Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (38 page)

“As always,” Sarah said bitterly, “we cannot know what our father thinks.”

“Well, we can no longer rely on the governor or militia to protect you should your damn cousin arrive,” Striker said. He appeared as grave as Theodore. “I should not sail.”

“We were fooling ourselves to think they would offer protection,” I said sadly. “Gaston and I needed to sail, and Pete and you needed to sail, and thus none of us were going to stay with her, so I concocted that arrangement with the governor in order to protect her. But truly, there is no protection from an earl unless it is from a duke or king. My father could sail here and snatch her up and return her home at any time. Though I do feel that Shane sailing in, even bearing my father’s name, might meet with more difficulty. The aspect of the matter I was truly relying on last spring was that, with Shane being wounded, they would not travel. And that Shane is the type of man who wishes to harm another in person and not send an assassin.”

“Wait,” the Marquis said to me as Dupree was halfway through translating.

Though I could see that Striker and Sarah had much to say, I could see the confusion in Christine and the Marquis’ eyes.

So I started speaking, in French, before the Marquis could ask his question. “My father wishes for my second cousin, Jacob Shane, to inherit. Shane stayed and became a part of my father’s dealings when I fled my father’s estate at sixteen – primarily because of Shane. But that is another tale I do not feel like telling. Suffice it to say that both were dismayed to realize I still lived when I returned to the family estate three years ago. Without me, my father could have adopted Shane. As it was, Shane had decided to marry into the family, and when our sister Elizabeth was betrothed, he set his eye on Sarah. My return disrupted his plans in several ways, and he became quite angry with her. When he found I was involved in the aborting of his plan, he attacked her, and she defended herself by shooting him. In the resulting chaos, he dropped a wine bottle and lamp and severely burned himself. My father was quite distraught, more so that his beloved Shane should be so injured and marred, than that his daughter had been attacked. It was suggested that Sarah leave for a time. So she came here with my uncle– who was also quite disturbed at his brother’s behavior, and thought she should be married off in order to protect her – and thus she met and married Striker. We have heard no word from my damn father as to whether he approves or accepts their marriage.” I shrugged. “We have heard no word from our father.”

The Marquis nodded sagely. “How long ago did this occur?”

“The incident in England was just over a year ago, I suppose,” I said.

“Sarah – and my bride – arrived in January of this year.”

He spoke to Sarah and me, and motioned for Dupree to translate for the others. “I feel he could not have traveled this year. I know how long it took to arrange my voyage here. Does he know you are with child?”

Sarah shrugged. “If he has spies on this island, he has surely heard.

For that matter, I am sure our uncle told him.”

He smiled grimly, and his gaze went to Striker. “Prior to the last few years, when I have had much reason to examine my conscience and view matters differently than I had before, if one of my daughters had hastily married a man I did not approve of, and she was with child such that it could not be annulled, I would have…” He shrugged eloquently.

“Seen that she was widowed.”

Sarah pressed her fingers to her lips and looked away.

Striker smiled affably. “Aye, I have often thought that, and we have discussed it.”

I was not surprised or appalled; I had thought such a thing myself.

I grinned. “On two occasions my life was threatened for my relationship with some man’s son. And we will not count the times concerning daughters.”

The Marquis shrugged and regarded Gaston and me. “There was a time…” Then he grinned. “But as things stand, I am still amazed you have not shot me.”

“Your realizing that has done much to increase your longevity.” I said lightly.

He chuckled.

“Well,” Striker said, “there haven’t been any attempts on my life, yet.

If he wants me dead, perhaps he thinks roving’ll save him the trouble.”

“Perhaps that is how he will attain it, if it is a thing he wishes,” the Marquis said after hearing the translation. “Men are easy enough to place in harm’s way when military endeavors are involved.”

Striker frowned at that, but he at last shook his head. “I was asked to do dangerous things in Porto Bello – after I married her, but… among the Brethren, a captain is expected to lead from the front, and we gain extra shares for acts of valor. I took Morgan asking me to do as I did as a sign of his respect. And if I don’t rove…”

“It is a matter of prestige,” Sarah said sadly.

