Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (71 page)

Gaston sighed raggedly and slumped over my belly, much as he had when his father spoke with him when I was brought to this bed.

“Do you remember your father speaking to you, here?” I asked.

He nodded. “I have been thinking I dreamed it. And…” He shook his head. “So everyone… I did not wish to look at anyone when we tended your wound. I thought they all spoke to me because of you… that…”

“No one hates you,” I said kindly. “You are loved. Even now.”

He sobbed.

Agnes had found the bottle and she now stood beside the bed gazing at him with sympathy. She extended her hand, but stopped and glanced to me. I nodded reassuringly, and she sat and rubbed his back.

“No one hates you,” she whispered.

“Why?” he growled, and he rose to look at her with the Horse’s eyes at its worst. “Why? I raped her! I would do the same to you!”

She left the bed and stood beside it. Her eyes did not leave him, but they did not fill with fear, either: rather her surprise transmuted to curiosity.

I tightened my grip on his hand, but as he was already grinding my bones to dust with both of his, I felt there was little danger he would release me and reach for her across my body.

“You damn women!” he was growling. “You do not care! You only want to be fucked! You do not care what trouble it will cause!”

She began to frown.

“Agnes!” I snapped. “This is his madness talking.”

She nodded.

“Oui, I am mad,” he snarled at me. “But you are madder! Why do you wish for me to marry one of them? Why?”

“Because I love you,” I said calmly.

“Why? Why are you so intelligent and wise in all things but that?” he roared. “Why can you not see me as I am?”

I smiled sadly. “My love, why can you not accept that you are worthy of love?”

“Non,” he said and shook his head with a child’s stubbornness.

“Oui. Now quit thrashing about and let her give me that damn laudanum. Tell her how much to use.”

He closed his eyes tightly and sobbed, rocking back and forth as he attempted to control himself.

I glanced back at her. She was watching him with wide but sympathetic eyes. I was very proud of her. We, in the end – and the beginning – had chosen well. It remained to be seen if she would feel the same, though.

“Agnes,” I said kindly. “He will recover. Please bring that over.”

She nodded, and came to the head of the bed and perched on the edge again. She began to pour the drug into the mixing cup, and I could see it was far more than either of us should have.

“Nay, half that,” Gaston said quickly before I could speak.

She nodded, and poured some back in the bottle, and proffered the new amount for his inspection. He nodded. She mixed it with water and gave it to me.

“Now the same for me,” he said calmly.

She did the same thing and handed him the little cup. He downed his dose quickly and returned the cup to her. She set it and the bottle next to the water on the night table.

“I will tell everyone you are still… not well enough for guests, yet.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“I am sorry,” Gaston said and pawed tears away.

She shook her head and chewed on her lip. “So…” She frowned and sighed. “Nay, now is not the time. I will go.” She stood.

“For what?” I asked.

She flushed. “To speak of arrangements,” she sighed. “I am being…

selfish.” This brought a deeper frown and blush.

“What arrangements?” I asked.

“For the wedding,” she said with a sigh. “I would not have you think I am a silly chit, though. It can wait.” She turned and headed for the door.

“Here,” Gaston said with a ragged breath. “See if Theodore or my father can arrange for the wedding to be here in the house. I do not wish to go to a church.” He stopped and gazed at her with concern. “Unless you feel it must be in the church and…”

“Nay, nay,” she said quickly. “I will see what can be done.”

“Thank you,” he breathed. “I am not so… Will knows what to do when I am like that. I am not like that as often as I used to be… before Will.”

She nodded. “You are like a very angry dog. I will just stand still if it happens again.”

“I would not hurt you,” he said quickly. “Truly… not even the worst parts of me wish to harm you. But I say things sometimes…”

She nodded. “You are just barking. I trust you.” She came quickly to the bed to lean across me and kiss his forehead. Then she leaned over and kissed mine. “Everything will be fine,” she assured us. When she was back at that door, she paused and turned to add, “I will keep everyone out and see to things.” Then she was gone.

I smiled with relief.

Gaston regarded me with tears filling his eyes yet again.

