Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (24 page)

Then we went to the haberdashery to pay our old friend Belfry a visit and buy any additional accoutrements we would need to appear as fine gentleman. Unfortunately, Mister Belfry was out, and we were left with Mistress Belfry, who although she still stood somewhat in awe of my being a lord, had apparently not forgotten whatever she had witnessed between my sister and Striker in her back room. We bought Gaston a fine hat and gloves to match his coat and left with haste.

The afternoon and evening were much like the day before, with the distinction of the supper conversation turning to talk of Jamaican politics and economy. Rucker delivered a wonderful lecture concerning his predictions for the future of our fair isle; and though they were sad, in that he saw the influence of the buccaneers waning due to their earnings decreasing considerably after an inevitable peace with Spain, I agreed with him.

Saturday came, and I realized with dread that we must attend the damn party. We ran several leagues of beach in the morning before picking up our clothes at the tailor’s. Once home, Gaston attempted to distract himself by studying more with the lenses while I sorted clothes from my sea chests. Eventually I was forced to call him up to bathe and dress.

He stood with his arms crossed and his back to the wall and regarded the clothes laid out on the bed with trepidation. “Perhaps I should not attend.”

We had not discussed the matter in days; we had simply gone about the business of acquiring his coat and the like as if he would attend.

“Do you sense a storm?” I asked gently.

He shook his head. “Non, I sense… I am afraid I will make a fool of myself and disappoint my father… and you.”

“Well, that is foolishness,” I chided gently. “However could you disappoint me?”

He sighed with resignation. “Will, I have never attended a formal affair.”

I grinned. “My love, this is Jamaica, not the Sun King’s court. There is nothing and no one here that would be considered of merit by people who regularly attend formal affairs. And as for your father, you need not impress him.”

“I feel I will say or do some stupid thing,” Gaston said doggedly.

“I feel you will not. You ever comport yourself as a gentleman. In all the time I have known you, your social deportment when dealing with matters of status and decorum has proven to be as impeccable as your table manners.”

“I am afraid that I will not be if my Horse becomes spooked about so many,” he sighed.

“Do you feel you will experience the sudden urge to bite the governor?” I teased.

“Non.” He snorted. “Nor do I fear striking him,” he added with annoyance. “I fear I will become unsettled and be unable to speak as I should and I will wish to leave in a rude manner.”

I nodded soberly. “That I can see occurring,” I said gently. “If such a thing does occur, then you shall catch my eye, and then simply walk out the door, and I will make the necessary apologies.”

“And excuses,” he muttered.

“My love,” I sighed. “You would be quite surprised at how many men and women suddenly take ill at parties.”

He frowned. “Truly?”

“Truly. Parties, dinners, fêtes of all sorts, are battlegrounds of love and politics, and not everyone holds the field. In your case, they know little of you, and so no one will assume you lost the day. And sometimes, leaving is a form of victory or a battle feint.”

He gave another resigned sigh. “I still know I will stand there as I do on ships when I know few, and not speak and…” He sighed yet again.

“You will be at my side,” I said reassuringly and grinned. “You know I speak enough for any three men.”

“Ten,” he said with a small nod and a weak attempt at a smile.

I chuckled. “Well, there are probably some things you should avoid.

Do not drink deeply if it even appears I will begin to spar with some fool.

You have a tendency of spitting your food or drink when I say something particularly… witty, perhaps.”

He smirked.

“I would not have you spitting on the governor, or Morgan, or… Well, there will likely be so many potential targets. Considering that, if you feel your Horse has the urge to take the bit and speak his mind, say you wish to smoke, and head out to the veranda.”

Gaston rolled his eyes, but he finally uncrossed his arms. “I will not speak. I feel the Horse will like none of them.”

“Then perhaps that is best,” I teased. “You should also not drink.

Not that you are so very prone to it as I have ever been. For that matter, do not let me indulge in that vice, lest I hand my Horse the reins and then you will be spitting what you sip upon all in attendance.”

“What else must I not do?” he asked with a smile. “That you would do if your Horse had the reins.”

