Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (19 page)

I drank as much of it as I could manage. Then I curled against him and slept.

I woke to yellow light from the horizon. I was pleased to discover my head did not ache overly much. I rolled over, and found Gaston playing with the onion bottle the water had been in. He grinned when he saw I was awake, and motioned for me to join him. I received a sweet kiss for the effort of sitting up.

“What are you about?” I asked: slowly, as the words took time to think, and my mouth was slower still in producing them.

He held up the bottle, mouth down. “This is your anal passage.”

I blinked. Perhaps I was still dreaming.

“What are we discussing?” I asked.

He took a wad of hog’s fat, and stuck it to one side of the neck of the bottle, so that it formed a lump. “That is the organ inside. Thus, this side will be the front of your passageway.”

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Go on.”

He picked up a stick as long as his hand. “This is a penis.”

I was beginning to grasp what he might attempt to illustrate. I nodded.

“How did you receive the Spaniard?” he asked.

“On my back, with my legs up: so that I could always see him.”

He positioned the bottle on its side, with the lump atop the neck.

Then he poked the stick inside the mouth and wiggled it about. He nodded to himself.

“Did he stay upright? Or did he lean toward you?” Gaston asked.

“Both. When he leaned toward me, I would draw my legs up to my chest on either side.”

Gaston nodded and imitated these movements with the bottle, thrusting the stick in and out. “Here, see, it does not touch the lump from that angle.”

I did see. The stick scraped along the back side of the neck, across from the lump.

“And the Damn Cousin?” he asked gently.

“Always from behind, usually standing, or close to it. He would push me over things, but I would be bent at the waist, not below.”

Gaston held the bottle upside down, with the lump away from the hand holding the stick. He thrust the wood in the mouth again. If he did not push it straight up, it brushed the lump. I understood.

“He would thrust forward, not up,” I said.

Gaston adjusted the angle. The stick poked the lump every time. It rammed it, and then slid up the wall of glass above.

“We will never use that position,” he said, as if it were but a curiosity.

I regarded him, and mischief tugged at me.

“What position do you wish to use?” I asked huskily.

His eyes widened, and he actually flushed. I was greatly heartened by the sight.

He awarded me a look of remonstration.

“Non,” I shook my head. “Do not look at me so. You are the one rattling sticks about in bottles when I am piss hard.”

His lips quirked a little. “Will,” he chided, “that part of you is never at rest.”

“I beg to differ. You only feel that because it always stirs in your presence. When you are not about, it is not either.”

He smirked. “And what do you hope to gain with your flattery?”

“An answer to my question. How do you wish to take me?”

With another remonstrative glare, he tilted the bottle forward, so that the lump was down, and the neck was at an angle, such that the mouth was a little higher than much of the bulb. “On your hands and knees, or perhaps elbows and knees,” he said quietly. He put the stick in and it slid along the back of the neck, away from the lump.

He was going to be the death of me, always making my heart pound so. As I envisioned his words, my member stirred beyond its morning needs. I could see myself kneeling before him, presenting him with my arse. He would grasp my hips and thrust. I would cling to the headboard and whatever else I could reach. It was a thing I had seen and done unto others, but I had never experienced it.

“I would be delighted,” I assured him. “Whenever you wish, please.”

He chuckled, and leaned over to nip my lips. We kissed.

“What do you fantasize about?” he teased.

I gave it serious thought. “On my side. With my leg up. You either lie behind me, or atop me from the side. The position does not allow for great depth, but it does allow for… kissing, and other caresses.”

He kissed me again, and then he was pushing me onto my side to demonstrate. He slid his knee under my leg, and pushed it up, until his groin was where it should be. I let the pleasure flow through me as his free hand roved about my chest and dipped to my member. Supporting himself with one arm, he humped away at my hip and handled me with practiced ease.

I attempted to imagine how it would feel if he were inside me. I discarded all of the memories of pain from my times with Alonso, and concentrated on the brief moments when it had promised great pleasure.