“See,” I chided gently. “You could not even drive her away. You are cursed to be surrounded by stupid people.”

With a sob, he threw himself down beside me and buried his face in my shoulder to cry.

I murmured sweet things of great import but little coherence to him until the drug at last took us both.

I next woke from a pleasant dream I could not remember. I thought it odd that I was sure it was so very pleasant, and it seemed to permeate all I perceived. I gazed with bleary eyes upon the flicker of lamplight upon the ceiling, and found it warm and cheerful. Likewise, I found comfort in the snoring and the murmurs of unseen voices from the dark beyond the door. My matelot lay next to me, on his back with his limbs spread wide in trusting sleep. And that same trust was what had walked with me into the world of the living from the land of dreams. Though my shoulder ached fiercely, my mouth was parched, my head throbbed, my stomach rumbled, and someone plotted in the night nearby, I felt no discomfort or worry of the heart or soul. All was well with the world, and I need but address each little problem one at a time.

“Hello?” I croaked.

The door swung open, and Agnes stepped into the light, followed by Theodore and Striker. I smiled at them and they seemed very pleased to see me.

“Water,” I rasped.

Agnes sat on the edge of the bed and raised my head to help me drink from the tankard of cool water she proffered. I gulped it greedily, thinking it was the best I had ever tasted. To her surprise, I drained the cup dry.

“Should I get more?” she asked.

“In a moment,” I said with more my usual voice. “What is being discussed?”

Striker and Theodore pulled up chairs and sat: Theodore like a proper gentleman, Striker straddling his with his chest to its back, as ever seemed to be his wont.

“Morgan has sailed for Cow Island. The Oxford should already be there,” Striker said.

It took several moments to remember who Morgan was and what an

Oxford was, and then determine why either had any bearing upon me.

“So we should sail soon.”

“Aye,” Striker said and pointed at my matelot with a questioning look.

“He will be fine,” I assured him.

“To be elected surgeon?” Striker asked.

“To be married on the morrow?” Theodore asked.

The calm of the dream still lapped at me, and I thought of my matelot’s earlier behavior – with Agnes, and more importantly before she returned.

“We will manage,” I said with surety.

“And how are you?” Theodore asked. “I told the priest you cannot possibly go to the church… But can you go downstairs?”

“I will manage. Now, however, I wish for a little food and more of the drug.”

Agnes gave me another dose: carefully measuring the amount Gaston had indicated before. Then she hurried out in search of food.

“So they will marry?” Theodore asked once she was gone.

I nodded. “She saw him at his… well, not worst, but she surely saw his madness, and still she wishes to proceed. And so does he.”

Striker sighed with relief. “She will be so much better than that damn blonde.”

“What happened with Christine?” I asked.

“Pete hit her good,” Striker said with a sigh, “and then trussed her up in the parlor. The Marquis had his men take her to his ship, bundled up on the floor of a carriage. She is good and angry.”

“We all think it is best if she simply disappears,” Theodore said.

“I would not have her dead, unless there is no way to calm her…” I said with unease.

“Nay, nay,” Theodore said quickly. “From the island: disappears from the island. The Marquis will take her to France with him. And then…

Well, he did not say what he would do with her there. I suppose it will depend on whether she calms.” He sighed. “I am curious as to what I should tell Sir Christopher, though.”

“I do not know,” I said sadly. “I suppose he should be told the Marquis is taking her to France – after they sail.”

“To what end?” Theodore asked. “If Gaston will have married Agnes, it will be obvious he will not marry her.”

“We will have to speak with the Marquis, but I would have you tell that fat bastard Vines that the whereabouts and deportment of his daughter is the Marquis’ business now.”

“He would not take that well,” Theodore said with a smile. “And I am sure he will be contacting her mother’s family in France.”

I sighed. “I suppose I will never know now how her mother came to marry that fool. But, aye, you are correct, and… so we should speak with the Marquis and ask what he intends to do with her in France. If he is turning her over to her family there, it will not matter. But I cannot see where we will want her telling the French court of this matter.”

