Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (72 page)

Agnes accepted it from him, as I did not have a hand to grasp it with.

“Thank you. Put it in my sling, please,” I told her and looked to Striker. “He will either be ready to sail and be surgeon tomorrow, or he will not. If he is, there is much that must be done and I do not want us to need to find you.”

Striker frowned at Gaston and then looked to me. “I spoke to Farley.”

I sighed. “Will he sail?”

“Aye. I told him Gaston wished to be surgeon, but I was not sure if he could manage it this voyage.”

I thought on it, slowly, as the drug was washing over me now. We liked the young physician. “I would not have him lose the money he might earn for the position if he sailed on another vessel, but it would be best if he were there in case Gaston cannot perform the duties for whatever reason. Yet, Gaston must be surgeon if…”

“Aye, I agree, Farley even agrees,” Striker said with a smile. “He says he’s looking forward to sailing with Gaston again – to learn from him.

Perhaps you can make some arrangement: pay him the money he would have earned. You don’t need it; at least I assume you don’t. He has a young wife. I feel he’d be agreeable to that. And aye, your matelot must be surgeon if you and he are to stay out of the fighting. Though there are those who’ll question you sitting about behind the lines, especially since we’ll have two surgeons.”

“They will do as they will,” I sighed tiredly. “We are ever being questioned.”

He sighed heavily. “Well, not to add to it, but… If he’s to be wandering about tomorrow, keep him from Sarah.”

“What?” I asked, and even Agnes gazed up at him with surprise.

“She forgives what he did on account of his being mad,” Striker said carefully. “But she keeps calling him “that poor mad man”, and feeling sorry for you having to care for him. If she sees him running about as if nothing occurred…” He sighed again.

“I understand,” I said sadly. “We must meet her expectation of madness – and probably those of others as well, like Rachel – in order for them to forgive what occurred with Christine.” I sighed. “I do not know how he will be upon rising. I do not know how rapid his recovery will be.

I feel he will be able to do as he must for short periods, but he will not be well. He can act in a normal fashion even when teetering on the brink.”

“I know,” Striker said. “It’s your sister who doesn’t understand.”

I sighed again. Everything was distant now, beyond the drug: even thoughts of my sister getting that pinched look of disapproval about her mouth that my mother used to. I felt I could not both hold my head above it and talk at the same time; yet what was the point of holding my head above it at all, if not to talk? And that thought distracted me until Agnes offered me another spoonful of soup. I drank it and looked to Striker, who was watching me with concern.

I sighed and smiled. “I am drugged and not at my best for serious matters. I do not know how I will be tomorrow,” I said ruefully. “I feel the marriage must be a very small affair. I would like Theodore to witness, and you and Pete.” I looked to Agnes. “Is there any you wish to have present?”

“Sarah,” she sighed. “But I understand.”

“I am sorry, Agnes,” I said. “You are taking this all so well, and I am so very pleased. Thank you.”

She smiled and fed me more as she talked. “It is all right, and you are welcome. I will be a Comtessa. I will have a name and be a Lady. It is not a thing I would have coveted, but once I thought on it, I began to see it as some strange vindication for my father. And, I will not have to bear men like Fletcher courting me any longer. Thus, I am not worried about the wedding. Sarah is the only female friend I have now; that is why I would have her attend, but it is no matter. She is not familiar with madness. I am not, either, but I cannot see how she would understand how he was today.”

“What happened today?” Striker asked.

Agnes had shoved a spoon in my mouth before I could answer. She did not look at Striker as she spoke, and I could see her choosing her words carefully as she shrugged. “Gaston was distraught, and he yelled a bit. It was not a thing to worry about.”

“Then why would Sarah take it poorly?” Striker asked, his cursed doggedness getting the best of him again.

She met my gaze with concerned eyes; and I could see she did not know what to say and had realized she should not say much.

“He was in the grips of madness,” I said quickly. “You have seen him when he raves. He could scare the dead.”

Striker smirked. “Aye, you’re right, Sarah wouldn’t know how to face that at all. If she’s yelled at, she gets angry. And Gaston raving like he does would scare her.” He frowned. “I think some of that is due to your damn cousin.”

