Sold Into Freedom - 14. Chapter 14

Light filled the bedroom, and Matt stirred. I should have closed the drapes. With a groan, he rolled over, enjoying the duvet and the soft sheets.

Mmmm, it's so warm, but—his eyes were drawn to the window—I want to see where I am. He threw back the thick cover, got out of bed, and began to shiver. The area rug beside the bed was thick wool, but the room and floor remained chilly.

I saw a robe, I think. Matt pulled open the closet door, and a thick, terry robe hung there. He pulled it on and shivered a final time. Better. He allowed himself a smile and then padded to the window.

Before him, the landscape was dotted with rocks, rough grass, and several trees permanently shaped by the wind. Beyond those was the sea. Gray as the sky, the water was choppy and appeared threatening to those unaware of its ways.

There's no way I can swim in that. He leaned against the frame and pressed the left side of his head to the cold glass. There's land that way, but it is too far and cold for me. Without proper cold-water gear, you wouldn't last long in that.

After looking the other way, Matt walked to the bedroom door and twisted the cold knob in his hand. The heavy wooden door opened silently.

Trepidation filled Matt as he stared into the silent and empty hall. Go then. She didn't lock you in or tell you not to leave. Why are you so chickenshit? Matt sucked air into his lungs. I know when I step out, lights and sirens will go off. He peered down at the floor and chided himself. That didn't happen last night. Don't be crazy, go.

There, see. No lights or sirens. Matt grinned, walked along the carpeted hall, and stopped momentarily at Andrew's door. I wonder. NO! No, do not open that. Go downstairs and see if there's a phone you can use or something.

With a nod, Matt grasped the wooden rail and descended the stairs. He looked into the living room, full of comfortable chairs and a sofa. On one wall was a massive flagstone hearth. A little fire still burned within.

I could add some wood. Warm up a bit. No, I better not. With that, Matt turned and left the living room.

The next room had large double doors, each of which were locked. Hmm, what's in there? He turned, and across the hall was the dining room and, beyond that, the kitchen. She said I could get a drink. I could use one and something to eat.

Milk. Matt held the fridge door with one hand and looked into the stoneware jug he held in the other. I could have that. He put the milk on the counter and stared at the chocolate cake. She said I could have some last night. He stared at the cake, trying to decide. I'm gonna have a small piece. She was friendly, so she'll not mind me cutting a little slice.

He rummaged through the drawers for a knife while dancing a little on the icy stone floor. Wow, this is cold! After finding the sharp implement, he cut a thin slice and put it on a plate. Oh, man, it smells so good. He swallowed as his mouth watered in anticipation.

Matt took the plate and glass of milk to the table and ate. He was nearly finished with his cake and was ready to eat the thick edge of icing he'd left until last. Just like when I was a kid. It was my favourite thing.

Shit!

Noise from outside made Matt jump, sending the plate skittering off the table, where it shattered on the stone floor.

Cold air shot through the kitchen as the back door opened and closed. A man stood there.

It's him. Matt rose, tipping the chair and moving back, stopping only by the wall. "I-I'm sorry. I'll clean it up. I'm sorry."

Andrew watched in horror as the young man shrank back, shaking. He pulled off his thick coat and hung it up. "It's okay. Don't worry." He turned to face Matt with his hands opened before him. "It's just a plate—nothing to worry about. You stay there. I'll clean it up. You don't have shoes on." He smiled gently and stepped into the room. "Sit down. It's okay."

Terror had frozen Matt to the spot. He watched Andrew get a broom and dustpan and start sweeping the pottery shards.

"I … I should do that. I'm sorry. You shouldn't be. You’re … you’re …."

Andrew stopped and smiled. "I'm Andrew. I'm not your owner or your master." Andrew nodded at the table. "Please sit down, and once I'm finished with this, we'll talk."

He's not? Then who is it? Matt sat down, filled with confusion. He watched Andrew tidy up the broken plate. Is this guy another servant?

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you arrived. The weather was so bad the flights to Stornoway were cancelled. I waited in the airport and got the first one I could this morning." Andrew straightened with the dustpan in his left hand. He dumped the contents into a bin beneath the sink.

After putting the broom and pan away, Andrew said, "I'll make a pot of tea and throw some wood on fire in the living room. We'll go in there. It's a bit warmer." Andrew left the pot and headed to the hall. "Come with me. It's warmer in the living room."

