Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (36 page)

“And what would you advise of dutiful sons in the matter of marriage?” he asked his father.

The Marquis was surprised at the question, and set his spoon down to rest his head on his hands and consider his answer. “That, as long as the bloodlines are sound, they choose whichever horse strikes their fancy. The race is both longer and shorter than we ever expect, and one cannot know, merely by looking at a horse or its dam and sire, how it will ride in the end. So it is probably best to pick a horse one can at least feel happy about at the start. There are always regrets, but, by the Grace of God, they will be because one could not ride long enough.”

“I already have an excellent horse,” Gaston said without challenge.

His father gave a sheepish grin. “So you do. I feel a mare might prove better for such a long journey, but…” He held up his hand quickly to ward us off. “As things are as they are, it would appear you are only seeking a broodmare. In that instance, I would highly suggest a dutiful one. And, since mares in general are such a rare thing in these isles, I would be happy to send you one – one far better than you have seen before.” He pointed over his shoulder at the parlor. “When you feel you are ready to take up the matter of breeding.”

“I feel I am ready,” Gaston said carefully, “but it is not a thing I wish to have sprung upon me, and… There must be time, or an avenue, to become acquainted with the girl and apprise her – in our way – of what we feel she should know.”

“That will be difficult to arrange – with you here, and the suitable candidates in France – but I understand,” the Marquis said. “And…” He glanced at me. “I know you will not be returning to France soon. Though I sometimes feel the press of my years, I should by all accounts live a while longer.” He sighed. “My greatest concern is that… You will not survive this roving you plan to do. Or I will meet some misfortune upon sailing home.”

Gaston nodded with a frown.

“We have much to consider concerning the matter of roving this year,” I said.

“Oui,” Gaston said with relief. “I wished to rove and be useful, but I was not a Comte before.”

His father nodded approvingly, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

Gaston was regarding me anxiously.

I smiled warmly. “Though I would see you serve as physician, I have no great need to rob Spaniards. We have a sickly child to concern us, and a mother who needs watching.”

He sighed with relief and jerked his chin toward where Christine sat.

“Let us see what this one wants.”

“After I eat,” I said. “And I suppose we will have to find a place for her to sleep that will not compromise anyone.”

In thinking of not roving, I felt some relief myself. Perhaps we could return to Negril. But then I realized Gaston would not wish to leave the baby in town, and Vivian did need watching. I tried to picture the four of us living in our hovel on the Point, and dark clouds of foreboding hovered on the horizon as I began to see how the Gods might find some amusement in that.

Sixty-Four

Christine needed no prompting to follow us to the stable after dinner. And so, after Bella decided she was acceptable, we sat about in the straw in the front part of the structure where the dogs were, each of us with a back to a different wall: our guest closest to the door, and Gaston closest to the puppies. Christine seemed to have little interest in the puppies themselves – a thing I found odd – and she eyed our hammock in the stall with curiosity, only to quickly look elsewhere.

“So, what might we do for you?” I asked Christine in French.

She took a deep breath and her gaze traveled from one of us to the other. Gaston was regarding the puppy in his lap: she spoke to me. “I am here to discover what prompted the Marquis’ visit to my father, or rather the message that he brought. Has Gaston rejected me, or has his father found me unsuitable?”

“I cannot give you an easy answer,” I said. “You were not rejected, so much as a speedy marriage was. A situation you should well be able to sympathize with.”

Her eyes hardened and she quickly turned to studying the straw.

“I rue that day,” she said with guilt that seemed sincere. “I made a mistake, I admit it. I should have accepted your gracious offer and…

saved us all a great deal of trouble.”

“Perhaps,” I said quickly. Though I did not wish for her to berate herself, I could never tell her I would not have married her anyway.

“But what is done, is done. We are not here to discuss the past, but the future. What do you want now?”

“I wish to be married to… a man who would offer me the freedoms you did.” She regarded me from beneath her lashes in a shy fashion, and I sensed earnestness but not coyness.

“To be married?” I asked carefully. “Why not simply escape your father again and travel in your current guise?”

