Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (14 page)

“I meant no offense,” the Marquis told Gaston. “I am pleased and relieved to see that I was very wrong.”

Gaston’s Horse was now very evident to me, to the degree I no longer cared how evident He was to anyone else. He seemed to take up the entire table, nostrils flaring, eyes intent, and flanks quivering with the need to charge or flee.

I tightened my grip on my matelot’s thigh until he turned to me with glittering orbs of emerald rage.

I met his gaze calmly. “Perhaps…” I began.

Gaston’s head cocked ever so slightly in warning, in the manner of a dog ready to bite or a bull to charge.

I darted my head closer, and whispered firm words in his ear. “It is unfair. But do not kill him. Say what you wish to say, or do what you wish to do, and be done with it. Or go and visit the puppies and calm yourself.”

He gave a hissing inhalation. I sat back. His eyes were calmer: still angry, but not with madness.

He turned on his father, who was frowning at us intently. “I am not my mother,” Gaston said levelly. “And you have destroyed my illusions of her and left me with… you.” He spat the last word contemptuously.

Gaston stood and took stock of his surroundings: embarrassment gripped him. He gave Agnes an apologetic look and spoke in English.

“Agnes, you are, as always, brilliant and talented. I will wish to see the lenses later.” Then he looked at Sarah and nodded. “If you will excuse me.” Then he left us, marching himself around the atrium and out to the stable.

Pete and Striker relaxed; Sarah appeared sympathetic; Rucker was curious, as was Dupree; and Agnes was close to tears, as she ever was when praised so.

Seemingly oblivious to everything but making his point, the Marquis leaned across the table and spoke earnestly to me in French. “I did not mean to offend him, but to compliment him.”

Sarah heard him, and began speaking to Striker about some matter in English in a ploy of politeness. Dupree proved he was well-versed in the diplomacy of large households, and withdrew to pour himself another cup of the tea. Rucker, the only other French speaker at the tables, also realized he should not listen, and quickly excused himself.

The Marquis and I were essentially left alone with our discussion in French, though Agnes watched us with curiosity.

I awarded the Marquis a small smile. “Oui, but are men not ever at the mercy of others’ interpretations of their actions, no matter what their intention might be?” I shook my head. “He loved his mother. I feel she has been an angel in his heart all these years, a Madonna who would have loved him if only she had been allowed; whereas, you have been a demon who must be placated.”

He winced. “He knew she was mad,” he beseeched.

Agnes decided we were indeed having a private conversation, and excused herself almost inaudibly.

“Oui, but he is mad, and he knows his madness, and I think he has thought hers quite similar in manifestation when perhaps it was not.” I shrugged. “Without evidence to the contrary,” I gave a pause to allow my choice of words to be noted, “she was the perfect mother, flawed only by her madness, which from his experience would not make her mean or hateful toward him. It is why he loved his sister so. He saw no duplicity, only love. And since it was such a damn rare thing in his life, he had nothing else to compare it to.”

“He has thought me evil all these years?” he asked with a pained expression.

I tried to keep the incredulity from my face, and then I realized I was not doing as I should yet again. I was letting my Horse handle the matter and stir up my memories when it was not my Horse’s problem.

“Non,” I said softly. “He has thought he failed you all these years. He has thought you cast him aside because he was flawed and deficient in your eyes. And your attempt to lay the matter to rest by admitting this was indeed the case has brought no resolution in his heart. It will take time.”

He sat back, the fingers of one hand pinching his lips, and studied the potted plant next to the table.

“How long can you stay?” I prompted after a time.

He shrugged. “Hopefully as long as necessary.” His gaze returned to mine. “How do you control him so well?”

I shook my head. “I do not control him; I assist him in controlling himself. And it is more complex than that… and I do not feel I wish to discuss it this day.”

“All right. Then can you answer some other questions?” he asked with another shrug that seemed to cast the whole matter aside.

“If they are brief. I should go to him.”

He seemed somewhat surprised in that, and then apologetic. “Ah.

