Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (17 page)

“First,” Striker said as he entered the room. He kept his voice low but his words were fierce. “I will not have you bastards thinking any who love you are against you. If either of you think for one moment that we’re siding with that son of a bitch while trying to untangle this mess, I swear I will go down there and shoot him now.”

Gaston and I exchanged a look: my matelot smiled.

“Nay, we shall strive not to interpret the manner in that fashion,” I assured Striker.

He appeared relieved, and threw himself down to sprawl in one corner of the foot of the bed. “I should probably shoot him anyway.”

“Not yet,” Theodore implored. He pulled one of the chairs to the side of the bed and sat. His grimace at the scars across Gaston’s chest was very brief. He quickly fixed his eyes on my matelot’s face and adopted his most barrister-like mien. “The Marquis has made offers to satisfy our lack of trust; however, I would know what you wish of the matter before we proceed.”

Gaston was at his best and I was proud of him beyond measure. His eyes were bright with the Horse’s fierceness, but all about him was the Man’s control. Now there was no mask, and he appeared comfortable in his skin, scars and all. It was the way he had often been when we were alone these last months.

I found his words incredibly chilling, however; even though I knew how much it all meant to him.

“I want all that is due me as the firstborn son of the House of Sable,”

he said firmly.

Theodore nodded thoughtfully. “So your title as the Comte de Montren, and any lands or money due that title?”

Gaston sighed at that. “I care not for the money or lands, but I want the title, and I want my name cleared so that I am a man again under French law.”

“Do you wish to return to France?” Theodore asked.

“I do not wish to, but I will do what I must to claim what is mine by right,” Gaston said, and then he looked to me with a frown.

I smiled at him, and did everything in my power to hide my concern.

“I will go with you wherever you wish.”

Either I did a poor job of masking my feelings, or we thought very much alike: I saw the trace of fear in his eyes for a moment, but he quickly dismissed it before turning back to Theodore.

“Sadly,” Theodore said with a shrug, “I only know enough of French law to know how areas of it are similar to English law for the purposes of making contracts between the English and French merchants and Brethren. According to the documents your father sent Doucette, your name is impugned as you say, as your father has had some court judge you incompetent to handle your affairs and therefore you are to be assigned a guardian. I do not know how such a matter is undone. I feel that my ignorance is of such an extent on the matter that if your father presented us with a paper saying the matter was resolved I would not know if the document was valid. Thus, I shall contact a barrister I have dealt with on Tortuga, and have him engage a barrister in France to handle the matter on your behalf. I believe the matter can be taken care of without your father’s consent. His assistance in the matter would ease it considerably, though. Still, with or without his assistance or objection, I feel that portion of this matter will take years to resolve, and that under no circumstances should you set foot on French soil or a French vessel until such time as it is resolved, no matter what promises anyone makes you.”

“Thank you,” Gaston said. “I understand.”

“We will provide you with more money to handle such things,” I said.

Theodore shrugged again. “I believe in the end your father will provide all the money any of us might seek.”

“Truly?” Striker asked with amusement.

“Not you,” Theodore said without looking at him. “Now, clearing your name and establishing your competence in the eyes of the French courts will surely be necessary for you to inherit your father’s title. However, I know of no reason – but please remember my ignorance of French law – but I know of no reason why you cannot hold the title due his son, to wit, the title of the Comte de Montren. But I must ask; how is it that you do not hold it now? It is my understanding you are his oldest son by legal marriage and that there is no question of that. Is it your understanding that the title was lost when you were exiled here?”

Gaston frowned and shook his head sadly. “I signed a paper my father had drawn up, saying that I would relinquish the title and my inheritance in favor of my half-brothers.”

“How old were you?” Theodore asked.

“Sixteen years,” Gaston said. “I planned to become a monk. But…

that was right before… that night.” He shook his head irritably. “We all thought it would be better. I knew so little of myself then, and he…

hated me.”

