Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (60 page)

“Then I am disappointed that you should grow to be so ordinary,” I chided. “Perhaps you are not what we wish for in a dam.”

I had scratched her. She stiffened, her attempt at world-weary resignation cast aside to reveal smoldering anger. “You can never understand.”

“You best make me,” I said.

“Nay, I need do no such thing,” she snapped.

“Ah, but in that you are mistaken,” I said coldly, relishing driving her across the yard. “We have wolves sniffing about our doors: I will not let my matelot walk into one’s jaws. Either you lied when you first told us of yourself or you have found reason to become someone we do not know – and that is a thing I must understand. Or you are at the mercy of another agenda: perhaps another’s agenda.”

She took a quick breath of surprise and turned to regard me with a furrowed brow. She began to flail about in a desperate attempt to hold me off. “I would never. I am not my father and I know nothing of… How dare you?” she hissed. “I did not lie. I cannot ever have those things I wished for. They were a dream: a lie; a fancy. That is not how the world is. Damn you! That does not make me weak.”

Beyond the wine and my ire, I sensed something in her last words: an opening. “What does make you weak?”

She clamped her jaw closed and shook her head tightly before looking away. “I am not weak. I am just a woman, and I have the desires of a woman. That does not make me weak or fickle.”

“What desires have you discovered of late?” I asked, and then realized how very far I had stepped: it was as if I had charged into her feint and lost my balance.

She regarded me smugly. “I desire a man: one who values my lack of convention; one who will desire me. I thought that man to be you, but that was merely girlish infatuation. It need not be you. Your matelot will do nicely. Are you afraid he will find more favor in my arms than in yours?”

Suddenly, I was the one falling back before her rain of blows, barely managing to maintain my composure. “Never,” I said; and it was a lie despite all my faith in him, and she saw it.

“If you truly loved him, you would not stand in the way of his being happy,” she said: her blade at my throat.

It was with great effort that I kept my hands from about her throat.

I stood and walked to the surf to cool my heels and lick my wounds. I need not ever worry. I knew that. Her ever being with him would lead to disaster long before he might come to love her. Nay, what hurt was that I thought I had killed and buried my foolish fears over the matter days ago. Yet, here I was, off balance and feeling the bite of a much older blade, one from which I carried many scars: one she had wielded with great resolve, whether her choosing it had been by accident or with forethought.

And that knowledge brought clarity to my heart and stilled the winds for a moment. It was my decision, and there were times I should truly listen to my Horse.

Gaston joined me soon after, his face suffused with concern.

I smiled weakly. “I sought to determine her motivations, as I feared they might stem from another… as they do not seem to be in keeping with what we first knew of her. And… for my trouble, I have discovered I am too damn drunk to duel with a woman.”

He looked from me to her and back again with a frown and his eyes hardening with the Horse’s anger. “What did she say?”

She was watching from up the beach, her eyes narrowed.

I sighed. “That she has discovered her womanly desires and she feels you will do nicely. She is thinking with her pussy – and her head, I must admit. Women are so like cats. Men are stupid when under the sway of their cock, but a woman… Non, a woman develops craftiness and uses wiles when lustful that make a mockery of all that is good about them.

“There is a part of me – ironically my Horse, I feel – that wishes for you to marry her just to prove to the insolent little bitch that you will never love her as you do me. I want to fight her: to stomp her into the ground. But… It will entail entirely too much effort for too little satisfaction, and I will not have us carrying her about for the rest of our lives, as she will surely be a heavy load. I do not wish for you to marry her. I am asking that you do not.”

He nodded tightly and soberly, and then the tension flowed from his shoulders and face like the receding waves at our feet. He smiled.

“Good.”

I was relieved, yet there was still guilt that I should make such a demand. “I…”

He shook his head in admonishment and his smile broadened.

I sighed, and let my tension flow away with his. “So now what shall we do?” I chuckled.

“Sail,” he said. “My father can send a more suitable bride: one that you can accept; one I might be ready for.” Then he sighed and looked away at the horizon. “I do not wish to tell him… or her.”

