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"Oh, aye." The old soldier blinks, as if he'd forgotten the food entirely, and no matter that it is set between them, ready to eat. He feels another stab of guilt, and hopes that Eluf does not notice, leaning forward to push the meat pie towards Eluf and unhooking a wide, flat spoon from his belt to offer the other man. This done, he takes a knife off of his belt to cut into the apples and the cheese, hardly looking down at his own fingers as he does so. The knife seems little more than an extension of his own hands, biting neatly into the crisp apples and cutting them into even slices.

He is quiet while he does this, cutting slices and setting them on the edges of the unrolled canvas where Eluf can reach them, occasionally popping an entire apple slice in his mouth to eat it. A furrow has traced itself across his brow, as if he ponders a particularly difficult thought, and finally he can stand it no more. He chews and swallows, and asks something which (though he considers it a rude question and would not fault Eluf for refusing to answer) he has been wondering ever since he first realized how sweet the young lad was.

" .. may oi ask ye, lad, how many summers ye are?" The question is hesitantly put, and he pauses, glancing sidelong at Axe before directing his attention back to Eluf. "Oi've a hard time judgin' folk here in Sunderland, oi do." It's almost an apology, not quite an excuse, as if it's the unfamiliar customs that are at fault .. as if it has nothing to do with the fact that Eluf makes him feel like he's robbing the cradle just by looking at him.

For the first time the knife skips through the apple, nearly nicking Macaire's thumb -- he halts the knife against his own skin, stopping to look up at Eluf with his mouth slightly open. "Ye b'ain't!" He seems torn between astonishment and .. oddly enough .. relief. As if he'd been well and truly worried about Eluf, but the fact of his age smooths that worry away. "Oi'll be scunnered!" Though the choice of words may leave Eluf confused, Macaire snorts a laugh and presses right on, the brief exclamation more like a curse then something that's meant to be understood.

"Oi were half afeared yer folk would come after me tae have me head for speaking with ye, but yer a man grown! Yer too fair by half, me lad!" He seems amused by his own mistake now, reaching across the fire to rub his calloused fingertips over Eluf's cheek and down his chin in a gentle caress. "Ye donnae even look like ye shave!" It's a coarse thing to say, and by some could be considered unkind, but Macaire is a soldier and as such does not always watch his words. Besides which, he is just so relieved. Maybe he hasn't been imagining things! Surely if the boy's going on twenty, he's tumbled before, and this whole thing has been a shy sort of seduction.

For Macaire the whole of the situation has taken on a new complexion with the revelation of Eluf's age. It makes sense now to hear him talk of "moving out" without talking about being wed, which is so far as Macaire knows the time at which a young man generally obtains his own household. But if Eluf's preference is for shield-brothers, and it's established enough that his parents are aware of it, of course they would not try and wed him, but give him some amount of money and send him off to make of himself what he would.

Even better, Macaire need not feel so guilty for corrupting or perverting him; surely Eluf knows already.

Surely.

If nothing else it will mean that the old soldier relaxes, the twanging tension melting slowly from his broad shoulders and a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. He tips his head forward into the young man's touch, plainly enjoying the light caress. "Fightin', me lad. 'Tis always fightin' in Airelund. This one here .." Reaching up, he guides Eluf's fingers gently to one long scar, cutting from temple to jaw on one side of his face. "Be from a wicked mountain pony in a battle, aye? Oi got his rider's leg and he turn on me like a devil hisself, laid intae me right off. This one," and he guides Eluf's fingers to another scar, more jagged. "Were an arrow. Dinnae fly true, small gods be praised! Grazed me cheek, only it were a while off afore oi could see a healer, so it healed bad."

He continues to hold lightly onto Eluf's hand, watching him with a quiet pleasure while he speaks. Though surely these were frightening, painful events, there is no fear in his voice, nor any ache of regret: he speaks almost fondly, and there is certainly a measure of pride in the words.

Likewise Macaire would not refer to fencing as "fighting" -- it's a dance, to him, what rich men do in their idle hours. Fighting is what happens on a battlefield, things he won't readily describe to Eluf, all the darkness and dangers and horrors he'd do everything in his power to protect Eluf from. As different as air and stone, as different as a deer from a Guardian --

The old soldier's lips curl at the compliments, though he does not scorn them; he tilts his head, drawing Eluf's hand down the side of his face, so that his lips run along Eluf's soft fingertips. He wonders distantly if the boy smells like a woman up close, of soaps and soft clothes, or if there'd be a touch of leather, a hint of horses due to his family's business. It is almost a kiss, the way he touches his lips against Eluf's hands, and for such a big man it is surprisingly gentle.