She sighed. “If need be, I would do so again; but I would rather not be sought; and if I am to be exposed by some folly, I would rather have them attempt to return me to someone sympathetic to my aims and not my father,” she said with frustration.

“I can see that,” I said, and glanced at Gaston. He appeared to be ignoring us: a thing I found frustration with, as I wished for some subtle indication of his thoughts. I supposed his wishing to ignore her was indication enough.

“If the matter were as simple as your being provided with a name in marriage so that you might be free, we would possibly be happy to oblige,” I said carefully. “But we have need of the name Gaston can offer; or rather we have need of a bride. Gaston wishes to produce heirs, and children must be the first priority in the application of his availability for marriage.”

She nodded tightly and fidgeted with the straw. “I surmised that: now that he is a lord.” She took a deep breath and raised her head to meet my gaze again. “I am willing to bear children.”

I dearly wished to say, the Devil you are, but I held it in. “Well, he would need several children, preferably male, of course.”

She shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “We are young: we can produce the necessary heirs and then travel: the three of us.”

“The three of us?” I queried.

“Oui,” she said with a knowing smile. “Do not members of the Brethren share all things, including wives?”

I glanced to Gaston, and found him regarding her with dismay. She did not see it: her eyes were only for me.

I awarded her a diplomatic smile. “Some do. But, that is not the matter of concern at the moment. I do not see where we will be able to travel once the children are born. I think children, even the one we have now, will likely be the end of our travels.”

“Why?” she asked, with a mix of incredulity and curiosity.

“Because we wish to raise them,” I said.

Now she was fully incredulous. “Why?”

I thought I would have sounded the same quite recently, but I found my answer ready and reasoned. “To insure it is done properly, and they are treated with respect and care, and they are taught ethics and morals we value.”

She slumped dejectedly against the wall, her face contorted with a perplexed frown that was quite cute.

I glanced at Gaston and found him regarding me with pride and pleasure; and that expression was a thousand times more endearing than anything the girl could ever muster.

I turned back to Christine. “We will give you what assistance we can: secure passage for you and even give you some money, but…”

“Non,” she said quickly. “What if it is as we originally discussed, when… What if we marry; and I produce the children; and then I can travel, as a lord’s wife who will not be considered missing; and you can raise the children? Do you find me an unsuitable mother?”

Gaston was studying the puppy in his lap again, but this time I could see tension and agitation in the set of his head and shoulders and the careful precision with which he smoothed fur with one fingertip.

“Non,” I told Christine. “We have long thought you would be an excellent dam: you possess many qualities we would see in children.

And perhaps that arrangement would be suitable, but we must discuss the matter.”

She smiled at me warmly: a fetching and triumphant quirk of her lips. “But… it would not be as some of the Brethren do,” I said slowly, and let my tone harden. “You would be Gaston’s wife and bear his children only.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, and spoke coyly. “There are ways to insure that only his seed is sown.”

My smile was diplomatic and perhaps patronizing. “Aye, and my never laying a hand on you is the easiest of those. My matelot does not share.”

Gaston sat the puppy carefully aside.

“Not even with you?” Christine teased, oblivious to him.

“He does not share me,” I said with an amused grin, some cruel aspect of my spirit relishing the shattering of her girlish fancy.

“Oui, you cannot have him,” Gaston growled.

Christine’s coy smile fled and she turned to look at him with surprise. He was a forbidding statue in the shadows, with hard green eyes. She took a short hard breath, and fear and shame set upon her face.

“So,” I said lightly, as if we were discussing the sale of a horse. “I do not believe we can achieve the arrangement you desire. We will still offer you what aid we might.”

Anger suffused her. “Do not trouble yourself!” She stood and snatched up her bag and slipped into the night.

“Well, we have made an enemy this night,” I said, still feeling triumphant.

He pounced upon me, his mouth hard on mine as he bowled me over and then onto my back: his hands closed tight around my wrists, pinning them on either side of my head as he straddled me. I did not kick about because I was scared I would hit the nest of puppies.

He brushed teasing kisses across my lips, only to pull his head away as I strained to reach him. My manhood began to strain as well, trapped as it was between us.

