Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (12 page)

She pulled the small piece she wore on a lanyard about her neck and shoulder from a slit in her skirt. “Not to shoot a man attempting to attack me, but to shoot one who wishes to marry me honorably, because he will not take nay for an answer. I wear baggy dresses to hide myself, but still, I am tall, and they ask of me. Women are so scarce they do not care what my age is or how I appear. I thank God for the dogs, who at least growl at them to drive them away.”

Gaston was looking righteously appalled, but I could no longer contain my humor. They glared at my chuckling.

“I am sorry, I am sorry,” I said quickly. “But damn it, girl, it is funny.

Not that they should pursue you so, but… your rendition of it holds great amusement.”

My matelot awarded me another glare before taking her by the shoulders and addressing her earnestly. “Agnes, you are meant for…

better things.” He cast another look at me over her shoulder that implied he was not sure of the truth of that statement.

I snorted and rolled my eyes, but I told her, “Aye, Agnes, we will not see you marrying some damn fool who could not appreciate your talents. You will be cared for. I say it again; you need never marry if it is not your wish.”

She nodded with relief. “You two have been a true blessing upon my life. Thank you.” She began to walk away, but stopped and turned.

“We will be delighted to see your sketches after we bathe,” I said.

She shook her head. “Did you know Christine is here, in town?”

“Aye,” I said with a frown. “Striker made mention of it. He saw her at a ball or someplace. He said she is watched at all times now.”

Agnes nodded sadly. “I have not been allowed to see her.”

“Truly? Well, that is unfair,” I said. “You could not besmirch her virtue…” I regretted my words. “Even if you were to…” I decided I should just shut my mouth.

She colored slightly. “True, but I am considered… troublesome.

Her stepmother came here and spoke to Sarah and told her to keep me away.”

I swore. “I am sorry.”

She shrugged. “I thought perhaps you could see her… As you are married, and thus…” She frowned. “But perhaps not. I just want someone to see her and tell me that she is well. Sarah cannot since she is lying in.”

“We will see what we can arrange,” I assured her.

She left, and I turned to find Gaston glaring at me.

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Why did you not tell me?” he asked.

“Oh, bloody Hell… I forgot! Striker made mention of it, but we were discussing numerous things, and then Theodore produced your father’s letter. I have not thought of Christine since; not before Agnes’ mention of her just now.”

He massaged his temples. “I am sorry.”

“I know.” I said softly and rubbed his shoulder. “You have enough to think about; that is why I would not have mentioned her, even if I had remembered her.”

“Why?” His question was more curiosity than suspicion.

“Because…” I sighed. “Apparently she was found and returned to her father, who is very likely quite concerned that she will bolt again– and probably with good reason. And her father is married now, and Striker said the stepmother would not let him speak to Christine for any amount of time. I feel sorry for the girl. I had hoped she was happily away somewhere, dressed as a boy and practicing her swordsmanship, but instead she is imprisoned here – not even allowed to see old friends.”

“We should help her escape,” he said seriously.

“Oui, that I am willing to do. I will not attempt to rescue her by marrying her again, though.”

He sighed and smiled wryly. “Non, because your matelot is mad.”

I grinned. “Non, because I love my matelot. Now let us see our room and make use of this lovely tub.” I went to the stable and retrieved our things.

He did not follow me. When I returned he was standing where I had left him. I handed him his weapons and bag.

“Will you marry Agnes?” he asked quietly.

I shrugged. “If it is your wish, after we decide what to do about the Damn Wife. And I do not know what to do about that.”

“You must either have it annulled or get a divorce,” he said, not as if I were a fool, but as if he were curious that there could be another outcome.

“And then what do we do with her and the babe?” I asked without rancor. “At this moment, I feel I will be very lucky if she dies giving birth.”

“The Gods should make it so easy,” he snapped, but his ire was not directed at me.

“Not that I wish that on her or the child,” I sighed. “In truth, I find I feel some sympathy for her.”

“Go and speak to her. I am sure she will dispel it,” he said.

I smirked as I thought of my prior encounters with the woman.