Matt reluctantly got to his feet and followed.

"Sit down here near the fire. I'll put some wood on and get it going." Andrew pushed the guard aside and used the poker. When satisfied, he added some smaller pieces of wood and a larger log. He straightened, brushed off his clothes, and smiled at Matt. "That's better. It's beautiful out here but cold and damp. The fire will help." He replaced the fire guard and settled on the end of the sofa. "We always wear shoes or slippers indoors. The floors are always cold."

Matt sat on the opposite end of the couch and tucked his feet beneath him. He watched the fire as it caught.

They listened to the crackling wood as it burned for several minutes.

Finally, Andrew blinked and tore his gaze from the flames. He looked at the young man sitting with him. "Matt. I'm glad you're here. I'm betting you're confused and want to know what's going on."

Matt stared ahead and nodded. His shoulders were rolled forward, and he'd made himself as small as possible in the corner of the sofa.

"Yeah, I understand. You're not a prisoner or anything. You don't have to obey me or anyone here. I hope you choose to stay and let me help you return home."

"What?" Matt twisted his body and faced Andrew. "You want to help me?"

Andrew nodded and sighed. "It's a long story. I'm going to get us a hot drink, and then I'll tell you, okay?"

"Okay." Matt watched while Andrew returned to the kitchen. I'm not a prisoner? He wants to help me? Why?

He rose and paced a few steps, back and forth, before the hearth. Matty, calm down. Breathe. Meditate for a few minutes. Listen to what he says. If you're not a prisoner, then you can leave. After sitting again, Matt closed his eyes and practiced breathing like Davis had taught him.

Several minutes later, Andrew stood silently in the doorway, holding a tray with the teapot, cups, and fixings. He's trying to calm down. His arms told him he'd been holding the tray long enough, so he coughed softly before entering the room.

"I brought sugar; in case you take it. I'm happy with only milk myself." Andrew set the tray down on the coffee table. He lifted the pot and poured the fragrant, hot liquid into the cups. "Milk?"

"Um, uh, yes, please. No sugar, thanks." Matt reached for the mug Andrew held out for him.

Andrew smiled and sat down with his drink. The mug warmed his hands. "Some things don't need sugar." The writer sipped and savoured the tea.

"No, I guess they don't." Matt put the mug down. "You said you're not my owner. Who is?"

"No one is." Andrew put the mug down on the table. "I'll explain it all to you."

Matt felt his chest tighten. Suddenly, he felt afraid, and anger bubbled and surfaced. "What are you going to do with me? What am I supposed to do? I don't have anything." Tea slopped out of the cup, landing on his thigh, some of its heat absorbed by the robe. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I …"

Andrew watched as panic flooded through Matt. "It's okay." He reached out, took the mug from Matt's hands, and put it on the table. He grasped the young man's wringing hands. "Please, calm down. I'm sorry. I'm going to take care of you. You're safe here. Look at me. Look at me, Matthew."

It was an order. Matt did as he was told and felt calmer. The eyes he gazed into seemed kind.

"You don't have to be afraid. No one is going to hurt you. I will look after you until we can get you back home."

"I don't have to be afraid? Are you kidding me? Matt pulled the robe tighter. "And you want to look after me. They wanted to look after me, but they didn't."

Andrew turned, surprised at the outburst. "Matt—"

"Home?" Matt felt the fear in his gut lessen and tighten once more.

Andrew nodded quickly. "Yes, home. Wherever your home is, I'll help you. When you feel ready, you can go back home to your family."

"What if I don't want to?" Matt's face was earnest. "Then what?"

I never thought he'd not want to. Andrew thought for several moments. "Um, well, you stay here until we figure something out for you. I'm not going to throw you out, Matt. That much I can promise."

Matt sat quietly, letting Andrew's words settle in his head. Then he nodded. "Okay. Okay, so tell me the story. Why am I here?"

⸛

Over the next hour, Andrew told his part in the story. Around the pair, the room grew warm from the fire, and outside, the day brightened, and the ceaseless wind gentled to a breeze.

After seeing the two talking, Maeve retreated to her kitchen. She smiled, seeing the glass of milk and the chocolate cake sitting on the stone-topped counter. Deciding that a hearty breakfast was in order, she pulled the local-made bacon from the fridge and left it beside the last of a loaf of bread. That'll do for toasting. Now, I'll see if the hens have left us a few eggs.

The opening and closing of the door stirred the air, and both men looked around.