“You are mine,” he hissed.

“Am I to be ridden this night?” I panted.

His eyes brightened and he made the happy humming sound: only in his present Horse state, it became more akin to a purr.

“Oui, let us see how very far my stallion can run,” he said huskily.

“Farther than any damn mare, I would think.”

I chuckled at his entwining of his father’s metaphor with ours, until he kissed me such that I ached with need and could not remember humor or metaphors or much of the last day.

“Strip and get on the hammock,” he whispered as he released me.

“There is a thing I would try.”

I gleefully complied: my skin afire and my cock throbbing with anticipation. He left me for a time, slipping out into the atrium. I hoped he was insuring that we were alone and I could at least make some noise once he began whatever tortures he wished to employ.

He returned with several candles, and lit them from the lamp before blowing it out. I grinned up at him as he regarded me in their softly flickering light, my smile widening at the sight of his feral one.

He shed his clothing, and dug salve, rope, and our gag out of our bags. He bound my wrists and ankles to the four corners of our hammock, and turned to greasing our members. He made coy work of his: taking pleasure in my enjoyment of the sight. I nearly spent myself when he finally took me in hand. He tapped my balls to distract me, and I moaned and twisted in my bonds, my cock cringing from the sudden pain. Then he was astride me, positioning my cock beneath him such that my squirming would bring him pleasure. Then he awarded me a deep and sweet kiss to savor before placing the gag in my mouth.

I squirmed with surprise and the first icy tickle of fear when he picked up one of the candles. And then there was only the inextricable blend of pain and pleasure as he spilled wax upon my arms and chest in little dribbles. It did not bring the deep immediate ache of a strap, or the hard pain of his teeth, but an initial shock of a burn followed by an irritating and mounting discomfort. I did not buck beneath him, I began to run in a sort of rhythmic squirming that he found great delight in as he kept me at it for a seeming eternity, until I felt I could no longer move and I could feel nothing but the burning upon my chest.

I was surprised to find my cock still hard when he at last set the candle aside and moved to impale himself upon me. His hole seemed cold and deep compared to the fire on my skin, and I mustered all the strength I had left to dive deep up into him. He gave a long low groan of pleasure and held me still with one commanding hand upon my chest.

Then he began to move, and I did nothing but lie beneath him and accept his pleasure until I came. I did not feel I laid siege to the Gates of Heaven, so much as they opened for me without effort and I was washed on a wave into the light with little fanfare and great peace. I was barely aware of him bringing himself off to squirt cold jism upon my chest.

He released me very tenderly, rubbing my numb limbs and kissing me before rolling me onto my side. I was roused from my blissful lassitude when he tried to pull the wax from my skin. It was a new and irritating pain. He stopped, and I drifted again until he pushed a cup to my lips. I drank, tasting the laudanum and not caring. And then I was very far away and warm and happy, and I knew he was beside me and always would be.

I woke alone, a thin blanket covering my nakedness, and someone hissing my name.

Memory returned slowly, and I smiled at the ache in my body.

My chest was mottled pink with burns, but there was no wax. I was missing the sparse hair that had covered it, though. I even found quiet amusement in that.

“What?” I asked. I was sure the voice was Agnes.

“You must come quickly!” she hissed from somewhere beyond the door. “There is trouble! Gaston sent me to fetch you!”

I pushed myself upright and awake, and sought my clothes. “What trouble?”

“Sir Christopher is here.” She paused and there were sounds of commotion from the atrium, including a women’s voice yelling and cursing. “Oh damn! They found her. She must have tried to climb off the balcony. The idiot!”

I had donned my breeches and tunic, and I hurried past her. The atrium seemed filled with people. The Marquis and Dupree stood to one side, with Pete, Striker, and Rucker. Across from them, stood Sir Christopher, Governor Modyford, and Theodore. Two men held a furious and struggling Christine between them in the foyer. She was still in her boy’s garb, but with her hair a cascade of unbound gold. I could see Gaston in the shadows of the door to the parlor, and Sarah likewise hiding in the doorway of her office.