Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (43 page)

“She should hold her at the baptism,” I said quietly in French, as I took Vivian’s arm and ushered her out the door.

“I know, I know,” Gaston sighed.

Vivian peered about self-consciously once we were on the street, as if someone might be there to spy upon her, and then her gaze fell on the ruins of her house and she gasped. The hazy golden light of late afternoon made the black skeletal remains appear even worse than they had at midday. It was as if we gazed upon a graveyard. She released my arm and went to stand before it with her arms tightly crossed and utter dismay upon her features.

“We will have it rebuilt,” I told her gently.

She shook her head. “And then what? Shall I live there as I did before? Or will we all live there? I will not share it with…” She looked to Gaston guiltily. “His wife. I will share it with him, now… but not her.”

She looked away with a little frown, as if she realized how childish she sounded. “And I do not…” She sighed heavily and began to lead us toward the church.

“What do you not?” I prompted.

“I do not wish to live in it alone,” she said over her shoulder. “I will drink if I do.”

“Do you wish to live with us, then?” I asked. “We feel Gaston’s wife will be in France as soon as it can be managed.”

She stopped and turned, her arms akimbo. With her simply plaited hair and drab, shapeless dress, she appeared far older than her years.

She sighed expansively and nodded her head in a tight little gesture.

“Aye, I would live with you then, and the baby, as I see…” She looked pointedly at Gaston and shrugged.

“Will and I will share a bed,” Gaston said.

“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes, but her response seemed to contain more annoyance that the matter should be discussed at all than that it should exist. “I will sleep alone quite happily, thank you.”

“We do not choose to live in town for most of the year, however,” I said.“I do not wish to live here, in town, either,” she said. “There are too many people here who…” She trailed off with annoyed shake of her head and a resolute set to her jaw.

“Who know of you and your exploits, both purported and witnessed,”

I said kindly and gestured at the rubble behind us.

She nodded tightly. “I do not… I do not wish to face them without the fortification of strong spirits. I do not know how.”

“I understand,” I said, and went to take her arm again.

“We live in a hovel on Negril Point when we do not live here or rove,”

Gaston said. “We will not… We could not build a house like you had, there.”

She shrugged. “That house was my… fortress. I feel distance from…

others, will make for even thicker walls than those fine ones once made.”

“Then we will manage it all, somehow,” I told her, and began to lead us to the church.

I looked to Gaston over her head. He met my gaze and nodded thoughtfully, and then sighed with relief as he fell into step beside us.

I could barely imagine how we would survive upon the Point without one of us wishing to strangle her or her not taking a knife to us while we slept; but there was reason to hope we would find a way to manage it.

Gaston would have his child, Vivian would remain sober and safe from the cares of the world, and I would have him and still have managed to thwart my father while doing everything a proper gentleman should– after a fashion.

At the church, Gaston handed her Jamaica, and she carefully carried the little bundle inside after pausing to gaze down at the little face with nearly as much adoration as my matelot had shown. And I wondered if what I perceived of her feelings toward the child was merely a thing of women, in that all women gazing upon an infant looked much the same, or whether she truly felt for the child as much as Gaston did.

She was dismayed to see the Theodores inside, but as Rachel gave her no looks of reproach, and even greeted her with a kindness I found strange coming from the woman, Vivian calmed somewhat and we managed the baptismal ceremony with little incident – though the pastor was disapproving of our choice of name, insisting repeatedly that we choose a Christian name. He finally relented beneath five glares and my argument that we were making it a Christian name this day.

As I had when I married Vivian, I found myself saying much in my heart to the Gods, even as blasphemy and lies passed my lips as to how I would raise this child. We named Gaston as godfather, and as I heard him say the necessary words to satisfy the ceremony, I continued to muse on how very much more we truly intended to do for this babe than so many others would do who stood where we stood and said what we said. Our participating in this ceremony was perfunctory, but the pact we made with this child was truly heartfelt and encompassed more than what little – and self-serving – direction the Church was giving us concerning her upbringing. In truth, my standing there at all – and all that that implied – was very much more than many children ever received.

