco didn't move. He watched as Davies pushed himself to his feet and turned again with a murderous glare on his face.

"Now, Draco!" Tensbury snapped.

Draco went out, wincing when he heard the smack of flesh connecting with flesh behind him. He hoped to hell it was Tensbury's fist, but he feared otherwise.

One of the ginger twins stood outside the stable door, looking frightened. "Get your mother!" Draco said. "Quickly! And where is that woman? That Hermione?"

"In the village!" the boy said over his shoulder as he raced toward the castle. Draco glanced at the stable in indecision for a moment and then turned resolutely to assist Tensbury. The door flew open and the knight in question fell through, struggled to regain his footing, failed, and sprawled in the dust.

Davies stalked out after him and raised a boot, obviously intending to kick Tensbury. Draco almost dove at him, but Tensbury rolled nimbly out of the way and bounced to his feet.

Davies' men had been lurking nearby and they began to move toward the action. Draco watched them nervously. There were far too many of them for Blackfell to take on alone, even with Draco’s assistance. He was not sure how much help he would be with no weapons.

“’Ere, Roger!” one called. “Caught wi’ yer pants down, eh?” He laughed roughly, but tossed Davies a sword. The knight caught it easily and Tensbury drew his own blade. His eyes met Draco’s for a moment and he caught the uncertainty in their depths, quickly masked. With a quick flash of insight, Draco realized Blackfell was not concerned for himself, but for Draco.

The soldiers began to close in, but a clatter of hooves drew the attention of everyone. Draco had never been so glad to see Ron in his life. The column galloped forward and surrounded the circle of Davies’ men.

“You need anything, Har—my lord?” Ron called and Draco remembered that the ginger-haired man almost always called him Harry. Such familiarity normally grated on Draco’s nerves.

“Sir Davies and I are having a difference of opinion,” Tensbury replied, not taking his eyes from Davies as they continued to circle each other.

“All right, then,” Ron said. “We’ll just sit here and make sure it’s a fair fight.”

Tensbury circled Davies warily. Draco watched for a moment and then glanced at Ron, who frowned at him and took in his appearance with a raised eyebrow. Draco looked away. He knew he was a sight and wished Davies had not destroyed his shirt in the barn. He felt uncomfortably exposed.

Davies lunged at Tensbury, who blocked the sharp thrust with seeming ease. Tensbury moved aside and countered with a tentative slash before sidestepping again.

Draco tried to watch impassively. Davies was surprisingly good with a blade, and his size belied his footwork. He drew blood first, slashing open the sleeve of Tensbury's coat. The material went red almost immediately and Draco felt a surge of anger, but Tensbury countered quickly. His next thrust scored a hit on Davies' upper thigh.

"A bit higher and to the right next time, Lord Tensbury!" Draco called helpfully. "Perhaps he won't be so quick to molest young boys and hapless squires!"

Davies roared in rage and started for Draco, but Tensbury was there, blocking his path with a murderous glare. "What did I tell you about staying away from my squire?" Blackfell hissed.

"You're a sodding ponce," Davies snapped and redoubled his attack, to no avail. Tensbury's footwork was amazing. Draco had fought him once and found him to be superb. Watching him against the rapidly-tiring Davies was an absolute joy.

Then the unthinkable happened. Tensbury's booted foot turned on a stone just when Davie's was alertly studying him for any sign of weakness. Davies lunged forward with a growl of satisfaction. Draco bit back a cry, knowing it was too late, and that any distraction might actually hinder Tensbury.

The sword seemed to move with infinite slowness. Draco watched with a sickening feeling as it penetrated Tensbury's side. It did not stop the knight, however; he clubbed Davies on the side of the head with his sword hilt and leaped back, wrenching free of the blade as the larger knight fell to the dirt, senseless.

Ron and the others cheered and Davies’ soldiers set up a belligerent muttering. Draco hurried to Tensbury’s side, but dared not touch him. The wounded lord smiled wanly at him with his arm pressed tightly to his side to staunch the flow of blood.

“Here, ye mangy curs! Let me through!” Molly’s voice was strident and the onlookers quickly cleared a path for her. She reached for Blackfell, but he waved her away.

“I’m fine, Molly,” Tensbury said quietly. “Ron, take Davies. Have his wounds tended and then put him on his horse. I want him and his men out of here by nightfall. I’ll have a message sent to King Lucius within the hour. I’ll not tolerate such behaviour in my demesne.” He looked pointedly at Draco, but left the comment unspoken. The meaning was clear—Draco could send something to his father if he wished.

He frowned, thinking of a few choice things he could mention about Davies that would hopefully have the bastard beheaded next time he showed his face near any of his father’s knights.

Tensbury walked through the castle and up to his room, stumbling only once. Draco and Molly trailed behind and Draco caught his arm when he slipped, and then helped him to his feet.

