Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (62 page)

Tomorrow?” I tried to recall all Morgan had said last night. He thought to sail with the morning wind the day after tomorrow, which meant we would all be boarded the night before, with the usual revelry. So any wedding would well be today if they were to consummate the matter over the course of a night.

“Oui, it must be today,” I said. “I do not know how…”

“Will,” Gaston said gently, “you do not yet know if.”

“Oui,” I sighed.

Striker was still sleeping on the table when we returned. I did not expect him to move of his own accord until midday at the earliest, and then I imagined the activity would prove so unsatisfactory that he would merely wish to curl up someplace and sleep for another day. Of course, we could not allow him that; yet I did not think waking him now would serve much purpose either, as he had only been asleep a few hours.

It would behoove us, or rather me, to set things in motion prior to his rising, but that was a thing I was loathe to do.

I explained my musings to Gaston.

He shrugged. “What needs to be done before? When he rises, we will haul him to the church along with your sister.”

“Well, as you are correct, and that aspect of the matter is so simply done, I suppose preparing her will be the only order of business before he rises.”

“She will likely come here,” he said.

I looked at Striker, sprawled, bloody and drooling upon the table, and turned back to my matelot. He sighed heavily and we hauled Striker upstairs and deposited him on the floor in our room. We would have put him in his own, but the snores of Cudro and others reverberated from it.

“Are you hungry or tired?” Gaston asked.

“Tired,” I said, after consideration.

“Then let us sleep.”

And so we curled in our hammock, with no erotic preamble. My mind wandered, seeking some measure of it all. Was love madness? Was it not the ultimate emotion the Gods granted, as I had told Morgan?

Then my meanderings reached the disconcerting conclusion that all things involving the Gods led to madness on the part of some poor soul: I could not think of a single myth to gainsay it.

We woke to urgent knocking on our door. It was Agnes; she had arrived with my sister, uncle and Rucker. I told her we would be down momentarily, and then I cursed quietly as we listened to her departing steps.

“I thought you liked your uncle and Rucker,” Gaston said.

“I do,” I sighed, “but… There is much that should be discussed and arranged, and I feel I have no heart for it.”

He drew my hand to his crotch and showed me what he had heart for. “But you must be quiet,” he said with mock seriousness. There was a cast to his mien that told me I would play as much with the Horse as the man.

I muffled my laughter in his shoulder and surrendered to his ministrations. We attempted to make quick work of it, and thankfully he was not as distracted as I by the presence of those downstairs. In the end, he came with a nearly silent satisfied grunt, and I did nothing at all, neither in sound or pleasure. Yet, I was not dismayed or dissatisfied by the endeavor.

In some fashion, the activity had provided me the clarity of thought to put much into perspective. Waking to a loving cock was truly the most one could want from life, as it meant one was wanted, loved, and not alone. One should do all that one could to insure that one woke in such a state, and endeavor to assist others in achieving the same, whether it be madness or not.

In the aftermath, Gaston kissed my neck and shoulders with playful little nips, until he stopped quite suddenly and I felt his body stiffen behind me. I did likewise, and looked around to see the cause of his alarm. I found Striker watching us with bleary and sad eyes.

“Good morning.” I said.

“Stupid buggers,” he muttered with a grin that must have pained him.“Aye, that we are,” I said.

He touched the bandage on his head gingerly. “Have you seen Pete?”

I snorted. “Aye, Gaston saw to him, though he needed little tending as compared to you. You lost well,” I added lightly. “Was that your intent?”

“My intent…” he sighed sadly and frowned at his memories, or perhaps the difficulty of thinking with what must have been a severely aching head.

Gaston left me and went to his bag to find the bottle of laudanum.

He poured Striker a weak draught, which our friend accepted readily.

“My intent,” Striker said at last, “was to inform him that I would pursue your sister with or without him.”

“Ah,” I said carefully. “And his response was that it would be without?”

He snorted. “We are matelots no more.”

“And do you still feel the same; that you wish to pursue my sister without him? Or, in somewhat sober reflection…” I asked.

