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Ah, old gods' blessing! This is going to get him killed! He draws in a quick sharp breath when Eluf pats his arm, and sits up straighter than before, watching him. He's small and pretty, so full of goodness that it seems to spill over, making Macaire feel old and dirty, guilty of crimes he has not yet committed. A right shame it would be, to be cruel to him in any way -- to say naught of what that fiercely protective Guardian buck would have to say about it! But .. but .. he is so very delicate and pretty, so very willing to please, and it has been a very long time --

Squashing the thought as fast as he can think it, he latches onto Eluf's offer with only a small thrill of terror at the thought of 'a large estate.' Most estates would not take kindly to someone like himself lurking around, especially not as an escort for someone like sweet, well-dressed Eluf! "T'would be grand," he manages, trying to pretend that the compliments are not leaving him flushed, "but t'is late. Mayhap oi ought tae lead ye home, and have ye meet me another time, aye? His lairdship t'will be impatient fer ye." He nods his head towards the door, indicating the Guardian buck that presumably still waits outside.

He is going to die. Surely, sooner rather than later he's going to die, at which point he will be taken to task for the immoral thoughts that trouble him now. A carriage? He's never in his life ridden in one! He should have taken a closer look at the boy's clothes .. oh small gods pity him, he's been flirting with a noble son! If Eluf's parents don't kill him, then the local guardsmen surely will! His station is low enough that he shouldn't be talking to Eluf in the first place, much less .. He goes red, then white, then flushes again, feeling slightly ill about the entire encounter -- on the one hand, he should return Eluf to his home and never speak to him, or think of him, again. On the other hand, does he really want to deny the lad anything? Is he even capable of refusing Eluf? Would it even be possible not to think of him?

"Aye," he croaks, thinking of his simple flat in comparison with the grander home in which the youth must live. "Leave off me duties 'bout the time oi found ye: jest afore sunset." Then he swallows, trying to control his expression best he can manage. "Jest as soon not ride inna carriage, me lad. T'would be better far tae find ye where e'er it please ye tae be."

It is all that Macaire can do not to stare at Eluf, aghast: is he .. is he blushing? No! Anything but that! With a sinking heart, the old soldier knows that he is doomed: strong though some may consider him, he isn't capable of refusing Eluf when he gazes up through his lashes like that! Surely it's Macaire's own fault, to have a heart what squeezes like the poor lad's a bashful maiden! The thought that he might avoid meeting Eluf slips away, discarded without further consideration.

"Aye," he croaks, "T'would be an honour tae serve ye any way oi can." He swallows, and prays the old gods will not chase him down for this small half-lie. 'Honor' is not precisely the correct idea, but it's close enough, right? Hurriedly, he tips back the last of his mug, then pushes the empty mug aside -- and pushes away from the table, eying the crowd and perhaps trying to decide if he ought to lift Eluf over it again, in the interests of getting him out of the tavern safely and quickly.

Once more the old soldier, now even more greatly conflicted, has to resist temptation -- this time the temptation is to tuck Eluf under one arm and bolt for the exit before half the pickpockets in the city descend upon them. What was he thinking, bringing a pretty little lad like this here? Was he absolutely mad? He swallows, despite the full mug of beer feeling rather dry-mouthed. "Oh, aye, let's away afore 'tis too late." Too late for what he does not say.

After a moment's hesitation, he steps around the table, setting his hands to Eluf's waist and lifting him up so that the smaller man rests on his shoulder, pressing Eluf's legs against his chest to balance him. With Eluf thus held out of reach from pickpockets, he carries the youth out of the crowded tavern, ducking through the door and only outside setting him onto his own feet. He shall immediately look for the Guardian, looming protectively over Eluf until such time as the buck steps forward -- and leaning back as soon as he has been spotted, aware now why the Guardian had been so intensely protective of the lad.

It's probably for the best that Eluf doesn't know that Macaire's heart feels a little squeezed at the gentle pats of his hair -- and by the time he gets outside, after he's put the youth down he has to drag in several deep gulps of fresh air, reminding himself that it's best to breathe. He resolves to visit some of the seedier areas of town at once: apparently it has been far, far too long! Eluf surely neither wants nor deserves this!

Macaire to a certain extent shares the Guardian's opinion, looking largely unbothered by the grumpy would-be patrons: Eluf may in fact catch the taller man staring pointedly at the other men, his glare daring them to make some protest regarding the delay. Even those who might have been willing to lodge a complaint with the Guardian will hesitate to face off against Macaire -- tall, well-muscled, and with the reddish Aireland tint to his hair that bespeaks trouble all on its own. When Eluf speaks again, the soldier drags his attention back, and gestures for Eluf to proceed before him. "Nay, lad. You needn't warry none. T'ain't nae harm done. Go ain, 'twill walk with ye 'till oi see ye safe."

He shoots Axe a look as he makes this offer, hoping the Guardian will permit it; he means no harm by it, no malice. In fact, quite the opposite! He knows by now that Axe must be an effective protector, else something would have happened to Eluf before now, but two can protect better than one, and it's his own fault for leading this lamb in amongst the lions.

He's such a horrible, cruel soul, to think these thoughts about the innocent young man. It gives him a sinking feeling in his stomach, to think how difficult is to restrain himself from saying or doing something both of them would surely regret. All he has to do is continue on with him for just a little longer, and then he can leave Eluf in the care of those better able to protect him from people like .. well, Macaire himself!

The taller man paces carefully beside Eluf, his eyes glancing this way and that in search of danger -- though when Eluf speaks, the sound of his voice pulls Macaire's gaze back down towards him. He makes a strangled little noise that is probably a laugh at the thought that the Guardian could be fond of him: oh, ill-advised, ill-advised! "Oh, would wager 'tis that oi ain't caused ye nae harm yet. His lairdship dain't look like one who trusts easy, oi think."

Macaire finds himself thinking idly how easy it would be to convince Eluf to come back to his flat and stay the night -- he could make some excuse about how it was closer, or how that way they'd be able to talk about writing, and then --

-- he swallows, and deliberately turns his thoughts to other things. It's difficult to do, when the younger man is looking up at him with wonder, so he tries focusing on Axe's rump as a way of cooling his overheated train of thought. That way lies madness! Better to think about which house he'll visit after this, and wonder how much coin it'll take to find a lady willing to help him chase all these unkind thoughts away!

"Yer tae kind, lad. Been a roight pleasure meetin' ye." And if his voice is a little hoarse, hopefully Eluf won't notice. Something seems to occur to him then, and he looks sidelong at Eluf again, wincing internally at his expression. Why did he have to be so .. so .. enticing? "Ye won't face nae trouble, returnin' saw late?"