Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (43 page)

I wondered at that, as I thought of who I was at that age, before Shane, before so many of the events which shaped my current demeanor. Would our meeting have carried the same weight then?

Would we have recognized one another at all, and would we have mattered to one another as much as we did now without the years of experience? I thought not, though I was sure I would have been infatuated with him even then.

“Oui,” I said. “But I feel he would have kept me in England if I had not been tutored. Until I was expelled from all of the English schools of course.”

“Do you feel you would have…?” He stopped and laughed. “What am I saying? I have seen how you interact with others now; you would have been in more trouble than I, as you would have argued with every instructor.”

We laughed. “Other than my birth into a noble house, which afforded me an education and the parentage of wolves, I view being blessed with Mister Rucker as my tutor as the most fortuitous occurrence in my life. And then there is you.” I immediately regretted adding that last, even though it was true.

He stopped and regarded me sharply. “You view making my acquaintance as a fortuitous thing?”

“I am pleased to meet another of my kind.”

He was quiet and went back to chopping. I took this as my cue to move more wood. He was waiting for me when I returned.

“Tell me about this Rucker.”

So I sat in the shade and told him of my tutor and my happy childhood prior to Shane.

“How old were you when you went to school?” I asked after another wood trip.

“Seven. I had a tutor of sorts before then.”

“Why then? Was it a tradition in your family?”

“My mother died.” He did not look as sure of that reason as the flatness of his tone had indicated.

Having learned more of him every hour, I passed on the obvious questions and asked, “How many schools?”

With a relieved sigh, he listed the schools he had attended and why he left each one, which almost always involved his fighting and marking or maiming some other nobleman’s son. There was one exception, and that was the academy in Geneva that he set fire to. This amused me no end, and we discovered that we had indeed met some of the same individuals over the course of our lives. In one instance, I was able to relate how a certain Marquis’ son had told me he received a long scar upon his left arm in a duel. He had not told me it had occurred at the age of ten and that he had been fighting a redheaded demon half his size with a table knife. This amused Gaston greatly, even more so when I told him I had maimed the man’s other arm in a duel after bedding the boy he was enamored with, a promising young musician.

At length he completed his list of institutions. “And so I ended up with the monks when I was fifteen, and it was considered a punitive measure; but I rather enjoyed it.”

“What order?”

“Franciscan.”

“I was afraid you would say Jesuit.”

“Non, these were a quiet lot, not prone to scheming or traveling.

They had a vineyard. If events had not transpired as they did, I would have returned and joined them.”

“Truly?” At first I could not see him as a monk; and then I knew I could, and it might have been a happy existence for him, but for one detail. “I thought you are not a man of faith.”

“I had faith enough then.”

“That was before the event… So it robbed you of your faith. I am sorry.” I apologized not out of sympathy for his loss of faith, but for disobeying his request and mentioning the matter.

He understood, as he did not appear to take umbrage or give me a warning look. “Oui. God failed me, and in time I realized it was because He did not exist… or does not care.”

“I know all of my teary prayers in the dark were never answered,” I said. “But I feel some of that is because I never possessed true faith.”

“What were you praying for?”

“Deliverance from evil…I…” I realized I did not want to discuss that, and took another load of wood to the pits. I was concerned that he would not take my cue and leave the matter be; but I need not have worried.

“How big is the pile?” he asked when I returned.

“In my estimation, it looks as big as it was last night, and we made it through the night with wood to spare.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired; I have not napped today. But my bowels seem content for the time being.”

“Then let us return and you can sleep.”

“That sounds agreeable.”

We gathered our things. He paused before we started on the little path I had made through the trees.

“All of your scars are on the inside, are they not?” he asked.

I nodded. “Not so severe as yours, I feel.”

“Why? Because they may not have involved as much bodily pain?”

I hesitated, but decided the words were correct. “I do not feel my tribulations drove me mad.”

He displayed the hint of a smile. “I was mad before, Will; I just did not succumb to it with the ease I do now.”