I laughed. “Do not become flirtatious with the governor’s wife, or his mistress.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Modyford has a mistress?”

“I know not. Most men of his station do, but perhaps this island is too very small for such an indulgence. But on that matter, in all seriousness, there will be ladies present, and you will be with the guest of honor, and it is likely…” I grinned and I looked him over. “Non, it is inevitable, that someone, young or old, will choose to flirt with you. Be kind: smile and accept it with dignity.”

He frowned and then quickly blushed. “I would not,” he said indignantly.

“My love, you have seldom been around as many women… Damn, it is likely you will never have been around as many women showing décolletage as you will see this night. Even the matrons will have them stuffed above their stays up to here.” I indicated two pomegranates beneath my chin. “A gentleman should not stare. Though when they are young, that is precisely what they wish. And,” I sighed, remembering the first time he had seen a pretty and eligible young lady, “if you should become aroused, sit down if possible, or say you need to smoke and go to the veranda.”

His arms were crossed again. “And then what do I do?”

“I will be along to see to you,” I teased.

He rolled his eyes and then sobered. “I am sorry, Will. If it is as you say, I feel I will be staring at the ceiling a great deal.”

I shrugged. “As I recall, the governor has many fine chandeliers.

I can only see so many happy mounds before my cock, too, begins to wonder what will explode from beneath a dress. And I will not take offense as long as you are not inviting young ladies to the veranda to smoke with you. So let them flirt… Many will flirt just to see if you will regard their bosom. You can look if they are at that: just do not allow them to spook you.”

Then I realized another aspect of the matter. “And, as you are with the guest of honor, there will be men who will flirt, too. They will be courting your attention just as much as the women, though for other reasons, of course.”

He frowned. “So I should be polite and smile and nod to any who flirt with me and show their bosoms. What if it is the governor?”

As always, I marveled how he could jest so deftly with such a stony face. “In that instance, you may be as rude as you desire,” I said with as little amusement as I could manage. “As all who understand the Ways of the Coast know us to be matelots, if Modyford is flirting with you and revealing his bosom, it will be as insult to me, and I can guarantee you I shall duel him. Then it will not matter how your rudeness is interpreted: we will have to leave the island anyway.”

Gaston finally dissolved into laughter and came to embrace me.

“Do not leave me alone,” he whispered in my ear.

“Never.” I kissed him.

We climbed down the cistern and took turns bathing in the tub and then shaving one another’s stubbly faces and shearing our hair to less than a finger’s breadth. When we returned to our room, we eschewed wigs despite our shorn hair: I decided they would simply have to gaze upon our ear rings and appreciate the fine shape of our skulls when we doffed our hats. My azure brocade coat, sans lining, fit comfortably over a blue-grey shirt with fine white lace at the wrist and collar. My charcoal wool breeches were a bit more fashionable, and thus baggier, than I would have liked, but the best I had. My new suede boots were black, and fit as they should, all the way over my knee to the cuff of the breeches.

We had rinsed the salt from the fawn suede breeches Gaston had worn during our swimming escapade several days ago, and allowed them to dry in the shade since then. After such treatment, where they had been taut across his thighs and buttocks before, they were now remarkably so: to the extent that, with his high suede boots, he appeared to be clad in skin-tight brown leather from toe to waist. I found it quite fetching. I had chosen for him a snowy white linen shirt embroidered in gold thread with a very small pattern of entwining ivy vines. He took time to study the design before donning it, and pronounced it quite pleasing. His new forest green coat matched it all quite well, and hung so as to prevent me – or anyone else – from spending the evening staring at his arse. Knowing the leather-clad firmness of it was just beyond the loose velvet was enough to stir my cock.

I grinned as he donned his gloves and hat. “I feel I will be staring at the ceiling all night,” I said.

He frowned, and then grinned as he saw my smile and hungry eyes.

He looked me over appreciatively, but not lustfully. “I will stare at you,”

he said.

“And not need a walk to the veranda,” I teased.

He came to me, and nuzzled my ear lobe while brushing his fingers over my crotch. “It is good your pants are so baggy,” he hissed playfully.