Tensbury looked at him gratefully, but stepped away and continued the rest of the way on his own. Once in the privacy of his room, he allowed Draco to help him disrobe. Draco blanched when he saw the amount of blood staining the tunic. He staggered back, nudged aside by Molly, who pushed Tensbury back onto the bed and pressed a folded cloth against the jagged wound.

“Hold that in place tightly, Lord Blackfell,” she said. “Draco, you fetch me some water, the hotter the better. And tell one of my boys to bring my herb pouch!”

Draco shot one last look at Tensbury’s white face and then he fled.

~~O~~

Harry felt much better after Molly bandaged his wound and dosed him with some wretched tasting tea that left him feeling a bit giddy. He knew the effect was temporary and that the euphoria would fade when drowsiness took over.

Draco hovered near his bedside, outwardly tending to Harry’s clothing, but shooting several worried glances Harry’s way. Harry thought it was adorable.

“Draco, come here,” he said quietly and patted the edge of the bed.

Draco’s silver gaze snapped to him and he looked at the spot as though to sit there would mean his eternal doom. Still, he walked forward and sat, so close to the edge that if he shifted in the wrong way he would fall off.

“I want to apologize,” Harry said, mentally debating whether or not to reach out and place his hand on Draco’s knee in a friendly gesture. He decided against it partly because the gesture would be far from friendly now that he knew he wanted to touch Draco in a very non-brotherly fashion, and partly because he suspected Draco might bolt like a frightened rabbit if Harry attempted it.

He managed not to giggle aloud at the image, although the potion he had imbibed made everything seem twenty times more amusing than usual.

“Apologize?” Draco prodded and Harry realized his thoughts had been meandering. He tried to drag them back on course.

“Yes. Apologize. I had no idea Davies was such an ignoble charlatan. I foolishly believed that a knight would not behave in such a base manner and I punished you wrongly for something that was likely incited by Davies’ inexcusable behaviour. I allowed my anger to cloud my judgement and did not even give you leave to defend yourself.”

Draco’s eyes were wide when Harry finished and he no longer seemed willing to flee at the slightest provocation. Harry took the opportunity to place his hand lightly on Draco’s kneecap, knowing it was a foolish move, but unable to stop himself when he was so close. He knew he would likely never have another opportunity and he could also blame it on Molly’s posset.

Draco did not seem to notice, so Harry spoke quickly to cover his elation. “I give you leave to write to your father. You may tell him whatever you like and I will send it with my message regarding Davies. If he chooses to strip me of my title and lands, then so be it. I will accept his judgement… and yours.”

Harry’s fingers itched to caress Draco’s knee as he spoke, but he knew that doing so would make him no better than Davies. He removed his hand with effort and shut his eyes, feeling the soporific effect of the potion.

“I should not have hurt you,” he finished in a whisper. “I was foolish. And jealous.”

He sighed and rolled away to bury his face in the pillow. He thought he felt Draco touch his shoulder, but it was mostly likely a dream. He sank into darkness.

~~O~~

Draco stared at Tensbury as he turned away and drifted off to sleep, wondering if he had misheard the man. Had he said jealous? Draco touched his shoulder, half-determined to shake him awake and demand to know what he meant by that, but Molly’s medicines were powerful. Draco knew Tensbury would sleep the day away, and possibly the night, also.

Jealous. He couldn’t be. And yet…

Draco swallowed hard, remembering their night-time activities. Did Tensbury suspect that Draco was awake? Did he imagine Draco watching him while he brought himself to completion?

The very thought of it increased the pace of Draco’s breathing and he got to his feet, disturbed and partially hard.

The door opened, which was a welcome distraction for all of five seconds, until Draco saw the slap-worthy face of Blaise Zabini.

“Ah, Draco. How is Blackfell? Molly suggested I come up and sit with him. She says that gentle songs can often speed healing, which I believe to be true. I have seen it, myself.”

Draco bit back a snarl and shot a quick glance at Tensbury. He supposed it would do no harm, especially when Draco had no intention of leaving Blackfell alone with the bard. He shrugged.

“Suit yourself.”

Blaise smiled and brought in a small stool, which he propped next to Tensbury’s bed. For the next hour, Draco pored over Blackfell’s account books while Zabini played the lute and sang. Truth be told, the man had a lovely voice and he played well.

Draco hoped Tensbury would not awaken until after Zabini left. It was a crying shame that the bard had not been about during the Davies situation. Zabini had been off in the village, or Draco would have bet he would have been next to Davies, egging him on.

Draco paused in adding a column of figures and glanced over his shoulder when the music stopped. He wondered why he despised the man.

“Poor lamb,” Zabini cooed and brushed a lock of black hair back from Tensbury’s forehead.

Draco’s teeth clenched. Oh yes, that was why. Draco turned back to the numbers, although it took him several attempts to add them properly. Bloody hell, he was jealous of a man paying attention to another man.

Good thing I have no intention of joining the priesthood, he thought bitterly to himself.