“I do not know how binding such a document could be,” Theodore said with a frown. “Of course, it is eclipsed by the determination of the court as to your competence. However, it could be said that if you are as incompetent as the other suggests, then you are, and were, incapable of executing an agreement of that nature. But that is all neither here nor there at the moment. Let us assume the other matter will be resolved, and in the meantime, the matter of your being the Comte de Montren, and all that that entails, is between you and your father alone. Once the matter of your competence is resolved, you could, of course, go to court and make suit against him over the matter, but until then, you do not have the legal standing to do so.”

“Has he said he will return it to me?” Gaston asked sadly.

“Nay,” Theodore sighed and gave him a kind smile. “But he is willing to go to great length to remain here and assuage your fears as to his intent, despite all the misunderstanding and trouble today. He has agreed to send the ship he arrived on away, to Petit Goave. It will be instructed to return in December. Until then, he wishes to remain in this house, or in some other dwelling from which he can visit with you as often as possible.”

“He says if we see any of his men about town we can shoot them,”

Striker added. “And they took that bastard Vittese out on a litter. You well know he won’t be a problem for a long time.”

It was infuriating. I wished for Gaston’s father’s reasoning to be as enigmatic as my own father’s: then we could muster ample reason to hate him. But Gaston’s half-brothers must have died before the Marquis received the letter of last year from Gaston; and their deaths and his being without an heir must have prompted his great need to make amends with God and his son. And even though he professed not to believe his only surviving son had written the letter, he had still sailed halfway around the world on the hope that he had. I could see where he wished to come and claim whatever son he might have here, in whatever manner he had to, in order to make things right and recover what he could of the shambles his plans had fallen to. Of which much of it, if I were honest, was not his fault at all.

I shook my head and swore. They all turned to regard me and I sighed. I did not wish to admit to the real reason behind my anger.

“It appears the Marquis truly wishes to gauge Gaston’s competence and madness,” I said. “So what is Gaston to do to prove himself?”

“That has not been discussed,” Theodore said, and quickly held up his hand to stave off any interruption I could make while he chose his next words. “I do feel that he has judged Gaston to be worthy of the effort. He is willing to leave himself stranded in a vulnerable and awkward situation in order to accomplish his professed aim of making amends with his son.”

“I see that,” I said.

“We’re willing to let him stay, if it’s what you want,” Striker said.

“I do not wish to have to appease him.” Gaston said angrily.

“Unfortunately,” Theodore said gently but firmly, “that is the way of it with all sons who wish to inherit from their fathers.” He gave me a pointed look.

“I do not wish to inherit,” I said.

Theodore sighed tiredly.

“And,” I added, “If Gaston is to inherit, then I cannot.”

“True,” Theodore said with resignation, “However, I still maintain that you will do yourself and those associated with you a great favor by continuing the illusion that you will inherit for as long as you can. And Gaston’s inheritance will take years to resolve.”

I wished to rage with childish petulance at the unfairness of that, but it would be to no avail and only serve to make me appear the fool.

And Theodore was correct, despite all I might say about how there was little value in it when I did not plan to keep it, I knew well there was value in my being a lord. The incident at the Chocolata Hole yesterday proved that: any other than a lord would have been seriously questioned over such a matter, but as Modyford valued his ambition and that entailed bowing and scraping before nobility, I had been allowed to make whatever excuse I wished for the deaths of several men.

“So,” Theodore was saying to Gaston. “Do you wish for your father to remain here, alone? Except for his translator. I feel it is in your best interests if you truly wish to claim what is due you. But, of course, you must feel comfortable with the arrangement and not be concerned for your security. If there is some aspect of the matter I have missed – that would lead to you not being safe – then please let me know.” He smiled ruefully. “I am trained to see how men can harm one another with laws and papers, not with swords and pistols.”

I smiled grimly. “As long as he does not have any men about, I do not see how he can do much by himself. Unless he goes to Modyford and demands his son.”