I grimaced. “Aye.”

He began to frown at Agnes with perplexity. As she had her back to him, she could not see it. I wished to ask him what he wanted, but I had more soup in my mouth, and I hoped he might actually let whatever it was go until another time.

Apparently he could not. “I thought you didn’t want to marry, Agnes.”

I stifled a sigh.

“Not someone like Fletcher,” she said. “I will gladly marry Gaston.

And not because of his title,” she added quickly.

“But someone told me you preferred women,” Striker said.

She flushed.

“I told him,” I grumbled. “I wished for him to leave off bothering you.”

Striker rolled his eyes, Agnes sighed.

“I feel I prefer women, but I cannot marry another woman, even if I met one that I wanted who wanted me, and…” She turned to look up at him and speak with spirit I would have applauded had I two free hands.

“As Gaston has Will, I need not worry about him always being up my skirts, or expecting me to love him as a wife would.”

I laughed at Striker’s discomfiture.

“All right, I can see that,” Striker said diffidently.

“She goes well with us, does she not?” I teased.

She smiled.

He snorted. “Aye, she goes well with the two of you. What of the other one?”

“She is not as you think, and once you get to know her – sober – she will surprise you.” But that made me consider another thing, and I regarded Agnes seriously. “I would like it if you would attempt to befriend Vivian. She is lonely, and… not so very bad.”

Agnes nodded with reluctance. “I will try.”

“Thank you, I know it appears I ask much based on what any of you have seen of her.”

Agnes nodded in fervent agreement, and I chuckled.

Striker was leaning on the bedpost, staring at some distant thought.

“If it’s as you and Theodore think it is – which I don’t doubt, I just want to doubt it – then they will all need to stand together while we’re gone.”

“Aye,” I said solemnly.

“We will be well enough,” Agnes said with a frown, as she put the now-empty soup bowl on the tray.

Striker gave a heavy sigh. “I pray you are,” he said tiredly as he walked to the door. “Tomorrow, then.”

I nodded, and he left us.

“What should we do if they do arrive to take Sarah away?” Agnes asked with a frown.

“Run and hide,” I said. “Help with a fight if it is but a small one, but if they come in force, or with the governor, or… You would be best to slip away and hide. Keep some coin on you, and…” I did not wish to consider what she spoke of any more to give her advice, and I felt the drug was making my tongue run away with me and trouble her with things best discussed calmly. But then another thought gripped me, and I knew I would not rest unless I voiced it.

“If they do come in force, they will seek Sarah, and possibly Vivian, but not you. If you can escape with either child, you would do all a great favor.”

She nodded with wide eyes that showed she well understood what I meant. “Do you think they will come?”

I spoke to reassure us both. “It is like a card game. We gamble that they will not arrive or order an attack here before we return; and truly the cards are in our favor. They will have little time to mount such an attack in person, since they cannot learn of what has transpired here for over a month, until Modyford can send a ship to England: so two months. And then it will take another two to bring their message back.

However, if they are already in route, and were merely waiting for the storm season to end, then…” I sighed.

We could guess much and guarantee nothing. If we truly loved them, we would not leave them. Yet, I knew we could probably not save them by remaining. And if we ran elsewhere, the trouble would follow us.

She touched my brow with concern. “We will be fine,” she assured me.

“You had best be,” I said, with an attempt at good humor. “Let us not dwell upon it tonight. The drug is making me weary and addled and I must rest.”

“I will stay and…”

“Nay, nay, please go and sleep. I can wake Gaston if the need arises, and if there is plenty of water in that pitcher, then he can reach all that we might need and… I have the key if he cannot.”

“All right, then,” she said and kissed my forehead. “Sleep and try not to worry.”

At my behest, she left the lamp burning low, and I lay there and watched the light waver upon the ceiling. I no longer felt the pleasant echo of my dream – whatever it had been. I was now gripped with a horrible thought that I knew would haunt me if the Gods in Their capriciousness were cruel. I would rather sacrifice all of them than lose Gaston.