When it was over, I found myself taking the child from her mother’s arms and holding our little Jamaica so I could gaze upon her cherubic face. I doubted any about me would see adoration upon my features, but perhaps they saw my wonder. We were truly responsible for this little person, and for the first time I felt that charge, as deeply as I had felt I was married to Gaston on the day we were named matelots by our friends. The weight settled heavily upon my shoulders, and to my relief I felt myself rise to the occasion; and I knew I would walk taller for it, as I did with Gaston.

“Thank you,” Vivian whispered as I returned the child to her arms, and I knew she was not thanking me for giving her the baby for the walk home.

“Nay, thank you,” I said, and kissed her forehead. “We will make it work somehow.”

Her eyes were moist. “Swear it,” she said.

“I swear it.”

“On?” she demanded quietly.

“On my love for Gaston,” I said.

She smiled. “You are the only man I have ever met who would have the balls to say such a thing in a church. If you are so very brave, I believe you can truly make it all good somehow.”

I bowed and grinned. “Then, my Lady, I thank you for the trust you have placed in me.”

She snorted with mock annoyance, but her smile was genuine as we walked to the door.

Outside, Rachel and Theodore were waiting. “We might as well take her home,” Mistress Theodore said.

Vivian seemed reluctant to part with the baby.

“Do you want to keep her yet?” Rachel asked my wife.

Gaston frowned at this suggestion, and Vivian tried to shrink into my side.

“I am… I am… I am afraid I will be a poor mother,” Vivian said at last and handed the child carefully to Rachel.

“We all have to learn to handle little ones,” Rachel said in a kinder variation of her usual direct manner. “I’ll bring her around tomorrow, and you can start learning.”

Vivian nodded tightly. “If you think it… best.” She looked to Gaston and bit her lip.

My matelot looked to Rachel.

She sighed and said, “Any rum you might have left in you cannot be worse than what we’re giving her now.”

Gaston nodded glumly and shrugged.

“I will locate a bottle and see you… soon,” Theodore said, after a glance at his wife proved she was not approving of whatever he might have planned involving a bottle.

“It is for a good cause,” I assured her quickly.

“It always is,” Rachel sniffed, and began to lead them home.

Theodore was battling a good chuckle, and he smiled warmly at us in his wife’s wake. “Soon, then; I feel I should dine at home first.”

“That might be wise,” I agreed.

I offered Vivian my arm, and she clung to it as we began to walk home. Gaston fell into step on her other side.

“Mistress Theodore is often a direct woman; you should not take it personally,” I told Vivian. “She does not seem to revile you.”

She sighed, and tried to speak as if I was naïve, but her delivery was somewhat hesitant. “How a woman behaves in front of men is not always the same as how she behaves towards other women.”

“I know that well,” I assured her. “But I truly feel she means you no harm. I am merely warning you that on occasion she has scolded even Pete.”

“Who is Pete?” she asked.

Gaston and I exchanged a perplexed glance over her head.

“The Golden God that lives in our house,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, him…”

“It is good to know you are not blind,” I teased.

She snorted dismissively, but there was color in her cheeks. “Oh, I have seen him, to be sure; I simply did not know his name. Captain Striker is a delight to the eyes as well.”

“Aye,” I said enthusiastically.

She rolled her eyes, and then sobered to glance at Gaston with a quick frown.

“I do not favor men, but I know they are handsome,” Gaston said levelly.

This deepened the furrows on her brow and caused her gaze to flick to me.

“What?” I asked.

She shook her head and considered several tacks before blurting,

“Neither of you is disagreeable to the eye, either. And… do not interpret that as anything other than a compliment. I want nothing to do with either of you, or any man, for that matter. I have had my fill of men,”

she finished quietly and sadly.

I shook my head, and squeezed the hand she had upon my arm.

“I hope, for your sake, that you will have a change of heart on that someday. I am quite open to your taking a lover, if the opportunity should present itself and it will not complicate other matters.”