“Oh, I will tell them,” I said.

He chuckled. “There are days when we should not allow you to drink.”

“One must pay more attention to one’s seat upon one’s Horse when drunk. As fractious as my animal is this day…” I sighed. “It is for the best. Sometimes we should not soothe ourselves past the madmen in the bushes. We should choose another path.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “What of Agnes?”

“What of her?”

“I would still… experiment,” he sighed. “I feel, even if the need is not imminent, that it is a thing I must overcome.”

“I agree. I have no difficulty with Agnes.”

He got a handful of my tunic and pulled my mouth to his. I savored it: even more so because she was watching – and then I felt the fool for that. But as we walked back to the others and I saw her speculative glare, I knew she would ever think I had withdrawn from the battle because I was afraid of losing. I hoped the Gods would see fit to show her the error of such hubris in time.

Seventy-One

We made our way home in the bright noontime light. Gaston avoided his father and supposed bride, and frolicked in the surf with Pete and Agnes: they took turns lifting her up and tossing her into deeper water– a thing she shrieked at but seemed to find much delight in. Christine appeared angry, and glared toward the threesome every time her former friend squealed. I watched them and her with amusement and great relief. The Marquis, Dupree, and Rucker fell into step beside me, and we spoke companionably of unimportant matters. I knew well Gaston’s father was not blind, but with the others about, he thankfully asked me nothing.

When we at last entered the house, we were all quite surprised to be greeted by Striker, Vittese, and several men from the French ship.

Vittese appeared momentarily delighted at our arrival; and then a disdainful mien fell over him once again, as he avoided all other gazes and bowed properly before his lord. His face still bore bruises and a crooked beak from Gaston’s beating. The Marquis greeted him warmly, and stepped into the dining room to speak with him privately.

Striker shrugged at us. “They sailed in this morning. They’ve been waiting out the rain down the coast.” He led Pete upstairs to Sarah’s room.

Gaston and I exchanged looks of resignation and sadness. It seemed the end of an idyll; and I knew well I would have been quite surprised at that perception of the Marquis’ imminent leave-taking, a mere fortnight before. My matelot sighed heavily and climbed the stairs to look in on Sarah. The rest of our company deserted me to change from their damp attire.

I stood alone with the French sailors, who had followed the girls with hungry eyes and were even now making little comments.

“Those are ladies,” I said sharply.

One of the men snorted contemptuously at me.

I wondered if the entire crew of the ship the Marquis had sailed on were daft. The words that I was a lord filled my mouth, and I bit them back. I was no longer that, but I was yet a wolf when I chose. I drew a blade. “Get out! Wait in the street like the dogs you are.”

The snorting one seemed disinclined to move, but one of his companions whispered something in his ear that made him frown at me; and the three retreated to the street, much to my disappointment. I was in the mood to run a man through.

I retreated to the stable, melancholy nipping at my heels.

I wanted to escape to the sea. I tried to tell myself all would be well once we were amongst the Brethren again; but then I remembered, there would be some among that number who wished us dead. And the rest…

Well, we had not always done well with the rest, anyway. The whole damn world seemed filled with fools and bastards, and it filled my heart with dread. I doubted we would ever be well anywhere except alone.

I sheathed my blade, sank to the straw and cuddled a puppy. I did not feel inclined to cry so much as sink beneath the very dirt and disappear.

I was startled by a knock on the doorframe and looked up to find the Marquis watching me with concern.

I composed my features quickly. “Tell your man the others are in the street. They were viewing the girls in a lewd manner.”

He snorted understanding and his disapproval. “I will give instruction that all should be kept away from this house while they are in port. There is no need for them to be here, anyway.”

“We shall miss you,” I said.

He sighed sadly. “Oui. I do not wish to leave.” He brightened and shrugged. “But it will not be this day.”

“Good,” I said with a sincere smile of my own; and then I sobered.

“There is a thing we should discuss.”

He nodded and glanced behind him. “Can it wait until tonight? I need to go speak with my captain.”