When I came, Gaston lowered himself upon me, and milked me with rhythmic squeezes, until there was no pleasure left and I was only possessed of the lingering need to relieve myself in other ways. His hand was still on me. I looked up questioningly, and he awarded me a daring grin.

I had never pissed while held by another. I took his dare, and willed myself to do it. After a second’s confused hesitation, my member decided that, though the hand upon it may have been unfamiliar and possibly unacceptable, the action was necessary. I watched the stream arc away and puddle on the dirt with amusement. Thankfully, I was a little uphill of it, as I was surely too tired to move.

“I am now empty,” I said, as he shook the last drops away.

“Truly?” he asked with a grin.

“From that organ.”

He chuckled and stood, pulling me up with him. He regarded the separate puddles of jism and urine.

“The building site can now be considered either blessed or defiled,”

he said.

I laughed. “Last night I decided that any home we place a wife in will not be near this foul place of pestilence.”

“I think that wise,” he said soberly.

“We should go back,” I sighed. “They are surely awake now and wondering where we are.”

He shrugged. His mien was devoid of humor. “Let them think what they will.”

I wondered at his change of mood and spoke lightly. “Oui, as I am sure they will think nothing even remotely close to the truth. I sincerely doubt they are harboring fantasies of us running amuck in the woods playing with bottles and sticks.”

This brought a reluctant smile to his lips, but then he shook it away with annoyance. “Non, because they think little, if at all.”

“How shall we proceed with our regimen this morn?” I asked, while eyeing the sun rising over the Blue Mountains to the East. “I feel I have accomplished my part.”

“Oui, I will excuse you of further diligence on the matter. I performed calisthenics before you woke. And…” He stooped and picked up the sack with the whip. “I contemplated this a great deal.”

“Did you sleep at all?” I teased.

He smiled wanly. “Some.”

He was regarding the sack he held at the length of his arm. He swung it a little.

“Do you feel you accomplished anything of merit with your contemplation of that?” I asked. “I feel your being able to heft it an advancement.”

He nodded. “Oui. I feel… I should perhaps learn to wield it. That it will not suffice to merely become inured to its presence, but that I should master it.”

“Yesterday, during your ministrations, I came upon a metaphor for my increased accommodation.” I explained my image of dueling with Shane, and how I was not submitting, but battling.

He was smiling and nodding when I finished. “I may envision flogging my father.”

I frowned. “But… I thought you forgave him.”

“I do.” He shrugged. “But I can think of few others I would want to strike with one; and he deserves to know how it feels.”

His smile was as bright as the newly risen sun, and I laughed with him.

We gathered our things, but paused before walking back toward the buildings below. I glanced at him curiously, though my feet were no more willing to move than his. The laughter was gone, and he had once again descended into somber annoyance in contemplation of Ithaca.

“I feel we are done here,” I said to reassure him. “We need not stay long.”

He nodded, his eyes still on distant thoughts. “Much will change once we own this place.”

His we filled me with unexpected happiness. We had settled on a new course, had we not? And perhaps it was much like battling the ghost of Shane. We would duel with my father. Our objective would not be to defeat him, but to feint and distract him from standing in the way of a goal we wished to achieve. It was a thing a wolf such as he could never understand. I was not even sure how to name our destination, but I could see the doorway to it lying somewhere beyond my father and the confines of English societal expectation.

I grinned. “Oui, we will not have slaves.”

“And we will not grow sugar,” he said. “It is vile. We will grow some useful crop.”

“I agree most heartily. So we had best be getting on with the wife and heir business, before these men waste a great deal of time building mills and the like that will never be used.”

He smiled at me with a regard that warmed my soul, and I took his hand and led him down the hill. I supposed we would learn soon enough if the Gods favored this new course.

We said our goodbyes at Ithaca, and made regrettably fast work of riding to the Byerly farm to fetch Cedric. The boy accompanied us to the Passage wharf, and there we left him to return the horses to their lazy existence.