I will be brief then. Who should I request the hospitality of if I wish to stay for some time?”

“My sister, and I will see to it,” I said.

“Your sister?” he asked, and glanced at Sarah.

“Oui, Madame Striker,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow at that, and I went to speak quietly with Sarah and Striker. Pete’s golden head was quickly bowed into the circle.

“He wishes to stay for a time,” I said. “It is acceptable to Gaston and me. I feel it is necessary. There is much they need to discuss and it will take time.”

“Is he going to be setting Gaston off every time they talk?” Striker asked.

“Possibly,” I said with a touch of annoyance. “And thus it is best done amongst friends in a place of safety rather than elsewhere.”

Striker held up a placating hand. “I’m just curious how much Gaston wants to see him if they don’t get on well. I’m thinking of him, not worried about what kind of ruckus they might cause.”

“They need time to learn to get on well,” Sarah chided him. “I wish we had such an opportunity with our father.”

Her husband frowned at that, but he nodded. “That would piss me off to the ends of the Earth, watching you argue with him.”

I was not sure whether I wished for such a thing to happen, but I supposed I did.

I left Sarah to tender their hospitality to the Marquis and went to find Gaston. I was momentarily alarmed when he was not with Bella, but then I found him behind the stable. He had bloodied his knuckles punching a beam, and now sagged with his head and hands against the wall.“I should have left with you,” I murmured as I pulled him into my arms.

“Why?” he asked, all Horse. “Did he say something to anger you?”

I sighed and held him tighter.

At last he relaxed and pulled back to regard me. “I knew they still thought me a child, but I did not think they thought me an imbecile.

It makes me wonder how he truly treated my mother, despite his affirmations of love for her. Or was she truly what he describes?”

I sighed. “I do not know if we can ever know the truth, but… He is staying. You shall have ample time to discuss the matter with him as you are able.”

“I do not know if I can,” he said sadly.

“It is only the first day you have seen him in so many years,” I said and kissed his cheek. “You will grow more accustomed to his presence, and perhaps it will become easier. And you are doing well.”

He looked down at his bloodied hand and shook his head. “You are too kind.”

“He even remarked upon it,” I said, and then thought better of it, but it was too late. I told him all his father and I had said.

He snorted when I finished. “You shall speak for me. You will discuss it with him and relay it to me.” He grinned.

“I do not know if… He is not my father,” I said.

He regarded me with curiosity.

I shrugged and sighed. “They are deeply tangled in my heart, and my Horse is tripping trying to tread the proper path in dealing with yours.

I find myself saying things that are from my heart and not necessarily your sentiments. I represent you poorly, as I cannot seem to do it selflessly.”

He smiled and pulled me into his arms again. “I do not hold it against you. You speak truth, and whether it is my heart or yours, it does not matter. We are one.”

Though my heart ached at his sentiment, it did matter to me. I told the Gods I would need guidance on this path They had set before us.

Fifty-Seven

We sat for a time with Bella and the puppies. Though Gaston was far from truly calm, our silence was at least companionable and not burdened by things unsaid. He held my hand and finally lay down with his head upon my thigh. I played with his hair and let him think. I did not wish to think: I felt if I allowed my mind to wander it would find old trails that were best left dusty and unused. I did not feel those thorny paths would discover the proper words to tell Gaston’s father how to make Gaston happy, or make mine do the same for me.

Sam poked his head in the doorway sometime later. “Masters?

There’s a messenger from the governor here, and Mister Theodore.”

I told him we would be along shortly, and swore silently once he departed.

Gaston smiled as he pulled himself upright. “I hate Port Royal.”

I sighed and grinned. “As we came into port, I was thinking the same, and how the only good thing about the place is that I met you here, and Theodore, and Striker and Pete, and… I suppose we must take the bad with the good.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I wish for a better definition of love.”

I frowned.

He smiled apologetically. “I am sorry, I have been thinking. I wish to determine the true nature of love, so that I can measure people’s declarations of love and find them either within the parameters of true love or outside of it. You once thought you loved, and you did not, truly.

