Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (16 page)

I may vomit as I have done in the past.”

“I will be here.” He smiled reassuringly. “And I will clean it up before anyone sees.”

I nodded, and tried to recall the feeling he had engendered by touching me there. I thankfully could not reclaim it in its entirety, but I could find enough of it to lead me to the memories it had brought to life. I ignored all the other emotions and thoughts that went with Shane’s assaults, and concentrated on the ephemeral recollection of the sensations. I found it.

“Shane hit it with his cock when he entered me,” I said. “Rammed it actually. Many times.”

“You did not throw up,” Gaston said.

I smiled and crawled to him. “Non, I did not. I did then, though, once. He hit me for that.”

Gaston embraced me, and I was relieved I found comfort in it and not more phantom memories.

“Do you think he ever realized how much you loved him?” he asked.

“And that your love is the only thing that stood between him and death?”

“Non, I do not. I think he thinks I am weak and never posed a threat to him.” Then I truly heard his words and my shame transmuted to wonder. “Thank you, for reminding me how I should perceive it.”

“I am glad I can serve some purpose. I am sorry,” he whispered.

I shook my head.

“Even if my error was inadvertent, it caused you pain, and for that I am sorry. We will avoid that spot,” he added solemnly.

“I think that wise,” I chuckled. “I do not understand how Alonso avoided it.”

He frowned and nodded thoughtfully. “We need to discover that.”

I marveled again at how very calm he was, yet this was not the mask he wore when he tended the wounded. This was another face of his Horse.

“I wish you could see yourself as I see you now,” I whispered. “Then you would never call yourself evil.”

He held me tighter, and eventually we moved to the bed, where I was reasonably sure we did not muss the sheets, as we were clean and did nothing but embrace one another.

We woke to a knock on the door. Gaston sprang from where he was sleeping on my chest. The sudden lack of heat was chilling. I grabbed the weapon beside the pillow and opened my eyes to find my matelot on his knees above me with a pistol pointed at the door. I recalled where we were, slowly. It seemed quite bright out. Gaston seemed a trifle wild-eyed. I wondered if he had been wakened from a dream.

“It is assuredly the maid,” I whispered, then called to the door,

“Aye?”

“It is Hannah, sirs. Will you want the morning meal?” She had a husky voice and a strong accent, but her English was proper and well enunciated.

“We will be down,” I said, as cheerfully as I could manage.

Gaston slumped to my chest.

“A little tense this morning, are we?” I whispered.

He glared at me and sighed. Then he touched my neck and grimaced.

My fingers went to the mark he had left last night, and I became acutely aware of how sore it was. Now that I thought on it, I realized I could feel the throbbing in my neck. I probed along the edges and found it was larger than I expected. I would not be hiding it. This pleased me. Here with him, it was not a thing to be ashamed of, but a badge of honor.

He slid up my chest to kiss me with gentle mirth. “I am truly sorry,” he chuckled. “I did not mean to do so much. I should prepare a poultice.” The more he spoke, the funnier he seemed to find the situation.

I grabbed his head quite firmly and pulled his neck to my mouth. He submitted, even though I knew he was not naïve as to my goal. I licked and then bit; and he made a contented sound, and shifted to provide me better access. I did not attempt to cover as much territory as he had, but I did leave him well marked. Once finished, I felt pride in the damage I had done.

“I have never exchanged those with a man before,” I said.

This pleased him, but he frowned. “So you have with a woman?”

He pushed himself off me and I pulled myself up the headboard to sit. He returned to sit astride my legs. He was semi-turgid with the need to relieve himself, just as I was. Still, the sight of him not being completely flaccid caused a true stir in my manhood. I suppressed a sigh.

“Oui,” I smiled. “I once connived to start mischief with one. I marked a lady upon her bosom whilst she was drunk. Her husband thought far more had occurred than had, though I had done little more than kiss her and leave the mark.”

“Were you forced to duel with him, or was that your intent?” he asked with amusement.

“Non, my intent was to cause her angst. She had trifled with the affections of a friend of mine. Her husband cared not what she did, as long as she was discreet. He was furious. Her season was ruined, as he sent her away to their winter home, right in the midst of the very best parties and balls.”