We reached our house by early afternoon. No one was there except for the dogs. Much of the debris had been cleared, from the interior of the building at least. There was now a large pile of garbage in the yard.

I hoped it would soon find its way onto a cart and out to the Palisadoes.

Bella seemed pleased to see us, and she happily chewed the new bone we had brought her while we rolled about in puppies for a time.

Then we were off to Theodore’s. He was with a client when we arrived. We stowed our things in our room and ate some pie not destined for Pete.

“I did not expect to see you so soon,” Theodore said as he joined us in the yard.

“Well, we have much to attend to if there is ever to be hope of setting things right,” I replied with a shrug.

He sighed. “Aye, what would you have me do? Donoughy is only doing what he is…”

I waved away his further words and asked, “Where do the Vines reside?”

This brightened his demeanor considerably.

“Truly?” he asked. “Well, Sir Christopher has two plantations in Clarendon, and a house and warehouse in town on High Street.”

“That’s lovely; where would we find Miss Vines? I have no interest in her father at this time, unless you feel he need be wooed also.”

“Nay, he will be delighted to have you pay his daughter a call.” He frowned in thought. “There is a soiree of sorts at the Bennets’ tomorrow evening. I suppose…”

“Nay. I wish for Gaston to meet her in private. Then we will decide if she is even a consideration. If she is, then any courting will be direct, and due to the lack of time we possess, hastily done. I see no need for social gatherings. Would she be in town, or should we go and fetch our horses again?”

Theodore was chuckling. “She may be in town. The ships will be arriving soon. Many of the wives and daughters come to town to greet them, in the hope of being the first to buy whatever finery they might carry. Their residence door is well marked on High Street. Will you go now, as you are thus attired?”

“I do not see why not,” I said. “They already know my title. And they know me to be a buccaneer.”

He shrugged. “If you reach the point in the matter where it is necessary to approach her father, I would suggest you dress properly, and go alone.”

“I understand,” I sighed. “But in dealing with the lady, we are a pair.”

He smiled and nodded his acquiescence.

The Vines’ town house was indeed marked nicely with a carved plaque. It was a dwelling every bit as large as the one Theodore now owned.

I knocked, and a diminutive maid answered. She curtsied properly at my title, and hurried off to announce us with a well-enunciated, “Aye, my Lord”. I doubted she was a bondswoman.

We waited in the small, dark entry hall. Gaston’s arms were crossed, and he appeared exceedingly ill-at-ease. I felt little better, though I was at least used to meeting young ladies.

“We could run now,” I offered. “The door is not locked.”

“Non, let us get this behind us,” he said.

“If you do not find favor with her, it is no matter. We can look at the other two Theodore mentioned.”

He snorted. “You found favor with her before.”

I bit my lip. “Oui, and… that is the cause of my concern.”

“How so?”

I shrugged. “I do not wish for you to view her as an opponent.”

He shook his head. Though my eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim light, I still could not accurately gauge his expression.

The maid returned. “If you will follow me, sirs.”

“Trust me, and I will trust you,” Gaston hissed in French.

“I love you,” I murmured.

We followed the small woman down the hall to the back of the house and out to a lovely garden. Apparently Sir Christopher owned the lot all the way to Queen Street. The garden was nestled between the warehouse on Queen and the house on High. Heavily laden trellises obscured the view of the cookhouse and the surrounding yards. It smelled headily of all manner of blooms. Miss Vines and another girl awaited us on benches in a gazebo at the center of this pocket of Eden.

Miss Vines was everything I remembered: golden hair, blue eyes, pert features, long limbs, and a svelte figure. Her dress was a yellow as vivid as the blooms around her, with sprays of white lace. She was a vision of loveliness formed by Diana and polished by Venus, made all the more enticing in that I knew her to be blessed by Athena as well.

She was perched on the edge of her seat, watching our arrival. She sprang to her feet as I entered the gazebo. She appeared truly delighted to see us.

“Lord Marsdale, what a surprise,” she said in greeting and curtsied.