“Nay,” he said with a thoughtful nod. “I will not change course.”

“Then you might be pleased at what I have wrought; then again, you might be inclined to beat me bloody,” I said.

“You best tell me now, then,” he chuckled weakly, “as I’m in no condition to do such a thing.”

So I told him of what had transpired, starting with my uncle’s fears and wish to marry her off and ending with my solution and the reaction of others to such a thing.

He was quiet for a time, and I followed Gaston in dressing as we waited.

“So it is all so easy then,” Striker said at last.

“Pete will sail with us,” Gaston said quietly. “And he vows you will not dismiss him from the cabin.”

Striker smirked with sad amusement. “Well, that is to be expected.

And I will not. I will give him all he is due and more.” He shook his head with a frown. “He has no head for money.”

“My sister is downstairs, with my uncle,” I said.

This brought an end to his reverie.

“They can’t see me like this,” he said quickly.

“Well, as you should marry today, they will have to. Though I suppose we can get you cleaned up and dressed before you go down.

But perhaps I should send Sarah up.”

“To see the cow she will be buying?” he asked.

I chuckled. “That would be one way to consider it. I feel you should talk to one another and assess your feelings, without the machinations of others such as myself.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“I will assist him,” Gaston said. “Send Sarah up.”

I nodded and made my way downstairs. As she had done yesterday, Agnes had stopped by the fish vendors, and I had smelled her purchases even as Gaston and I trysted. My stomach grumbled as I was greeted by the full aroma at the bottom of the stairs.

My uncle and Rucker seemed surprised by my appearance, but Agnes curtsied and Sarah rose from the floor, where she had been playing with a dog, and embraced me.

I asked Agnes to take some water and towels upstairs, and then I whispered to Sarah, “Striker is here. He and Pete have fought and parted.”

“Oh, no,” she said, but her eyes held a new and brighter light.

“Go and speak with him,” I urged.

She was gone up the stairs before I could finish the utterance.

Just as quickly, I joined the men at the table and snatched up a piece of fish.

My uncle seemed distraught, and I wondered if there had been blood on the table when they arrived.

“Where is she off to?” he asked.

“To speak with her… bridegroom.” I shrugged.

“I suppose… well…” he trailed off and changed the subject. “And how is it that you are dressed like a common peasant, dear boy?”

Rucker smiled with suppressed amusement, but my uncle was frowning as he regarded me.

I had at least bothered to don a tunic in addition to my breeches; but still, with my shorn head, my earrings were evident.

I smiled about a mouthful of fish and swallowed. “This is how I usually appear.”

“Truly?” my uncle asked.

“I find it quite comfortable in these climes,” I said.

“But Marsy, you are a gentlemen, we are expected to present ourselves well before… commoners.”

I frowned. “Uncle, I know no common men here, at least not by my own definition, and that has nothing to do with breeding or wealth and all to do with their actions and beliefs. And I do not use my title here amongst men I call my equals. Nay, here, I am known as Will. I do not expect you to call me such, as it is foreign to you, but I do expect you to respect my choices on the matter, and refrain from ever referring to the men I call brothers as commoners. Especially since, as with me, you cannot know the station of their birth or wealth by their attire.”

As I spoke, my uncle flushed and opened and closed his mouth to speak several times, but as I finished, he calmed and nodded thoughtfully. “I will remember that. I meant no offense.”

“This is not England,” I said kindly.

He frowned with more thought. “I see it is not. I… It is just that the colonies to the north are more in keeping with English tradition, and many of the men I have met here so far have been as well.”

“Aye, I realize that,” I said. “They wish to bring all things English here. I do not associate with men who do that by choice. This is a new land, and it deserves new traditions. And though I feel the old ways will win out in the end, I wish to live by the new.”

Gaston had joined us; and now he stood at the bottom of the stairs, with his arms crossed and a small smile that told me he expected to always find me pontificating while dining.

“Gentlemen,” I said with pride, “allow me to introduce my matelot, Gaston Sable.”

Rucker was already on his feet and bowing. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”

“This is Mister Ira Rucker,” I said.