I have done the same.”

“And now you question your father’s definition?” I asked.

“Oui.”

I grinned. “My love, far be it from me to disparage any endeavor of yours, but you are attempting to tread in the realm of poets, playwrights, and Gods. Men spend there entire lives there and produce nothing but sophistic verse.”

He seemed to think on that, and then awarded me a fine grin. “I am already mad; what would it matter?”

I laughed; and thus in good humor we picked the straw from each other and went to discover what the Gods wanted of us now.

Sarah had apparently retreated upstairs, possibly with Striker or Pete, or both, as none of them were present. Rucker was also absent.

Agnes was sitting at a table watching our guests with her sketchbook open and charcoal in hand, and I wondered what she had been drawing before the messenger arrived. The Marquis was sitting in a chair perusing a small folded piece of paper, with Dupree leaning over his shoulder to read and translate it while the governor’s messenger stood waiting for their reply. I thought it likely it was an invitation. I suppressed a sigh.

Theodore greeted us warmly as always.

“What is this about?” I asked him quietly.

“The governor wishes to have a party in the Marquis’ honor,” he said.

Though I had not expected it, I now wondered why I should be surprised.

“How thoughtful of him,” I murmured.

Gaston swore quietly and walked away to join Agnes.

At seeing me speaking with Theodore, the Marquis stood and approached. “I have been invited to attend a party given by your governor. Should I attend?” he asked me in French. “I feel it would be rude of me not to accept, as I am a guest here on this lovely island; but I am not privy to your politics, and I would not want to accept an invitation of this nature if it will cause… Gaston, or you, any difficulty.”

I was surprised at his thoughtfulness. “I do not believe so; in truth it will probably put us in better favor with the governor. But hold a moment, and let me consult my advisor in such matters.”

I relayed his question to Theodore, very quietly.

Theodore was quick to answer. “I did not come here to advise you not to attend, just the opposite. The governor was quite astounded a Marquis had slipped into port under his nose, as it were, and wishes to extend every hospitality. I do not feel it is solely to keep an eye on him.

Modyford enjoys rubbing shoulders with the nobility, of any nation, and he does wish for pleasant relations with the French, or at least the appearance of it.”

I turned back to the Marquis and switched to French. “You should attend, as should we. Apparently, the governor is very keen on it: he is an ambitious man.”

The Marquis eyed Theodore speculatively.

“This is our good friend and barrister, Mister Jonathon Theodore,”

I told the Marquis in French. “He is not an ambitious man, but he is well-respected on Jamaica by those who are, and I value his counsel in dealing with them.”

The Marquis grinned and awarded Theodore a nod of respect.

Theodore bowed.

The messenger was quite pleased to hear the Marquis’ acceptance.

Upon receiving it, he opened his satchel and produced a small bundle of invitations. He quickly sorted through them and gave Theodore one, me two, and asked if he could leave two for Captain Striker. I accepted those as well. I waited until Sam had ushered the man out the door before I started laughing at who the sealed notes were addressed to.

Gaston was appalled when I handed him his, but he chuckled when I showed him Pete’s.

“You have four days to prepare – well less, actually,” Theodore said after reading his. “I trust you have attire,” he told me. “But if anything must be made for Gaston, you should visit the tailor as soon as possible.” He punctuated this last by looking up at the sky, where the sun was obviously close to being overhead.

I tried to give Gaston an apologetic look, but it was ruined by my amusement. “Well, at least we will get you some proper clothes.”

My matelot rolled his eyes.

Agnes was examining Gaston’s invitation.

“Do you wish to go?” I asked her.

“Nay,” she said quickly and dropped the paper. “I might as well hang myself on display at the butcher’s.”

She was correct, but I could not resist teasing her. “But come now,”

I leaned close to whisper. “How else will you meet any pretty girls?”

Gaston smiled but patted Agnes’ back reassuringly.

She flushed. “By standing about the butcher’s. All the bondswomen come there.”

I snorted, but her words reminded me of our earlier conversation.