"Oi'm nae so brave as all that," he murmurs, and Eluf will be able to feel the sound of his voice. Macaire seems to have forgotten Axe, as if now that he's reassured himself he doesn't recall that there is someone else present who might protest his own affectionate treatment of the much younger boy. "Oi've learnt how tae have a lighter touch, too, when 'tis called for."

The warm bloom of Eluf's flushed cheeks makes something twist in Macaire's guts, makes him ache with old longing. Though he would have pronounced himself satisfied afterward, the girl he'd gone to in the brothel after he first met Eluf seems not to have slackened his thirst at all. He remembers small tents on lonely battlefields, keeping quiet so as not to wake anyone nearby, the cool bite of the air and another's warm body -- and he thinks of Eluf, oh, the pretty little Eluf, with his fancy manners and his sweet little face, his trust and shy longing.

He doesn't even seem to see Axe creeping forward to take advantage of their forgotten meal; all his attention is on the younger man. This is an important moment, he thinks. All the time they have been speaking and watching and complimenting each other, neither has really come right out and said anything overtly dangerous, blatantly blasphemous .. but now, pursing his lips to kiss Eluf's fingertips, the soldier leans forward to brush a kiss first against Eluf's cheek, then the corner of his mouth. This is a declaration, a direct invitation.

There is a newness to it for Macaire as well, for shield-brothers are not given to such tender displays of affection, but Eluf is different. He is monied and too elegant for any simple exchanges; he deserves a slower, more careful courtship than any Macaire has undertaken before.

The girl the other night had been a spicy tavern dish, piping hot, while Eluf seems more like a fragile croissant, the kind he has had only once or twice, warm and sweet with real butter, golden and soft to the touch. He can almost taste --

-- and then, abruptly, there is a great push against his stomach, causing him to make an ooof of surprise; for a moment his hand is at his belt, fumbling for a weapon that fortunately isn't there. By the time he realizes that he is weaponless he has also realized the cause of the "attack," and regards Axe with an indigant expression for a moment. "Ye great daft bully, oi weren't set tae hurt him!" And then he thinks for a moment, about what he is thinking of doing to Eluf and with him, and how Axe might react to all of that if a little kiss so disturbs him, and the soldier snorts a sudden laugh, his anger melting away.

"Oh, lad, ye got a ways to go!" He tells the buck with amusement, settling back with a wink for Eluf. "Dain't ye ken yer Chosen be a man grown? His own self he can take care of, against them as are like me -- didn't he charm me straight through?" His tone is lightly teasing, though as he addresses Axe he is not entirely certain how much the Guardian can understand: some of his words are meant, indeed, as to stand as reassurance for Eluf.

It is all that Macaire can do not to laugh -- at Axe, trying to be menacing with bits of food and crumbs across his lips, at himself for being so hopeful only to have his wants delayed, at Eluf being so sweet and so eager to please. He manages for several seconds to swallow the laughter, releasing only a strangled sound deep in his throat when Axe stalks away from them both. But when he speaks there is a smile in his voice and curling the edges of his lips, and he cannot entirely hide it. "Aye, lad. Oi'll come tae ye wherever ye wills it."

For a moment the old soldier feels a ghost of his own uncertainty, which will haunt him later -- will he be seen? What will be said? Will anything be done? But if Eluf is a favored son of this household, if his preferences are already known .. then, well, if this isn't safe, precisely, it is as safe as anyone with such preferences can be. And buoyed up by his desires, he tells himself that it may indeed be worth the danger in any case, to smell Eluf's soft skin from up close.

"Oi'll be yers at sunset again, if'n it pleases ye." As he speaks he fetches the bottle of wine he'd brought, removing the cork and offering Eluf the bottle itself -- he's no cups to pour it into, and so they shall have to take their toast to each other apart. "Let's set tae our meal, then, what of it yer lad has left us."

The carraige is going to be a terrible shock for Macaire -- who'd be certain that such honors are more than he deserves -- but in all fairness it's unlikely that he has the least idea how far this "estate" is. All he really thinks about is that Eluf will be there, and that Eluf's asked him to come. And so he shall, all else be damned!
"Oi'll be there," he promises, salvaging a cheese that missed the Guardian's investigation and carving off thin slices for himself and Eluf. "Eh, 'tis naught tae be sarry for. It were our own faults, it could be said, for if we'd paid him any mind he might nae have had the chance." There is a glint of humor in his eyes, and a lightness to his voice that teases both of them: he acknowledges that in that moment they'd both been blinded to anything but each other. He pauses, head slightly tilted, to watch the younger man sample the wine -- Eluf might catch him at it this time, as Macaire freezes, barely seeming to breathe, until he has complimented the taste of the vintage.

" .. ah. Aye. 'Tis glad that oi could bring it fer ye."