“If Modyford has recruited Morgan to the cause, it would be very easy to throw you to the fates again and again,” I told Striker, “but I do not feel Morgan would be easily enlisted unless he dislikes you for some other reason – just as Vines had to have his reason. But as for our father seeing you dead by other means, if that is his desire, you may well be safest roving. Here, even with Pete ever at your side and weapons about, you would be a very easy target for an accomplished assassin. But roving, I cannot see where his agent might find a member of the Brethren easy to buy on such a matter; and placing a man in our ranks to fire carelessly in battle or some such thing, that will take him time – not that he has not possibly had such time. Sadly, if they truly wish us dead, the only way to prevent it is to kill them first and hope they have not left funds to pay for the deed with someone else.”

“So we wait,” Sarah said with sudden resolve. “And do what we will.”

She brushed the tears from her eyes and smoothed her skirt over her belly as she stood.

Striker went to embrace his wife, his mien one of forced cheer.

Pete stood still, a resolute statue of bronze with crossed arms. He met my gaze. “Iffn’ A Thing Happens I Canna’ Stop. I’ll Be The Last Livin’ Thing Yar Father Sees. Tell Me How Ta Find ’Im.”

I nodded. “Should I write it down for you to keep, or should we work on your memorizing it over the coming days?”

He shrugged. “Both.”

“If I am not dead, I would accompany you on that errand,” I said.

Pete grinned. “Aye, I’d Look Fur Ya.”

Gaston, who had been notably silent through all the discussion, squeezed my hand and said, “Jamaica must be baptized.”

“Oui,” I said. “I must lay public claim to her.”

Sarah was regarding us. She shook her head and spoke English for all, even though she had overheard our French. “To thwart him?

You will make yourself miserable to anger our father? You would have been happier to do what he wished. And though I would never play his advocate, his actions, however contrived, were in your favor this time.”

“We had decided the matter before today,” I said with some irritation. “I will claim the child as mine. And who I marry or remain married to has little to do with my happiness.”

She frowned and quickly shook her head irritably. “That is not what I meant. I am sorry if you perceived it that way. I am saying that the one you are married to will cause you – and likely the rest of us – trouble until she dies. I did not realize you intended to keep her.”

“We will not keep her here,” I sighed.

Sarah glanced at Christine, who was studying the tiles thoughtfully.

“Gaston’s wife will not live here, either,” I added.

This brought a frown to Christine’s forehead, but Sarah sighed.

Then she cursed in a manner that would have done her husbands proud. “I am sorry, I do not mean… I should relish the company.”

“It is your house,” I said. “I learned long ago that houses only have one mistress, if they are happy houses.”

But this brought to mind the fact that we could not deposit Vivian and Christine in the same dwelling, either.

I looked to Theodore. “We will need to rebuild the other house. Until my father says otherwise, it is still to be used by the Lady Marsdale.”

He nodded glumly. “I was beginning to sense that.” He stood and smiled. “If you will excuse me. I have much to think on and do.”

I stood and embraced him. “We will sort it all through.”

“Aye,” he sighed. He gazed at me earnestly when I released him. “I am sorry I have given you such poor advice.”

“I am sorry you feel you have ever done such a thing,” I said. “I surely do not feel that you have.”

He snorted. “You are too kind.” He sighed and regarded Gaston.

“Should I return the baby?”

Gaston shook his head. “Nay, I will return her.”

“What?” I asked.

“Jamaica is visiting her mother,” Gaston said.

I recalled he had been standing in the parlor doorway when I had been summoned into the fray. That door still stood open now: along with the shuttered window opening into the atrium. Vivian had surely heard everything.

I would need to speak with her. I was damn glad Gaston had seen to her this morning – but then he had been responsible for my not being in a state to do so. It was with effort I kept myself from examining my wrists and ankles. I was relieved the others had either been so distracted by events to not notice, or polite enough not to make remark of it.What was I going to wear to disguise them for going to the church to arrange a baptism? What was Vivian going to wear? What was Christine going to wear? How fast did we truly need to react? Were messages even now being written and a ship readied to sail to carry them? How much time did we have?