I thought of what he had related concerning his school history and realized he was most probably correct. My problems remained seemingly miniscule in comparison with what he had suffered, though.

“I still feel I make something out of nothing sometimes,” I said.

“Perhaps we will compare notes some day, when we both feel capable of the endeavor.”

I could not help myself: I embraced him. He returned it, and we stood for a while holding one another; until he released me abruptly and led us to camp without another word or look. I did not feel slighted by this. We found they had floated the North Wind, and on the morrow they would reload the cannon and ready her to sail. Bradley was curious as to when the boucan would be completed, and Liam assured him we could pack it in sacks by the next evening. This seemed to please our captain, and we knew we would sail the day after next. After the pleasant day I had just spent, I was not enamored with returning to the confines of the ship; so I vowed to relax and make the most of the time we had left on land. I slept happily on solid ground.

I woke in the dark with weight on my back and an arm around me.

The fear closed in, and I was almost in the closest boucan pit before I realized my assailant was Gaston. I crawled back to him sheepishly. He was awake now, and I could see his concern in the dim light of the pit coals.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I forgot.”

I nodded and lay next to him again, in the same position but not touching. I felt his hand on my back.

“It is all right. It has passed,” I whispered, not wanting to discuss it once again.

His hand moved, and he began to rub along my spine and then out to my shoulders with a feathery caress. I was surprised he was touching me, or for that matter had lain with me of his own accord. It held great promise. I smiled to myself and rolled onto my belly and turned my head to regard him.

“Feel welcome to continue that,” I whispered.

He smiled and increased his efforts, and I sighed contentedly.

“I am truly sorry,” he said.

“I know. It will not be a problem if I know it is you. If I am surprised, as in waking, then I am gripped by panic and…”

He was nodding. “I will lie in front of you unless you are awake.”

In time I calmed and was lulled back to contented sleep by his caress.

We woke as we had the day before, with lazy contentment. The pile of firewood was adequate to finish out the day, and we would begin to cool and bag the boucan in the afternoon. This left us with little to do, and we strolled to the beach to walk in the surf with our muskets across our shoulders.

I took in the blue sky, bluer sea, and stretch of white sand. “I could grow accustomed to this.”

He chuckled. “It is endurable.”

“Some would liken it to paradise.”

“As long as they are on the beaches and there is a breeze. I personally prefer the Alps.”

“Truly? They have a charm and beauty, majesty really, but there is that snow and cold to contend with.”

“I am fond of snow and cold. Not being about in it, but being within when it is without. One cannot appreciate warmth until there is cold to give it meaning.”

“That is true of many things. Do you think you will ever see the Alps again?”

He shook his head. “Non. I think I will die here.”

I regarded him sharply, as there was a tone to his statement that sat uneasy with me.

He shrugged. “There are no old buccaneers. They either become planters or they die.”

“There are places to go in the world other than France, if you did not wish to remain here.”

“And live like this?”

I thought about it and grinned. Here we were, two armed men, walking down a beach with nary a care. We could do whatever suited our fancy, as long as it did not impinge upon the livelihood of our fellow buccaneers. If we decided not to board the ship on the morrow, they would not attempt to stop us. We were free to do as we pleased, bound only by the dictates of our bodies. The only laws of man we need obey, we had a say in the making of and could take or leave as we chose. For all other concerns, might made right; and if we were not strong enough to do as we pleased alone, we could choose to band with others or we could change our objectives. I could think of no place else in the world where this would be the case.

“So we endure all of this for freedom,” I said.

“I have heard it always has its cost; but those who speak of it thus are usually the leaders of nations and sending others off to war.”

I smirked. “The wolves always know what is best for the sheep. I should know; I feel the need to herd them and as you have pointed out, I am not even a wolf.”

“I think it is more that you feel the urge to shepherd them. And they like to be herded.”

“Spoken like a wolf,” I teased.