“That is true.”

He shook his head in apology. “I would not wish it on the child, either.”

“I suppose we should see her today.”

Gaston was incredulous. “We? That will not please her.”

“We need not please her now,” I scoffed and walked to the stairs.

“And I would have her know I make no decision without you. If she wants to continue to have dealings with me, she will also deal with you.”

I heard snoring when I reached the top of the stairs. I was minded that open windows and walls that provide ample access to the breeze also provide ample access to sound. We would not have as much privacy as I desired, though it would be more than we would have while roving.

Thankfully, no one here spoke French except for Sarah, and she lived on the other side of the house; so essentially, we could discuss anything we wanted as long as we did not raise our voices.

And then I realized who was snoring in the room we were passing: the Marquis. I stopped, and found Gaston had not been so self-absorbed. He stood at the top of the stairs, regarding the guest room’s louvered doors with trepidation. I wished to say something amusing and light, but I knew Gaston would be alarmed if I spoke at all. Instead, I motioned for him to follow. He did with careful quiet steps, as if he were tiptoeing past a sleeping monster. I did not tease him on the matter as we finished walking to our door.

It occurred to me that I have never heard my father snore. For that matter, I had never seen him take a piss. The only things of a bodily nature I had ever witnessed of him were eating, drinking, and smoking.

I opened the wide double doors to our room, and we stood like curious cats in the doorway, letting our eyes wander while our feet remained still. Our room, being on the end of this wing, was a large white-washed square blessed with two windows in addition to the louvered doors that opened onto the balcony. It was dominated by a large, ornately-worked, iron, posted and canopied bed set in the center of the floor. Instead of being hung with curtains to keep the heat in, as it would have been anywhere else in the world, the bed was hung all about with gauzy pieces of netting to keep the insects out. With its white linens and white netting wafting in the breeze from the two windows, it appeared like a cloud captured in a cage of black filigree.

I found amusement in the fact that it had been situated in the middle of the floor and not up against the interior wall; because, of course, that wall was shared with another room. Placing the bed away from a wall would serve to minimize any sound the bed might make when being used for something other than slumber. I wondered who had thought of that: my sister or the wolves.

My trunks from the old house, a tall chest of drawers, two small tables set near the bed, and two chairs completed the furnishings.

They were all painted white, except for my trunks, and with the pale wood floor and ceiling, the room reminded me unpleasantly of the white rooms we had occupied at Theodore’s and Doucette’s. I ever felt dirty and unsuitable in comparison to them.

Gaston regarded it all, seemingly as I did, with a degree of dismay.

“I wish to paint the walls another color,” I said. “Or perhaps dye the bed linens.”

“Oui,” he said tightly. “The netting is an excellent thing, but it is…

disturbing.”

I sat my things upon a trunk, and conscious of the footprints I left on the scrubbed floor, made my way to the bed. The mattress was of down, and I thought of the joy of sinking into it until I remembered the heat. Why could one not suspend a hammock from such a frame? The mattress was of a fine height, though, being just below my hips. I found more amusement in that as I thrust against it vigorously several times.

It did not squeak. I took hold of a post and shook the canopy. It was all quite solid.

I grinned at Gaston and found him flushing and looking at the floor.

“Do you think of anything but trysting?” he hissed.

“Non,” I teased. “And you, truly, what did you think of just now?”

He shook his head with annoyance but at last whispered, “That I could bind you to it,” as if the admission pained him greatly.

My cock stirred at the thought and I regarded the bed in a new light.

“Oh, oui. It offers many possibilities.” Then I looked back at him with concern. “What is wrong?”

He pointed in a commanding fashion, with his entire arm, toward the room with the snoring occupant, and regarded me as if I were daft.

I sighed. I had encountered this before with a young lover I had in Vienna. He had invited me to his family’s estate for a fortnight, and I had gone, happy to be free of the city and expecting many lovely nights of trysting. The man’s parents had been in residence, though, and he had refused to engage in any activity while sharing a roof with them.

And that man had gotten along quite well with his parents.