Gaston smiled and shook his hand. “As I am you. Will has said many wonderful things about you, and blames you for making him a man of the people, for which I commend you.”

“And this is my uncle, Mister Cedric Williams.”

My uncle belatedly stood and bowed, but the gaze he cast upon me was confused. He had not read my letters, and my father would not have ever mentioned Gaston to him, by name or possibly in any other fashion. Apparently my sister and Rucker had chosen to either be discreet, or what they might have said had fallen on deaf ears, as my uncle would not have realized the import.

“Gaston is my partner, in all things,” I said.

My uncle’s eyes narrowed and then widened with new understanding. “Oh.”

“Gaston is another example of one not being able to judge a man by his attire,” I added. “His father is a Marquis.”

I hoped Gaston would not mind this added information, but I knew that, sadly, it would aid matters in sitting well with my uncle. My glance to my matelot proved he understood, and he bowed to my uncle only so far as would be proper for a marquis’ son to greet a man of lesser rank. I was amused by this, but sought to suppress it.

Gaston took a seat beside me, but at the head of the table, and helped himself to the fish with gentlemanly care and decorum.

“Does your father know of... Mister Sable’s involvement with you?”

my uncle asked.

“Please call me Gaston,” my matelot said.

“Aye,” I said with a grin, “and he sent a bride in response.”

“Did he feel you would refuse her, I wonder?” my uncle asked.

“I feel that to be the case.” I shrugged. “However, my bride avers that there was some matter of political or monetary expediency involved in the arrangement.”

“Interesting,” Uncle Cedric said. “Whitlock is… Well, the former Earl was well-loved in the old King’s court before Cromwell. I would imagine the King restored many of the taxes and other incomes granted to the current Whitlock, as he did with many of the houses that supported his return to the throne. But the current Earl is a man given to the excesses of the Restoration, from what I have been told.”

“His daughter mentioned debts,” I said.

“Ah,” he nodded. “Well, your father is very keen on the sugar business, and Whitlock might have held some import tax or other gratuity related to that.”

I shook my head. Perhaps I was being quite the fool in feeling that my father was going to lengths to thwart me. Perhaps he paid me little mind at all, yet…

“Nay,” my uncle was saying. “Many pieces of the matter do not sit right with me.”

“How so?” I asked. “Truly, tell me, do you believe he wishes for me to inherit?”

My uncle regarded me with a somber frown. “Nay, my boy, I do not.

Not now.”

“Has he said as much?” I asked.

“Nay, not to me,” he said sadly. “Before your return, I thought of the matter differently than I perceive it now. I have come to believe that you are correct, that he holds Shane in far greater esteem and would have him as his son.”

Something my sister had said stirred the fish in my gut.

“Please,” I said, “in the name of God, tell me there is no chance Shane could actually be his son.”

My uncle gasped. “Nay, my Lord, I should hope not. Nay, he never liked Shane’s mother. He despised the woman and had little to do with our cousin after his marriage.”

“Another strange thought has crossed my mind,” I said carefully. “It is said that they were very close, my father and your cousin. Could it be that they were… lovers?”

His eyes narrowed and then darted from Gaston to me. He met my gaze and took a deep breath. “I have no knowledge of such a thing, nor have I heard rumors other than what is often said when boys are such close friends at a tender age. Yet, I have never been privy to my brother’s thoughts or feelings to a degree that reasonable discretion on his part would not have thwarted my knowing of such a thing.”

“Truly…” I breathed.

“It would explain his…” he sighed.

“His love of Shane,” I said.

“Aye, but why would he frown upon you so very much?” he asked.

“Perhaps he wished to spare you grief,” Gaston said.

I turned to find him regarding me with a troubled frown.

Anger ignited in my roiling belly.

“Gods!” I swore. “Why is it at every turn I know not whether to hate the man or… pity him, such that I should try and make peace with him?”

“What?” Striker asked.

He stood with Sarah on his arm at the bottom of the stairs.

“My father and my damn cousin’s father might have been lovers,” I said.