“Then I will speak with you later,” Theodore was saying and bowing.

I returned the gesture and remembered to smile.

Gaston’s arm was tight about my shoulder and he was dragging me to the stable. I did not protest.

“Did I do wrong?” he whispered urgently once we were alone. “I did not perceive the matter as my father or you did.”

“You did not do wrong,” I assured him, and wrapped my arms around him as much for my comfort as his. “I know you sought to rescue her, and me. Neither of us would have wished this outcome, but the Gods move in mysterious ways. Perhaps all will be well. We have so much to do. And damn it, I am finding it so hard to think now that the crisis is past.”

He cursed quietly, and held me such that he ground my rough tunic against my tender skin.

“That hurts, that hurts,” I whispered.

That served to elicit more cursing and tears, but he released me.

“Oh, stop,” I murmured as I pulled away and leaned on the back wall. “It was glorious, and I woke happy.”

He stood trembling, and I was alarmed to see how very lost he was.

I tugged him to me by his tunic, and took his face in my hands. “I love you. We will be fine,” I murmured.

“What have I done?” he gasped.

“Nothing, yet. You need not do it.”

“But…”

“Let us be calm and think of what we have to do that we wish to do.

Later, we can consider the other.”

He took a ragged breath and nodded between my hands.

“First,” I said lightly, “and I say this not to cause you guilt, because I will not have you feel guilt over the matter, but however shall we disguise my wrists?”

I looked down. There were indeed livid purple marks around my ankles as well.

“And ankles,” I added.

He smiled grimly. “Boots.”

“Oui.” I nodded. “And I suppose I should dress as a gentleman for church; but damn, I cannot see wearing a shirt or coat for all the days these will take to heal.”

“You cannot tell anyone,” he said with sudden desperation. And then he spoke with the Horse’s growl. “It is not their concern.”

“Non, non, never,” I assured him. “My love, can you calm yourself?”

Fear dimmed the Horse’s fury in his eyes. “Non,” he gasped, and sank to his knees to wrap his arms about my waist and press his face into my hip.

“Do not worry, my love,” I whispered, and rubbed his head.

A shadow fell over us, and I looked up to see his father. He met my gaze with concern. I shook my head and waved him away. He left with a nod.

After a time, Gaston’s breathing steadied.

“What should we do, my love?” I murmured. “We should return the baby to Rachel, non?”

He nodded mutely.

“And I must speak with Vivian,” I added. “So perhaps you can do the one while I do the other?”

He nodded again, but he did not move.

I gently prodded his arms from around me and lowered myself to sit beside him. He would not regard me: his mien was sad and guilty as he gazed upon the puppies.

“I wish you could keep me on a leash,” he said quietly.

“To keep you from roaming, or to keep you safe?” I asked lightly.

He shook his head. “Both. I feel the need to do as we did while sailing to Île de Vache last year.”

“To be chained to me so that you might frolic in the field without care?”

He nodded. “But I cannot – now.”

“I wish we were chained together as well,” I sighed.

His gaze was earnest. “Am I behaving so poorly?”

“Non, non,” I said and kissed his cheek. “I feel I would find comfort in it: not to keep you with me, but that we were safe together.”

He seemed to find brief respite from the fears gnawing at him, and then his brow was knotted once again. “Then, I gave myself to my Horse; now, I feel the need to do the opposite. I feel I am very much in the light; and it is bright, too bright, perhaps, and I wish to hide in the shade for a time.”

I sighed, as I could feel the call of what he sought. “I understand: we either need to expand our metaphor to explain such a need, or we have been viewing it wrongly. Whichever, I know not if this morning is the time to consider it. And I regret that. I feel I wish we were sailing, without… our needing to be at the beck and call of the needs of others. I guess we yearn for escape.”

He nodded and truly seemed relieved. “We keep loading things in the cart.”

I grinned. “Oui. Neither of us is familiar with pulling such a load.

So let us take time to frolic when we may. Like last night.” I poked him teasingly.