Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (61 page)

“It is not!” I softened my voice. “My dear, even though the whole world may seem allied against you, what you desire is not wrong.

They are the fools. They are the ones who live in fear of anything that might distinguish them from the herd. They are poor vessels for the intelligence… ingenuity… uniqueness… the immense capacity for love, that the Gods have gifted us with.”

“Then why is it so hard?” she asked earnestly.

“Perhaps it is a challenge: a gauntlet thrown before us.”

She shook her head sadly. “I feel I am already different enough.”

I put my arm about her shoulder and steered her toward home. “My dear, that just makes you special.”

She slipped her arm about my waist and leaned into me. I planted a kiss upon her head.

There was no one about in the atrium when we arrived, and she seemed reluctant to release me, so I led her to the stable. We found Gaston there, sitting with the puppies.

“We have met with opposition,” I said and released her.

She sat next to him in the straw and pulled a puppy into her lap as I explained what had occurred.

Gaston’s eyes filled with sympathy and he pulled her into his lap.

I dropped to sit with them, and for a time we sat in companionable silence. Then Agnes fidgeted a little before her hand slid up my matelot’s chest and her face rose to regard him with hopeful eyes and tremulous lips. He glanced at me, and I smiled indulgently and moved so that I could guard the door. His mouth covered hers and she sighed and clutched at him. A few minutes later they had her skirts up and she was astride his lap, earnestly taking his direction as to how to raise and lower herself upon his member.

He seemed calm, and not at all possessed by old memories or his fears, and then he regarded me over her shoulder and I saw he was merely hiding it all for her benefit. I went to join them, and sat astride his thighs behind her. She gasped with happy surprise as my hands stole between them to play where they would. I nibbled her neck, and then leaned around her to share a deep kiss with Gaston, who clung to me like a drowning man.

Between my melancholy and earlier indulgence in wine, I was only mildly roused by our antics. Thus I set myself to fondling her and reassuring him without a care for my pleasure, until at last she came with sweet little gasps and sucked him dry with the strength of her satisfaction. We shifted her off him, and entangled the three of us to cuddle contentedly.

“At least I can have this from time to time,” Agnes whispered.

“Unless… you will not wish to after you marry.”

“I am not marrying Christine,” Gaston sighed in her hair.

She stiffened and shifted so that she could regard both of us curiously. We sighed as one.

“She will cause us nothing but trouble and hardship,” I said. “She is jealous of me, and…”

Agnes nodded sagely. “She wants a man of her own, and it shames her.”I did not ask whether Christine had entrusted her with such information, or she was guided by intuition: I felt the words rang true enough not to question their source.

“She does not know yet,” I murmured.

Agnes shrugged. “She would not listen to me, anyway.”

Gaston was feeling quite heavy against my chest, and I peered down to find his eyes closed.

“We should rest for a time. Gaston will be attending Sarah this night,” I said.

The girl nodded and rose spryly, quickly straightening her clothes.

Then she leaned down and covered us in a curtain of mahogany hair as she kissed us each sweetly on the forehead. “Thank you.”

Gaston roused himself to take hold of her arm and then her neck and pull her mouth to his for a true kiss. “Non, thank you.”

She grinned proudly as she pulled away.

When we were alone, he turned to me and pulled my mouth to his. I kissed him deeply and thoroughly until he sighed.

“How was it this time?” I asked.

“Better,” he said softly, and looked away. “But…”

“But?”

He shook his head. “It did not remind me of Gabriella this time, but… My Horse is… angry somewhat, even with Agnes.”

“How so?”

He sighed. “Angry that my cock should take such pleasure in her, and… angry that she should presume I would want her. I do not know if that is a thing that will pass with time. And… If you were not here, I fear I would… become overwrought with guilt. That would truly anger my Horse.”

He moved so he could gaze up at me without craning his neck. “I feel you will always need to be present. Does it bother you? Today you did not…” His hand brushed my flaccid member still tucked away in my breeches.

I shook my head. “I am too… distraught in general this day.”

He regarded me with concern.

