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Settling into his saddle, Bill stares down at the O’Driscoll—Kieran—for a moment, hesitating before he holds his hand out. “C’mon, then, we ain’t got all day.”
Kieran nods, grasping Bill’s hand and lets Bill hoist him up onto Brown Jack’s back. “Thanks, Mister.”
“Call me Bill. I, I mean, you’re one of us now, so…” Bill says, his second sentence added hastily when he realizes how forward the first sounded.
“Uh, o-okay. Thanks, Bill.”
Bill grins, glad Kieran can’t see his face. “You better hold on,” he says, and before Kieran can question him, Bill spurs his horse forwards.
Kieran jolts behind him, wobbling, and his hands fly out, planting on Bill’s waist. Heat rushes to Bill’s face, his stomach twisting in a way that makes him want to scream.
Fucking damn it, he thinks, understanding his fascination with their prisoner all this time with sudden, unpleasant clarity as he leads them away from Six Point Cabin. Not again, Williamson. Just be normal for once in your life.
“Y-You have a beautiful horse, Bill,” Kieran says, snapping Bill out of his spiraling thoughts.
Bill forces a laugh, leaning forwards to pat his stallion’s neck. “Name’s Brown Jack. He’s my pride ‘n’ joy.”
“I can see why. Y’know, I’m good with h-horses. Lookin’ after them could be my job in camp.”
“Yeah,” Bill says without really listening, too distracted by unwanted feelings and traitorous thoughts.
“If, if it happens, I promise to give Brown Jack the best care.”
Bill’s stupid heart stutters, and in a moment of panic, he shrugs Kieran’s kindness off with a snapped, “Shut it, O’Driscoll.”
“Hey, I ain’t an O’Driscoll,” Kieran says, sounding genuinely hurt.
Well fucking done, Williamson, he thinks, and they ride the rest of the way back to camp in awkward silence.