He smiled. “You are an angel of justice.”

“Perhaps, but I do not mete out the Gods’ justice, merely my own.”

“That alone should strike terror into the hearts of wise men.”

I grinned. “Non, if they are truly wise then they need not fear me.”

He fingered his neck. “That is an interesting sensation. It is quite pleasant to receive.”

“You did not realize that before you did it to me?” I teased.

“I assumed it was not wholly unpleasant, as I have seen many men wearing the results.” He grinned. “I have assumed a great many things I have not experienced to be pleasant, and with you I have found my assumptions well-founded.”

I slid my hands up his thighs and regarded him with a touch of wonder. “You are in a rare mood this morn, non?”

He gazed into my eyes thoughtfully. “I am greatly confused and troubled about all things, except you, yet you seem to be the catalyst for all of my woe.”

“I am sorry. You are the balm for all of mine.”

Guilt suffused him. “I did not mean...”

“Non, non. Neither did I.”

He kissed my forehead and crawled off me and then the bed. He was now very far away, despite the small size of the room. I cursed myself roundly for precipitating this change in his demeanor, as I was most surely the cause of it. In my consternation, the entire list of all the reasons I might feel angst recited itself. I forced myself to follow him from the bed and dress.

I discovered several onion bottles of water outside our door. We moved them inside, and drank most of one before slipping down the back stairs. We performed our morning necessaries in the yard, and ventured back into the house to find Theodore eating his meal. We joined him, and Hannah quickly brought us plates and food. Mistress Theodore was not about, and as women with child are often not about in the early hours, I did not ask.

Theodore inquired politely as to our plans for the day, and whether they still involved traveling to Ithaca.

I answered truthfully. “I do not know if I should have anything to do with Ithaca, as I feel I have abandoned it already,” I said slowly. “I would rather return to Negril and be done with the matter.”

“That will not do,” Theodore said sadly. “Will, though that land is to be granted to one John Williams, if he is not, in truth, the Viscount of Marsdale, and thus the Earl of Dorshire’s heir, and therefore someone the Governor would curry favor with…” He trailed off.

He needed to say no more.

“I understand,” I said. “I assume some question of identity and legality might put all of the land grants there into question.”

“Precisely.” He nodded to himself. “There is a thing I would have you read.”

He went to his office and returned with a letter which he handed to me. I recognized my father’s hand. It was dated the same as the one I had received announcing his marriage agenda for me. I regarded Theodore curiously.

“Read it,” he said.

“I would not have you break a confidence.”

He sighed heavily, and pushed his plate aside to lean on the table with both elbows and rub his temples. “I have come to admire you, Will.

I would rather I was in your employ and not your father’s. Yet, if that were to be, then I would not be able to offer you the services I can, such as this. Read the damn letter.”

I was touched. “I am honored to be held in so high a regard.”

He snorted and pointed at the missive.

I read. Theodore had been correct; my father’s words to me had been far friendlier. Theodore was a man in his employ, and this was business, and thus the Earl of Dorshire wrote accordingly. It minded me quite firmly that the two men had never met, and that my father would never treat a man of less than noble birth as his equal. He was a wolf, after all. In the letter, the Earl of Dorshire made it perfectly clear that Theodore was to do all in his power to secure his son’s capitulation to his aims, lest the whole endeavor be for naught. Though he would never state it so to Theodore, or expect him to even know there were difficulties between us, in this letter, my father told my cynical eyes that unless the plantation could be used as a means of keeping me on Jamaica, he intended to abandon the endeavor. He tasked Theodore with preparing a suitable dwelling for a lady to inhabit long enough to produce an heir, and then he implied that said lady might not stay on Jamaica, as he wished any heirs to return to England where it was safer and healthier.

I finished the letter with poison in my heart.

“He wishes for me to stand at stud so that he may have an heir, and he hopes fervently that I will not live to return to England,” I told them.

“I think that a bit harsh,” Theodore said.

“You do not know my father.”