I shook my head again. “Do not trouble yourself. I am well enough.

Let us rest for a time.”

We made our way to the hammock and curled together to sleep.

We were roused by a great deal of noise: boisterous men giving happy greeting. I had been startled so abruptly from a sound sleep that it took me several moments to recognize who I heard; and then Gaston and I exchanged a look of surprise and tumbled from the hammock, hurrying to the atrium to greet our good friends: Dickey, Liam, Bones, Nickel, Julio, Davey, and Alonso.

Among all the embraces and back patting, we learned Cudro, Ash, and the Bard had stayed in the Chocolata Hole with the Virgin Queen, as there was haggling to be done with the Port Royal officials and merchants. Striker ran off to assist them. Pete frowned after him while taking a pull on a rum bottle, and then he turned and found me.

“NoneO’ UsShould Be Alone,” he hissed in my ear.

“You Two Watch The House. Don’tTrust No One.” Then he was gone, in pursuit of his matelot.

In all the joviality, it took me a moment to understand his concern; and then I did, and once again, I did not think much could drive the melancholy from my heart. I still could not believe any here would seek the bounty on our heads, though.

But then, as the household – except for Sarah and the Marquis– joined us, and we sat about with several bottles and the men began to regale us with tales of their smuggling, I began to consider each of them in turn.

Dickey’s character was surely beyond reproach. Becoming a buccaneer and then our Master of Sail’s matelot had erased all trace of the effete young man with whom I had sailed from England. His lanky body was now filled with hard-earned muscle that seemed to steady him, and his eyes were confident and happy. And even the boy I had known had proven to be stalwart and principled, a man of loyalty to his friends no matter the circumstances. And, even viewing the matter cynically, I did not see the Bard and Dickey severing their ties with the R&R Merchant Company to be in their best interests – unless they sought to establish their own.

Liam, our Scots musketeer, could not even possess the ulterior motive of a business venture. He had money and land, and all I knew that he had last yearned for was his deceased matelot: the death of whom still seemed to haunt him despite the fine spirits, such that he was not our principle tale-teller, as had ever been his wont. I could not gaze upon his sad pale blue eyes and crooked nose and think he would ever betray us: he carried the Way of the Coast in his heart like a cross and shield.

As did Julio the Maroon, in his fashion. Julio was ever a man of principle, and though not involved in our business venture, he did own land that we had helped him gain despite the dark hue of his skin. I did not see him as a man who would betray his fellow for gold, and we had surely never done a thing to earn his enmity.

The same – that we had done nothing to earn his enmity – could be said for his matelot, Davey, the stubborn goat of a sailor I had rescued from the slavery of being a pressed crewman on an English merchant vessel. However, I could see Davey doing a great many things for gold, and I questioned what loyalty he held for anyone. Some would say it was because he had been shat on throughout his life and learned nothing else; and perhaps it was even a thing I would say when under the sway of a kinder spirit; but this night, I was not so inclined to be generous.

Bones, our lanky and ever-indolent musketeer, was inclined to inspire and sop up generosity. I could not see him rousing himself to the level of industry required to hatch a plot, and I had seen nothing of his character to indicate he would do such a thing against those who treated him well.

His partner, Nickel – I could see nothing from their behavior to indicate they had at last truly become matelots – was likewise a good sort, and though there was depth to the former planter’s son that he hid behind pleasantries and genteel behavior, I did not sense that it ran contrary to what he revealed upon his face. He would have likely made a fine priest, as had been planned for him; but he had chosen to escape that destiny and sail for adventure. Young men were often inclined to acts of disaster in the name of establishing a name for themselves, but I saw none of that about him, either.

And that left Alonso: my former lover, two years my partner in crime and all manner of things in Florence; a Spanish noble not ready to accept the yoke of maturity. He eyed me even as I looked upon him, and fear rimed my gut with ice. Alonso needed money, though he did not profess it. He had left behind all he had in Panama, including a wife, his good name, and any standing with his family, when he had joined with us in Porto Bello. He had ever been a nobleman’s son, living as he saw fit to maintain the finery to which he was accustomed. I still could not believe the rough and crude life of a buccaneer appealed to him as he now claimed, when I had seen the care with which he had once selected his clothing and jewels. He had killed for money: killed men we had been acquainted with and who had no reason to fear us. And Gaston’s death was in his best interest, as he still sought to win me back.