“Because you are ever on display. I can exercise control.”

I cast all playfulness aside, and took his shoulders to push him to arm’s length and regard the taut leather across his crotch with dismay.

“You best do so, my love, or keep your eyes steadfastly on something chaste and innocuous, or everyone will surely know your thoughts. As much as I adore those breeches on you, perhaps…”

He moved quickly to smother my words with a deep kiss. I surrendered to it, and my great desire of the moment, and slipped my hands beneath his coat to caress and cup his arse. He ground against me slowly, only to stop a minute later and reach into his breeches to adjust his member in its close confines – much to my amusement.

“You best tend to me now, then,” he growled huskily in a way I adored far more than the breeches.

“How?” I teased.

“I have bathed,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“That you have,” I sighed happily, and pushed him back to the bed where I knelt between his knees and nuzzled his suede-covered bulge.

“I will wish to do this again: after you have worn these long enough for your skin to smell and taste like them.”

He gave a happy gasp at the idea as I applied myself to the task. His cock proved eager for my tongue, and we made regrettably short work of the endeavor. Mine ached with need as he finished, but we heard Striker calling for us from the atrium.

“They can wait,” Gaston murmured, and pulled me into his arms as we stood.

“Non,” I said. “It is a pleasant thing, and well-disguised. I will savor it.” His only argument was to hold me in his arms a moment longer while gazing into my eyes with great regard, and then kissing me, such that I savored my aching member all the more.

We at last descended the stairs to meet the Marquis, Dupree, and Striker with happy smiles and good cheer. Sarah pronounced us pleasing, if a little rakish, as we buckled on our sword belts. Striker was dressed in an unadorned but nicely fitting dark brown coat and breeches, with high leather boots, much like the ones I had left to the sea. He looked handsome and like many of the other captains I had seen at the few gatherings I had attended. Gaston’s father appeared every bit the lord, dressed in a finely worked pale blue satin ensemble of coat, breeches, and vest, with flounces of delicate lace at neck and cuff, and blue gems adorning his accoutrements, including the buckles of his blue suede shoes.

Agnes was regarding us all with a cocked head from the doorway to the foyer. When I met her curious gaze she remarked, “All your coats match your eyes.”

I looked around and saw she was correct: even Dupree’s elegantly tailored golden coat complemented his light brown eyes.

“How delightfully odd,” I said.

She shrugged. “I thought all men wore black in England, or here, for parties and such.”

“My dear,” I said, as I patted her head on our way out the door, “that was during the Reformation. Only the Protestants despise color.”

“And here the men merely seem to be sadly out of fashion,” Dupree added earnestly.

“Wait,” Agnes called after me. When I turned she quickly said, “Give my best to Christine if you see her.”

“I will,” I assured her. I hoped we would not see the girl: it would be a bit of awkwardness I wished to avoid.

We stepped out onto the street and encountered a carriage and Theodore. The vehicle’s driver informed us he had been sent to take us to the ferry landing, and then another carriage would take us to the Governor’s House after we crossed the Passage.

I looked to Gaston and sighed. Though we had made no arrangement to fetch our horses from the farm on which they whiled away their days, I had still expected to acquire mounts at the livery and enjoy a pleasant ride to Spanish Town. Though he did not voice it, he seemed to share my dismay.

His father was quite pleased at the governor’s thoughtfulness, though; and so we all climbed aboard for the bumpy ride through Port Royal’s rutted and uneven streets. Gaston and Striker took the outer seats of the front bench, leaving me to cram myself between them.

Theodore, the Marquis and Dupree were similarly arranged on the other bench; but whereas I had been forced to take the middle, Lord Tervent had chosen it.

“You look like gentlemen,” Theodore remarked loudly over the rumble of wheels.

“I should hope so,” I said, as I tried to accustom myself to the unfamiliar sensation of riding in a carriage after so many years.

I glanced at my matelot, and found he seemed quite happy now that we were underway; and I supposed it was such a novelty for him he had no complaint, much as visiting the tailor’s had been. I hoped he would view the party in much the same light.