She frowned, and flushed with her eyes steadfastly on the ground before us. “I cannot… could not…” She shook her head. “Will not do as I did before. I cannot see even allowing someone to touch me without a good deal of rum.”

Her gaze shot to Gaston, and her color deepened.

“I tell him everything,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “I thought as much.”

“I do not think you a whore,” Gaston said.

She flinched at his tone, but she nodded and found the courage to ask, “What do you think me?”

“A drunkard,” he sighed.

“I have had my reasons,” she said quietly.

“So have I, and so has Will,” Gaston said without recrimination. “We all have reasons to hide from pain. Some men, or women, take to spirits such that the cure becomes a disease. You are one of those people.”

She was gazing intently at him. “I remember you are scarred,” she said “I think I remember that from the birth.”

He nodded.

She looked to me, her tone curious. “But I have seen no scars on you.”

“I was raped and beaten by my cousin,” I said with an ease that surprised me. “That is why I left my father’s home when I was your age.”

She winced and looked away quickly. Then she frowned. “Shane?”

I sighed. “Aye.”

“He hates you,” she said quietly.

I frowned, and then I recalled she said she knew him. “What did he say?”

“That you were a sodomite,” she said with a shrug of embarrassment.

“He reviles you for it.”

“Because I can admit what I am and he cannot,” I said with contempt.

She began to nod, and stopped to shake her head and speak with surety. “Nay, because you will inherit and he will not.” She looked up at me with a perplexed frown. “I am thinking of all that was said this morning, about your father and…”

“Did you ever speak to my father?” I asked.

“Nay, well, aye, but as a formal introduction. He had to see what his money had purchased,” she said bitterly. “We did not speak. And my father…” She sighed. “He did not speak with me, either. Shane spoke with me. He wished to seduce me.”

Gaston swore.

“Nay! Nay!” she said quickly. “I am not that big a fool! He was drunk.

We were drunk. There were others present, though. He led me to a corner and whispered of it. He said you would never do me justice; that I was wasted upon you. He even said you would never get me with child, and I might as well see to the matter myself where I could, as you would not challenge it if you were smart.” She shook her head with guilt and embarrassment. “Even as drunk as I was… I knew he did not want me, and it made me angry. He merely wanted to ruin me before I was sent to you.”

Anger and bemusement rose within me that he should still be such a damn fool, and then it exploded as the true import of some of her words came to roost. “He did not think I would challenge an illegitimate birth if I were smart?” I growled.

Her eyes went wide with horror at what she found in mine. She grasped at me and I thought she might kneel. I grabbed her shoulders to keep her from sinking, and it was only with great effort I kept myself from shaking her. Over her shoulder, I saw murder to match my own in Gaston’s eyes.

“I am sorry!” she wailed. “I did not mean... You have been so good…

I am sorry. I did not do it because of him. I did not know there was bad blood between you. I did not know. I did not know. I did not believe you would… I thought maybe if I had a boy, then… But…”

Though the street was not crowded, people were stopping to stare.

I pulled her to my chest and put a hand over her mouth. I was gripped by such a rage I wished to strangle her, but a small and clear voice whispered that it was truly not her fault.

Gaston took me by the shoulder and began to tow us home with great purpose. Her panicked protestations stopped and she walked between us sobbing. When we were at last safely within the foyer, Gaston hissed, “Stable!” and pushed me away. I numbly did as he bid.

I hoped he would not kill her, but I knew I would not lift a hand to stop him.

I collapsed on our hammock, shaking with rage made all the more painful by its impotence. I wanted to kill Shane. How could he still harbor so much hatred of me? And for my birth as opposed to his? For my inheritance, not for all that had passed between us, not for all the love and pain and blood. Nay, because I was something I could not help and could not change, and he was something else. All that had occurred must be viewed through that lens, no matter how warped or cracked.

Everything over which I had felt pain was meaningless. He had never loved me. He had never been my friend. I had been a deluded and lonely little boy. I was a fool. I should have killed him. I should not have let him scar me as he had, so deeply upon my heart that nothing would ever remove it, nothing could ever heal it.