I would have dismissed that last conceit if he were not still gazing upon me this night much as he had three months ago, when we returned from Porto Bello. He felt he loved me yet: the damn fool. I had hoped it would pass these last months, once he was clear of the damnably boring and frustrating existence he had led in Panama, and thus no longer in need of foolish romantic notions concerning a former lover. Now I saw clearly that, even if he knew nothing of a bounty on Gaston’s head, my matelot was still in danger.

I considered shooting Alonso then and there; but the others spoke fondly of him now. And I knew it would not sit well with them without reason, and my speculations would not yet be enough. I would need to watch him closely and seek my opportunity.

Their smuggling venture had apparently been quite lucrative, yielding a great deal of good Cuban tobbaco, wool, and wheat in exchange for paper, shot, hardwood, and iron. They had been greeted warmly by all they encountered along the coasts of Cuba and Hispaniola, save a few local militias; and they had even managed to ally any concerns on two of those occasions with a little gold and rum. As for the rest, they had retreated rather than fight – even though they lost some cargo on one such adventure.

Alonso had been a fine asset, being the one able to slip into the towns to locate merchants willing to trade. He had often been accompanied by Julio posing as a slave, or Cudro posing as a Dutch merchant. This had led to several adventures of a different sort, which he and the others related with great relish. Apparently, small Spanish towns were just rife with wayward maidens and lads ripe for the plucking, along with the occasional lonely widow or soldier. That part of his new life I could see Alonso taking to quite well. He had never been as discerning about his lovers as he was his attire.

And there was a time when I had been much like him; but that life now seemed a dream, or rather a nightmare I was relieved I could not remember in its entirety.

Other than a good-natured pull or two, Gaston and I eschewed the rum and wine flowing about the tables, and listened with feigned good cheer – at least on my part. But, as my matelot’s grip upon my hand was fierce, I thought his ease with the situation also false.

Agnes happily sketched the men while Rucker plied them with questions. Christine sat in the shadows somewhat apart from the rest and listened to their tales with barely-concealed longing, in mockery of her dismissing her need for adventure as a girlish fancy.

Gaston at last decided he should look in on Sarah, as Striker and Pete had not yet returned. He kissed me and left, and I watched him walk to the stairs with a suddenly lonely heart. I was not long alone, though; Liam appeared at my side and motioned that we should retreat further from the others.

“You have seemed still in the grips of mourning this eve,” I said carefully when we were alone enough to be able to speak without fear of being overheard.

He nodded slowly. “Aye, it’s been right hard. It not be the same without him. Near twelve years and then… I feel like I be missin’ me shadow. An’ I see no end in sight. I thought the rovin’ would distract me some, ya know? But nay, it just made it worse.” He frowned and studied me speculatively. “I canna’ see takin’ on another.”

I nodded my understanding. From what he had told me at Otter’s death, his beloved Dutch matelot was the only man he had ever been with, and Liam did not feel he favored men so much as companionship.

“So what will you do?” I asked.

He sighed. “That be the thing o’ it. I been plannin’ on speakin’ with Striker ’bout my na’ goin’ rovin’ this time, but… the thought o’ goin’ to the Point alone is a dismal thing. An’…” He frowned at me again. “There be a thing we ’eard tell of. An’ it makes me think I should na’ abandon me friends.”

“What?” I breathed.

“There be some talk among the crew of a prize on yur matelot’s head.

An Striker’s.” He studied me intently.

“Aye,” I sighed. I sighed again as I realized how very lucky Pete and Striker had been this autumn: if the men on the Queen had known of the bounty before they sailed, every buccaneer on the island had surely been apprised of the matter for months, and yet no attempt had been made on Striker. Perhaps it was not luck: perhaps no member of the Brethren would ever stoop to such a thing.