I guessed Vittese was within hearing. I nodded. “Or later, if you will not sail on the morrow.”

He grinned. “I will remain until all business I need attend to here has been completed.”

I wanted to tell him he need not wait on a wedding, but I held my tongue and smiled in parting.

I was not long alone in his wake; another shadow fell across the puppies: Agnes. She had freed her hair to flow across her shoulders, and she was dressed in a finer gown than I had ever seen her in before.

This one actually followed the shallow curves she possessed.

She fidgeted in the doorway. “Um… Would you…” She looked up over her shoulder and sighed. “While Gaston is busy with Sarah… Could you… leave?”

“And go where?” I asked.

She sighed as if I were daft, and stepped into the stable to lean toward me and hiss, “Mistress Garret’s.”

I remembered. “Now?”

“It is not night,” she said with some exasperation.

I sighed. It would be a distraction. “I suppose. I will need to speak with Gaston, though.”

She nodded. “He is speaking with Striker on the balcony.”

I sighed again, and carefully deposited the puppy with his fellows before pushing my way to my feet. The ground floor of the atrium was thankfully empty of all save Agnes. Gaston was standing on the balcony speaking with Striker in hushed tones. I went to stand almost beneath them, and Gaston leaned over the rail to gaze down at me. His eyes flicked to his father’s room.

“He will not sail today,” I assured him quietly in French, “or even on the morrow, but he is going to speak to his captain now. Agnes wishes for me to accompany her about town. Do you have need of me?”

He frowned at Agnes, but he shook his head. “Your sister is well enough. I might sleep for a time.”

“Good,” I said. “I hope to join you when I return.”

He awarded me a warm smile. “Please do.”

It was the balm I needed; and I smiled, and walked with a somewhat lighter step as I led Agnes to Mistress Garret’s.

We spied the woman working in her garden as we came up the alley.

I stopped and stepped into an alcove between two buildings. Agnes stood where I had left her, in a state of agitation, and wrung her hands.

I snatched her into the alcove with me.

“If I approach her for you, she will become confused as to your, or our, intent,” I chided gently.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” Agnes whispered.

“She is a whore,” I said kindly. “She will not show it.”

This wrinkled Agnes’ nose quite cutely. “But…”

“Agnes,” I said sternly, “if you harbor any conceit of this being a romantic engagement, then we shall return to the house. Do not fool yourself. You must be here to engage a professional woman to perform a service for you, not to meet a potential lover; else you will be greatly disappointed.”

She frowned and hung her head with a blush upon her cheeks.

I took her shoulders and turned her to face me. “My dear girl, I know it is difficult,” I said kindly. “If you wish to do this, view it as an opportunity to enhance your confidence towards the matter and ally your fears as to your true desires. Once you have accomplished that, then you should fraternize with the other young ladies about town and the plantations. You might be surprised at how many you will find with desires to match your own.”

I could see doubt flit across her face, but then she squared her shoulders and marched down the alley.

I leaned on the wall and allowed my dismal prognosis regarding her chances of finding lasting love to mingle with the day’s disenchantment with humanity. Even if she did find some girl willing to become as enamored of her as Agnes was likely to become of any woman who would look her way, the lover would likely be forced to marry by duty or circumstance, and Agnes would learn to live as all who did not love as society dictated: meeting in secret and ever forced to hide her true feelings.

Agnes walked past me at a rapid pace. I hurried to catch her, and she pulled away from my hand on her shoulder. I fell into step beside her and peered curiously at the curtain of hair hiding her downcast face.“What happened?” I asked.

“She said no,” Agnes sobbed and kept walking.

“Truly? Did she give reason?”

Agnes stopped and tossed her hair back before meeting my gaze defiantly – as if I were somehow involved in her misery. “She said…” Her eyes darted from mine and her voice became quiet. “She does not favor women and… she was appalled at my suggestion.”

I cursed quietly and pulled her into my arms. “What a stupid woman.”

Agnes sobbed on my shoulder for a time, and then she pulled back with renewed rancor. “I just want to love them! Why is that so wrong?”