“Why?” Striker asked. “She would just be ruining herself by doing that. And why should you care what they say about Gaston in the French court?”

“Well,” Theodore chided. “The Marquis might care what is said of his son there, as it would reflect poorly upon him.”

I looked at my sleeping matelot and knew there was another reason we might care. “Gaston might go there someday.”

Striker snorted with amusement until he met my gaze. He sobered.

“Would he really want that?”

I sighed. “Not the life at court, but the life like his father’s: that will require it, on occasion.”

Striker frowned and studied my matelot.

“I know it is difficult to envision,” I said with a smile. “But someday, when we are older.”

“Nay,” Striker said. “I don’t doubt it. It’s just… I don’t like to think about… when we’re older. I think about my son, and I think about watching him grow to be a man; but I don’t see myself in those fancies as being any older or different than I am now.” He smirked at his foolishness.

Theodore chuckled. “You will likely be a wealthy merchant with a fine plantation and a seat on the council when you’re older.” He frowned suddenly. “Unless this other matter cannot be resolved.”

Striker grimaced and finally grinned. “If that’s my future, I’m not sure I want the other matter resolved. Pete would never stand for it.” But I could see he lied somewhat. His eyes had brightened as Theodore said it.

I let him have his delusions. “And what do you envision of your future?” I asked Theodore.

He was still frowning, and seemed lost in thought. He sighed at my question. “I used to think I would be a wealthy barrister with a plantation and a seat on the council.”

“Has your friendship with me truly ruined that?” I asked.

“Nay,” he said with a sad smile. “But my principles and convictions surely have.” He chuckled ruefully. “Even if this matter is resolved with your father, I have now made enemies.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Striker said kindly. “Modyford wants to return to England.”

“Aye, but who will take his place?” Theodore asked archly. “I would bet money on Lynch, and he dislikes the Brethren and anyone who associates with them.”

“You can come to France with us someday,” I offered with a grin.

Theodore sighed. “I would have to learn French, and study the law all over again.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully and finally smiled. “But who can say what the future holds.” He stood. “I should return home. I will see you on the morrow for the ceremony.”

I was saddened by his apparent mood, as I stood between the ebb tide of my pleasant dream and the incoming wave of the drug. I felt as if we were all things tossed ashore to be burned in incessant light; and I was minded of a thought I had once had, that no one arrived on Jamaica except through that means. We were all flotsam cast away from somewhere to bob upon the sea until we reached this distant shore by happenstance.

Striker was thoughtful as we watched Theodore leave.

“It can’t be as bad as all that,” he said to me after the door closed.

“We’ve all been well enough these last months. They’ve been hatching their plots, but we’ve seen none of it.”

I wondered why he wished to cling to the bliss of ignorance. “I had not returned to town and failed to put the wife out,” I said. “Nor had I tried to renounce my title. Now they must hatch new plots, or await orders from those who do. It merely buys us time.”

Agnes returned with a bowl of soup and some bread. Striker stood and moved so she could come to the bed and sit to help me eat. I felt somewhat helpless: my right arm hurt too much to move, and my left was pinned by my matelot. And the drug was beginning to pull me under.

“I can’t believe it will all end because I married your sister,” Striker said. “I knew things would change, and I almost lost Pete, but…

everything is well now.”

“I am sorry,” I said.

“I don’t blame you,” he said.

I knew he did not. I blamed myself, and my father.

“When do you wish to sail?” I asked.

“I want to board tomorrow night, and sail the morning after.” He grimaced in anticipation of my response, and I thought he had probably been wincing at people’s reactions every time he spoke of it.

Tomorrow night seemed an eternity away with the drug tugging at me. Yet, I knew there was much we must accomplish: things that must be packed and possibly purchased. I would be of no use, and Agnes would not know all my matelot wanted.

“Let me have the key.” I watched to see if Striker would hesitate. He frowned, but pulled it from about his neck and brought it to me without pause. I silently cursed my doubt. Since that fateful night in Porto Bello, he had not crossed us once. I wondered what he must do to earn my trust again.