A Fiery Dalliance

XXXIX

Joe swallowed. Loudly. "Y-yes, sir," he confirmed.

The runner produced a large, iron key from the waistband of his belt and shoved it into the padlock on the cell. "It appears there's been some mistaken identity, Mr Parish," he snickered facetiously as the padlock clicked open and he opened the cell door, the rusty hinges squealing in protest.

Joe stared at the man, dumbfounded, and it took being barked at again to move for him to snap out of his shocked trance. Joe stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet as he made his way out of the cell. "What about them?" he managed to ask just as the runner shut the cell door behind him and clicked the padlock back into place.

"They don't have the sorts of friends in high places as you do, it seems," the runner replied gruffly as he seized Joe by the arm tightly and began to drag him away.

Joe heard the cries behind him of the men that he had left in that cell, and as he was pulled, he heard the cries of others, the jeers towards the lawman, the spitting, and the cursing, of those who were also awaiting their fates in neighbouring cells. The guilt would have been an easy thing to allow into his mind, but Joe told himself he could not take on their burdens. He could feel for them, as that made him human. Joe knew that he would need to repeatedly remind himself of this.

Once he had been taken away from the hall of cells, Joe was brought into a large, rectangular office. A hearth dominated the far wall, and though it was unlit, the wall, floor, and furniture around it were all blackened by ash and soot.

Disorganised desks littered the floor space, and runners were scattered about reading books or writing in diaries. But they all stopped what they were doing when Joe entered the room, and they all looked upon him with disgust, as they presumed to know what he had done.

Though he did not want to die, and though he had done this to atone for the sins he thought that he had committed, Joe was so glad that it was him who bore these eyes of disdain. He did not want Ed to have had to witness this.

But there was one in the room who did not share the disgust of the runners. He stood by a window with his hands behind his back, his eyes tired from a lack of sleep, and his brow furrowed with worry. But as he looked upon Joe, such a sense of relief spread across his face, as though seeing Joe was some sort of cure for his torment, and that he was some sort of good in this man's life.

"Come here, my boy," Adam beckoned, his arms opening.

The runner released Joe's arm, and he practically flew towards Adam, throwing his arms around him, and allowing the duke to do the same. Adam held Joe tightly, tighter than he had ever been held before.

It made Joe wonder if it was the sort of embrace that could only be given by a parent to their child. Only fathers, perhaps, could hug like this. But this thought did not make Joe yearn. He did not think of his own father. The man did not even enter his mind at that time. He thought only of Adam, and how grateful he was to be called 'my boy' by a man such as him.

"I thank you for your understanding of this honest mistake," Adam said over the shoulder of Joe, before he gently released him, still keeping a guiding hand on his back.

"Funny thing, that mistaken identity," murmured to runner in reply, before he waved them off, and turned his back on them.

Adam wasted no time in directing Joe to the door, and they walked swiftly out into the morning sunshine. Once they were outside, Adam seized Joe once again in a tight hug. This time it surprised Joe, as there was an element of desperation in the duke's actions.

"You had me worried sick!" Adam cried in his ear, before he pulled away, only to cup Joe's face and inspect him. His eyes were disapproving as he looked over Joe's face, and Adam's thumb brushed over a spot underneath his eye that Joe had not released was sore and sensitive.