Theodore sighed. “I did think of that. I believe your being a lord of his own country and obviously not being in favor of surrendering Gaston far outweighs any attempted claim the Marquis could make to grant favor to our governor.”

I sighed and slumped with resignation and defeat.

“As for any trouble when the French return in December, our men will be back before his ship returns,” Striker said thoughtfully. “At least they should be,” he sighed.

“The arrangement will be acceptable,” Gaston said at last.

Theodore nodded.

I looked to Striker. “Thank you, and my sister, for housing this mess until it is resolved.”

Striker shrugged. “I think it’ll be a bigger bloody mess if your father ever comes calling.”

“I cannot see him finding us worth the effort,” I said, as much to reassure myself as him.

They left us. I sat on the bed next to Gaston and took his hand.

“You will do this for me?” he asked quietly.

His confidence had apparently fled with our friends, and now I beheld a scared and befuddled boy, though there was none of the Child about him.

I met his beseeching and apologetic gaze and whispered, “Oui.”

“I am sorry I did not…” he began.

I shook my head. “There has been no time to discuss it, and you have been in no state to do so.”

“It is a thing I never thought I could have,” he whispered, and began plucking at the bedding. “When he said they were dead… it was as if the Heavens smiled upon me. Now he needs me.”

“I understand,” I said. And I truly did.

I mustered as much cheer as I could. “Well, at least he is not my father, who we must ask the Gods for portents of concerning his intentions. He will be here and you can demand to know what he wants.”

“I cannot prove I am sane,” Gaston said sadly.

“Neither can he,” I said. “Or, I, or any of us, truly. I feel he wants to know if you can control your madness, or be controlled.”

“What if he wishes for me to marry and have children, as your father wishes of you?” he asked quietly and with great concern.

I sighed. “Then you shall marry Agnes and… As you said today, perhaps your children need not be as mad as you.”

He considered this with a thoughtful frown. “That would not be so very bad.”

Then he moved to sit astride my legs, his eyes boring into mine. “I want this, Will, but I will not surrender you for it.”

Tears filled my eyes as I realized how very much I had needed to hear that. “I know, my love,” I whispered.

He embraced me, and I held him, and wondered what the Devil the Gods wanted and what They were willing to sacrifice to gain it.

Fifty-Eight

Pete arrived at our door to inform us that Sam had made supper, despite all the chaos. I discovered I was grateful for this news when my stomach grumbled at the thought of it. We left the doors open, and Gaston dressed hurriedly, not in his proper clothes, but in his usual maroon canvas breeches and tunic. I decided we would carry arms to dinner.

“We Be Eatin’ In The Dinin’ Room,” Pete added as he watched us prepare.

“Is that why you are wearing a shirt?” I teased. “And that is a fine shirt.”

“Nay, Be Wearin’ It ’Cause We Got Guests.”

Pete leaned on the balcony railing and smoothed the shirt he wore with some pride. It was fine linen, and so blue it matched his eyes. It was not Striker’s, as Pete’s physique is more muscular than his matelot’s, and anything tailored to fit Striker would have looked stretched and uncomfortable on Pete. I guessed Sarah had insisted he wear something other than breeches on occasion, and had had clothes made for him.

It reminded me that we now must truly do the same for Gaston.

The tailor would be our first order of business on the morrow. Though perhaps sparring on the beach for a time in order to tire our Horses should come first, as it could be done before the shops opened – and most probably should be done before delivering Gaston on to those shops for hours of measuring and perusing fabrics and all the falderal a visit to a tailor’s entails. And the Devil with his Horse, I would likely have to fortify mine with wine in order to tolerate the endeavor.

If I was not careful, I would be doing a great deal of drinking until the end of the year; and though it was how I had managed to drift through my prior life, I did not wish to ever again live in a manner that required my being drunk to sleep or even carry on pleasant conversations. But here we were, going to a very awkward supper, the first of many; and then there was the party on Saturday, and I prayed there would not be many more of those in the weeks before we were rid of the Marquis.