I dozed, the drug allowing no other recourse despite my ugly thoughts. At least it held the mad maelstrom of the past days at bay. I did not feel threatened by my madness, but by the world’s.

Gaston finally woke some inestimable amount of time later – I only knew it was before the dawn and close to the time when my head cleared from the last dose of laudanum. With a squeeze of my hand and a light kiss – once he saw I was somewhat awake – he went about draining himself and then drinking an equal amount of water in silence. He fingered the laudanum bottle with longing, and then placed it farther from him without pouring a dose. I considered asking him for more, but I too decided against it, as there was much we must discuss.

At last he sat cross-legged on the bed beside me, eating a piece of bread, and he seemed prepared to speak.

“I love you,” I whispered.

He smiled. “How are we?”

“The pain is distant but coming closer every moment. But we must speak first. There is much I should tell you, but I must know how you are. Do the winds howl very near?”

He took a deep breath and frowned, and at last shook his head. “I am well enough to stand with you.” He seemed surprised.

“All right, let me see if I can remember it all.” But I told him first of my speaking with Agnes at the end, and my concerns and revelation.

He came to lie beside me and hold me tightly with great love. “If I truly felt we must sacrifice them all, I would not leave.” he whispered. “I do not feel that is Pete’s intent.”

I had been thinking on that. “Non, he made Sarah the king. I think he is willing to use her as bait, not sacrifice her. But, I also think he might be willing to lose the game and keep his life – and Striker’s: just as I am willing to lose if I can keep you.”

“I too place you above them,” he murmured sadly. “Even little Jamaica… as she is… sickly and…” He shook his head.

“It is troubling, non?”

“Oui.” He kissed me lightly. “But necessary. If… trouble overtakes them, they will return to Heaven. You and I…” He took a deep breath.

“So what else has been discussed? Apparently I am to be married.” He smiled ruefully.

“Oui, and we chose well.”

He nodded. “If I think of them – the women – they are all tangled together, even Agnes, but I can reason with my Horse concerning her.

She did not run. If she had run…”

“I know,” I murmured. “I was very proud of her.”

“So, must I go to the church?” he asked with resignation.

“Non, they have arranged for the marriage to be here.”

He sighed with relief and then looked away with consternation. “I do not know if I can consummate it; even here beside you on this bed. I do not think…”

I grinned and stopped his words. “You need not worry. Striker wishes for us to board tomorrow, and sail in the morning. You only need worry about standing before an election,” I added. “Farley will sail with us, and Striker feels we can offer him the money you will earn as surgeon, and he will be content not to compete for the position.”

“Of course,” Gaston said agreeably. “And by tomorrow I should be fine to stand before them – for a time. I suppose I cannot hide if I wish to be surgeon. I have been thinking on that. I must be among the men on occasion. But I can do that. I must be surgeon if the plan is to work.” He sighed, and then tensed once again. “My father…”

“Is still here and waiting to speak with you as far as I know. Can you see him?”

He nodded. “Oui.” He smiled. “I am doing well.” But those words seemed to trigger the winds rising in his eyes and he looked to me with guilt. “It is wrong, Will. I should not be doing well. I have done a horrible thing, and you are injured because of it, and… I cannot feel so...”

I saw very clearly the path he was beginning to charge down. I was not sure if the calm of a moment before had been the result of his having firm hands on the reins in an island of repose within the storm, or if– and this was a thought I found quite surprising – his Horse had been well with matters and what I saw now was his thinking all should be otherwise. He had been so very calm… I had nothing to lose.

“If you descend into madness to punish yourself, you will cause me even more pain,” I said sharply.

Startled, his eyes met mine with anger and then surprise.

“I am too drug-addled to engage in great discussion of the matter,” I said. “But, suffice it to say, that I will be damn angry with you if you give your Horse the reins and beat it into the bushes when I am wounded and we have much to recover from. If your Horse is willing to sit well over the matter, you should not drive it – or yourself – mad in an attempt to assuage your guilt.”

I saw the play of emotions across his face and the Horse in his eyes, and I smiled with a snort of amusement. “I am as surprised by the idea as you, my love,” I said softly.