"Maeve, my housekeeper, is up. She'll be starting breakfast." Andrew offered a brief smile. "She's glad to have more than just me to cook for."

"You told her about me?" Matt's eyes flashed to Andrew's. "Like what I am?"

"Yes, of course. She's an extraordinary person, more than just my employee." Andrew sighed softly. "I told her who you are. You're not a what, Matt."

Andrew watched Matt's stricken face. I want to hug him—poor guy.

"You don't understand." Matt's arms slid around himself. "You don't know all of it. You just don't."

I'm moving into places I have no right to be. Andrew stared into the flames as he thought. "I don't. Look, if you want to—"

"What? Talk?" Matt shot to his feet. The young man's voice rose an octave. "You buy me. Bring me to this godforsaken place and want me to spill my guts? What for? Another book?" Matt glared at Andrew and left the room. He stormed up the stairs, wishing for the first time his room had a lock on the door.

Andrew watched in dismay as Matt fled. He let his eyes find the hearth and fire.

"He's bound to be a mess for some time, Andy." Maeve entered the living room. She had returned with the eggs and left the kitchen to discuss breakfast when Matthew flew past her and up the stairs.

"Yeah," Andrew sighed deeply. "He's right; I don't understand." He turned to face Maeve."But I want to. I want to help however I can. He needs someone to."

"Aye, he does. But are we the right people to do that? I can't stop thinking he needs professional help."

"Honestly, I don't think he'd go. I'll talk to him."

Maeve put out her hand and rested it on Andrew's forearm. "Let me. It's men who've done all this to him. Not you, but men. Let me try, Andy."

After a short pause, Andrew nodded. "You're right. Let's try it your way."

"I'll go see if he'll come down to eat in the kitchen, and then I'll make some breakfast." Maeve smiled and patted Andrew's arm. "All savage beasts can be gentled but in their own time. He needs time. This will not happen overnight."

"Of course, you're right." Andrew smiled as Maeve rose and walked out of the room.

Upstairs, Matt stood at the window in his bedroom, staring at the water. When the soft knock at his door came, he turned around. "Come in, " he said.

He was surprised when the housekeeper stood there. "May I come in for a moment?"

"Do you want to help me too?"

"Aye, but maybe not in the way you're expecting. Right now, all I want is for you to come down and eat breakfast." Maeve waited for an answer. As none came, she said, "If you'd rather not, then you're welcome to what you can make. However, I'll expect my dishes and kitchen left as you find them."

Matt gazed at her and then the floor. "Do I have to talk?"

"No. Not if you don't want to."

"I'd like to help, clean up and stuff. I don't know how to cook."

Maeve smiled. "I'll appreciate the help and the company."

"Okay. I'll get dressed and come down."

"Right, then I'll see you in a few minutes."

 ⸛

Things are already smelling good. The smoky odour of frying bacon had curled through the house and up the stairs, Matt noticed as he descended. He was relieved Andrew was nowhere in sight when he joined Maeve in the kitchen.

He leaned on the stone counter beside the large cast iron stove and watched Maeve deftly flip the gently cooking meat. She smiled at him.

"Trick is to use a lower heat to render the fat out. Too hot, and it just burns." Maeve used two forks to move the meaty bacon. "So, you're not much of a cook? Not much practice or no interest?"

Matt shrugged. "I guess not much chance to learn. Mom rarely cooked. I'd like to be able to, though."

"The trick is to learn the simple things. Once you master them, you can cook just about anything you want to. The secret to cooking is learning the timing. So, the dishes are ready at nearly the same time." Maeve held the forks out to Matt. "Why don't you handle the bacon, and I'll get on with the rest."

Matt grinned and took the utensils. "Okay."

⸛

Andrew could hear the pair chatting from where he sat in his office. Now and then, he would hear them laugh a little bit, too. That's both wonderful and sad. He got up and paced before the large window. It's the sound I long for from my partner if I ever have one. He stopped and stared at the short trees that clung on in the stony soil. They were stunted and forever bent by the wind. Life can change us forever.

⸛

"Now prop up the pan on the wooden spoon so the fat drains to one side," Maeve explained as she watched her apprentice cook. "That's it. Butter the toast, and we're ready to serve."

Matt did as instructed. "It's not as hard as I thought."