“If they did not wish to be sheep, they would become wolves.”

As I had thought the same many times myself, I agreed with him.

My mind was still working over an earlier turn to our conversation. “So what do centaurs do with their lives?”

“Hide in caves.”

“Oui, but when that grows dull.”

“Become shepherds and physicians and train great heroes.”

“Are we hiding in a cave?”

“Oui, and in truth, Will, now that you are here I feel no need to leave it.” My heart swelled and ached much as my manhood always did, but unlike a cock there is no easy way to relieve the pressure in the heart.

One is either filled to overflowing with an intensity of feeling or one is not, and it does not matter whether the emotion is pleasurable or not: it feels the same either way, and it was not comfortable. I wondered if perhaps there was some pleasured release of the heart that no one ever spoke of, because few had experienced it and they kept the secret for only the most enlightened. Or perhaps the wise avoided the pressure by practicing temperance in all emotions, including love. I found that a melancholy thought and discarded it. I wanted to feel what I felt for him now, uncomfortable or not.

I was madly in love with him. I loved his demeanor and humor, which were so well matched with my own. I loved his mind and the excellence of the thoughts that occurred within. I loved his scarred body, as it bespoke a strength I could not equal and could only admire. I loved his husky voice, as it made every conversation a thing of intimacy.

I even loved his reticence concerning all things carnal, as it made me his first and would allow me to discover him. And in a less than becoming manner, I even loved his madness, as it made me useful to him.

“I am honored,” I said quietly.

He was frowning in thought at the undertow burying his feet. He looked up to me and smiled.

“What do you feel centaurs should do?”

“Be with other centaurs.”

“And when that grows dull?” He grinned.

“I do not foresee that.”

He shook his head and sighed with a smile.

“You think me foolish?” I asked.

He shook his head again. “Mad, perhaps. Definitely tending toward delusion. I am wondering what I did to deserve you, and thinking that I am the one who is honored.”

“I wish my heart could come,” I blurted. He frowned with consternation and so I explained about how I was uncomfortably swollen with emotion.

“I know that feeling,” he said soberly. “I feel it.”

“Then what do you do?”

“Kill something,” he said with a nod.

I blinked.

He shrugged. “It is usually not a pleasant emotion I find myself filled with.”

“And now? Do you feel it now?”

“Oui. It is pleasant. I have no name for it. Can you name yours?”

“Oui.” I bit my lip. I was hesitant to speak it, as I had always been soundly rebuked for it before. “Love.”

He took a long breath and studied the horizon. I cringed inwardly.

“You are sure?” he asked.

“Oui.”

“You have felt this before?”

“Oui, and it has gone unanswered… every time.”

His eyes were filled with trepidation when they found mine. “Not this time.”

I took a long ragged breath. I moved my musket to my left hand and embraced him with my right. He did likewise, and once again we stood holding one another for awhile.

“Do not leave me,” he whispered.

“I will not.”

“I will try to make you.”

I frowned and held him tighter. “You will not succeed.”

“You are sure?”

“I cannot foresee any act that you could commit or thing that you would say that could drive me from you.” I was lying, but he did not challenge me on it.

That night we took turns rubbing one another’s backs, and we slept curled together in the smoke. It was as close to paradise as I have ever achieved.

I prayed the Gods would not be cruel.

Wherein We Explore Jealousy

The next day, a large frigate sailed past around midday. She was at a good distance, and our men were not been sure if she sighted us.

We moved as if she had anyway. Since the cannon had been loaded that morn, and all else was in readiness, we packed the boucan with haste, and we set sail a day early. This proved to be a prudent measure. When the other ship came round again, she was bearing for our location. With winds thankfully in our favor, we were easily able to sail out and away from her. We were not sure of her intent, as she flew French colors. It was best we outran her, which the North Wind seemed capable of doing, Gaston and I knelt at the gunwale and watched our pursuer. “Do you recognize her? Could she be the Josephine?” I asked.