Once more I bit my tongue to stop the light-hearted things I could say, such as observations about the need to keep me very quiet. We did not know how long his father would be about, and Gaston could not know how his feelings on the matter might progress. There was simply no point in arguing.

“Let us bathe,” I said, and began to rummage through our things for a clean pair of breeches and a tunic.

“Do you have anything I can wear?” he asked. “Not like… Proper clothes.”

I found almost as much dismay in that as in his concern over trysting – almost.

“My love,” I said gently. “I have shirts and proper breeches, and I believe you have those soft leather boots, and I have my less than comfortable ones, but if you insist that we take to wearing wigs and coats or removing our earrings, I shall smack you.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it and awarded me a rueful smile.

The snoring stopped. We stood tense, our breath held, but the sound did not resume before I was forced to breath. Gaston hurriedly closed the door.

“Well,” I said lightly but quietly, “if we wish to bathe and dress before seeing him, I suppose we can climb out.” I looked out the window in the end wall: we could indeed climb onto the cistern and down. “And I believe we could return the same way,” I noted with delight. “It will make it easier to sneak away if we have the need.”

“I will not be fucking you on the Palisadoes when we have this fine bed,” he hissed with the Horse’s anger. He immediately shook his head and cursed silently. “I am sorry. I am…” He sighed bitterly.

“Running amuck,” I whispered. “Oui, he has you spooked. But, my love, it is… to be expected, at least by me. I understand. And we have the cart of our love, and it is sturdy and can be dragged almost anywhere, and I am lashed in the traces to it and you, not to anything else we must strain against. I am with you. I will go wherever you go.”

“Until I kick your legs out from under you again,” he said with guilt.

I smiled and embraced him. “And then we will fall together and yet we will still have the cart. Our love will not roll away if we are both lying on the ground holding it still. We have proven that.”

He relaxed in my arms. “Do you think me the fool for wishing to please him?”

“If I had not once sought to please my father, we would not have met.”

He nodded, but he was deep in thought as I gathered the clothing he wished for us to wear and dropped it out the window. He followed me out the window and we made quick and easy work of dropping to the ground.

“We Put A Ladder Up,” Pete said from the stable’s door.

I chuckled. “Then let us do the same on this side.”

Striker poked his head around the flower trellis. “There are Frenchies out front, and militia men watching them. The French arrived last night. One of them demanded to see the Marquis.”

“And?” I asked.

Striker shrugged. “I told him his Lord was fine and would be spending the night as our honored guest, and then I put a pistol in his face and told him to piss off.”

“Tall man with sharp features, very arrogant manner?” I asked.

“That Be TheOne,” Pete said.

I sighed and eyed the Marquis’ door. The snoring had still not resumed. Resigned, I marched upstairs.

There was no response to my polite knocking, so I pounded on the door frame and called out. “Lord Tervent! Tervent! It is Marsdale. Are you well?”

I at last heard movement and soon the door opened. He greeted me with bleary eyes and no wig. What remained of his short cropped hair was white, and I noted it had the same tendency as his son’s to stand on end. I was more interested that he was not completely bald, however; perhaps Gaston would keep his hair well into his middle years.

“The sun is well risen,” I said pleasantly. “You should drink the water, there. It is clean.” I gestured at the onion bottles Sam had left inside the door. “I believe we have bacon and eggs to break the fast.

Vittese is across the street. There are men from the militia watching him. Should we tell them anything?”

He looked slowly from me to the sky and then down at the bottles and sighed. “That I should not drink rum.”

I smiled. “I do not believe that will assure him as to your well-being.”

He snorted. “Have him… Bring my translator, Dupree, in, please. He can relay messages to Vittese. Dupree is unctuous, but at least… Well, let us say I have little good to say to Vittese this morning. And I will gladly accept your kind offer of food.”

“All right, then,” I said.

Pete joined me at the bottom of the stairs and followed me to the door. I was pleased in this, as I was not armed and Pete was. Vittese was halfway across the street when I opened the door. Apparently he had begun to move from the shady place his men occupied at the sound of our removing the bar. At the sight of me he stopped.