"Aye, well, nothing is, if you know how." The housekeeper placed a hand on Matt's shoulder. She left it even though he'd flinched. "I'm happy to have had the company." After removing her hand, she asked, "Will you sit with Andrew to eat?"

Matt tensed visibly, and Maeve continued, "He's only trying to help. He has no agenda, I promise."

"Will you be there too?"

"Aye, if you want me to be. I'll be happy to."

"Okay." Matt smiled. "We better serve it before it gets cold."

"Aye. We'd better. You pour the tea and I'll call Andy."

 ⸛

Maeve tapped on the office door and opened it. "Breakfast. I thought we'd eat in the kitchen. He'll be more comfortable with me there."

"Sure, that's great. I'll be right there." He smiled and was surprised at the flash of irritation that raced through him. Oh, be honest. You're jealous. Andrew swallowed as the realization hit home. Jesus, I am. Is this rescue about helping Matt or your sad and pathetic ego? He saw it. Saw right through you.

Andrew got to his feet and walked through to the kitchen. Matt and Maeve were both sitting at the table. A third plate filled with food awaited him. He slipped onto the chair.

"This looks good. I'm ready for it, too." Andrew reached for a slice of buttery toast. He sighed as he plunged a corner of it into the orange yolk of an egg and bit off the dripping piece.

The trio ate in silence for a few minutes.

Andrew reached for his mug of tea, sipped, swallowed, and said, "I've got some business on the mainland tomorrow. I'm going to leave early for Stornoway."

"Can I go?" Matt observed Andrew as he waited for an answer.

"Ah …"

"You said I'm not a prisoner."

Andrew put a hand on the table. "You're not, but you have no proof of your identity. They'll ask for that at the very least."

Matt glared. "So, I am a prisoner."

Maeve placed a hand on Matthew's forearm. "You're not. Andrew's only telling you the truth. He will talk to the authorities on the mainland to figure out how we can best help you."

"Maeve's right. If I could take you over with me, I would."

"Fine. I guess that makes sense." Matt held his mug in his hands. "What are you going to tell them? These authorities?"

Andrew sat back, slumped, and sighed. "I've been thinking about that. My first thought was to make up a lie. But somewhere along the line, that will come back and bite us, I think. So, I will tell them the truth." He looked Matt in the eye. "The same story I told you. I will talk to my lawyer and some people I know in the government. I likely will not be back tomorrow."

Matthew felt a sudden pang of guilt. "You think you'll get into trouble if you tell them all of that? You did some things they'll find wrong."

"Maybe. Maybe I'll get into some trouble. Buying another human is bad, no matter if the intent is good. I don't know, but a lie caught later would be worse. Now, I'll just look like an idiot. I don't care about that; I did all this to help you. That's all that matters." Andrew sighed once more. "All you need to do when they meet with you is tell the truth. That's what I'm going to do as well."

Maybe he is for real. Maybe he really did this to help me. Matt gazed at Andrew, who appeared different in his eyes now. "Okay. I'll wait to hear."

The writer smiled at the young man and his housekeeper. "Thank you. Breakfast was good. I enjoyed it. Right now, I think I'll take a walk."

Matt glanced at Maeve, who smiled at him, then he said, "Can I come?"

Andrew's surprise changed quickly to a smile. "Yes, of course, if you want to. I'd like that."

"Can we go after I do the dishes?" Matt grinned. "I promised to help."

"Sure. I've got a couple of things to get done and then we'll go."

⸛ 

The wind had picked up by the time they left the house. It tore at the men's warm coats. They walked together towards the opposite side of the island.

"There aren't many trees."

Andrew looked at Matthew. "No, most trees were cut down for farming and building. The few here are Scots Pine that managed to avoid the axe."

They continued to walk over the rough and rocky terrain to the coastline.

As Matt neared the edge, Andrew grabbed the sleeve of his coat. "Careful. The footing isn't great out here and can change every day."

Matt leaned forward. Below, the sea was still choppy and gray.

"I like the rawness." Matt stared down at the waves as they crashed against the rocks below. "Its violence is beautiful."

"Hmm. It's nature. Beautiful, unforgiving, and uncompromising." Andrew pulled Matt back a few steps. "Ready to go back?"

After a long look, Matt nodded. "Yeah. I wish I had a camera." He turned and fell in step with Andrew.

"There's some art supplies in your room. You can draw it."

Matt chuckled. "Maybe I will."

The pair looked at each other and then turned away to watch their step, each with their own thoughts.

 

****