“Would you give him a child?” Gaston asked in French as he finished the last page.

I answered in kind. “As you cannot give birth, nor I, I have little interest in…” And then I understood what he truly asked. I thought of my own hellish upbringing in my father’s house. “Non. I would not subject another to that, especially not my own flesh and blood.”

Gaston nodded with a small smile. “We do not need his money.”

Nay, we did not, and Gaston’s father’s guilt over his son’s hellish upbringing was to thank for that.

I returned to English and asked Theodore, “How much does my father pay you?”

He shook his head quickly. “That is not a concern.”

“We have the means to exceed it,” I said.

“I know, but if I take your coin, then I am in your employ, and as I noted, then I may not be as useful to you, as your father would need to hire another agent here, and we would have to deal with whoever that might be on matters of the plantation and anything else your father wishes. This person might not be as friendly with the governor.”

I studied him and found him resolved. He was suggesting a thing that I knew was not in keeping with the ethical parameters of the practice of English law.

“You work for my father, but you are my friend,” I said solemnly.

He appeared relieved that I understood. “Someday, someone may claim that my interests are conflicted,” he said carefully.

“If that is to occur, I will do whatever you advise in order to dispel the notion. What can I do to aid in that now?”

He sighed yet again, and smiled ruefully. “I am sorry, Will, I do not mean to be an added burden, but it would be best from my perspective, and the perspective of several others – though Striker stands well with many here on his own accord – but for the rest, it would be best if you did your father’s bidding, only insomuch as is required to get him to sign the plantation over to you. Then, for all intents, my business with him would be finished. I realize, of course, this could be perceived as a ploy on my part to elicit what your father seeks anyway, but truly it is not. It merely happens to run concurrent to your father’s aims. I would also be relieved of this burden if he disinherits you. Then I would be pleased to be in your employ whether you are a Viscount or not. But I truly feel you, and all concerned, would be better off in the long run if you were to produce an heir and gain the plantation and all that it implies. For now, at least, no matter what your eventual goals or plans might be.”

“As always, I trust you to have my best interests at heart,” I said.

I looked to my matelot. His eyes met mine, and I could see he was thinking a great deal.

“We have much to discuss,” I added. “Thank you for this.” I handed Theodore the letter.

“I am sorry, Will,” he said solemnly.

We returned upstairs to gather our things.

“I do not wish to discuss it now,” Gaston said once we were alone. “I feel we should follow our regimen, and speak of it all when we are more relaxed in spirit.”

I had to concur. My thoughts were not pleasant, and I could only imagine his. “The ride will improve my spirit considerably. What of you?

Should we spar, or perform calisthenics?”

He thought on it. “I feel the ride might serve for me as well, but we will not have a chance for privacy afterwards.”

“Thus we should attend to my treatment now,” I sighed.

I soon found myself arse up across his lap on the bed. His preparatory kiss had done little to shake my mood, and as his fingers began their work, my mind twisted along bramble-filled trails while I submitted to his ministrations.

I pondered submission. It was easier, was it not, to submit? It brought peace, even if one lost; it still brought an end to war if one merely laid down one’s arms. But I did not want to lose. I did not want my father or any other to triumph over me.

But was I not teaching myself to submit gracefully with this daily regimen? Nay, I refused to name it such. I was doing battle. I was dueling with the ghost of Shane in this. And the exquisite discomfort Gaston wrought was akin to the ache in my legs during a deep lunge.

I envisioned Shane at the tip of my blade, eyes wide with surprise that my reach exceeded his, and the knowledge that I would someday defeat him. This image filled me with peace.

“You are doing well today, Will,” Gaston whispered reassuringly. “I have two fingers within you.”

I grinned. I would drive the blade through Shane’s heart on the day Gaston entered me in truth. I anticipated that moment with renewed vigor, not driven by lust, but by pride.

We finally gathered our things and departed for the wherry landing, by way of Lime and the length of Thames, as we needed to pay a visit to the gunsmith. As always, Massey was pleased to see us, and we left our muskets and several pistols with him to be inspected and repaired before we sailed. Then we wandered through the markets and shops.