Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (66 page)

“If you do…” Striker started to say.

“What?” Pete scoffed. “It’llBe’Im’Ere That Kills Me.” He jerked his chin at me.

Then we locked gazes again. I had not moved.

“M...Will,” Sarah said. “I will speak with him. We should speak.”

“Will…” Striker added.

Pete’s gaze had turned speculative as he studied me.

I spoke quietly. “The threat of death will not matter to you if you feel this is a thing worth dying for.”

A small but true and sad smile graced his lips, and the tension left his wide shoulders.

“As Much As ILove’Im. ’Tis Not. IWill Na’ Arm’Er.”

If I did not trust him now, I would never be able to again. I un-cocked the pistol and let my arm fall to my side.

He gave me a solemn nod as he passed. I turned and found that Gaston was in the hall at the top of the stair with his back to the wall.

Striker stood firmly before him. Sarah was a wraith in white at his side, holding a candle. As Pete reached them, Striker stepped aside after exchanged a long look with his former matelot and stepped aside; and then Sarah turned and led the Golden One down the hall. Striker watched after them until we all heard the door shut.

“There is wine in the parlor,” I said.

Striker snorted. “I do need a drink.”

He turned and met my gaze. “Damn me, Will,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I wanted you to shoot him or not.”

I felt my face relax. “I understand.”

He nodded and walked past me down the stairs.

I looked to Gaston and found it odd I could still see him. The wavering light of a candle shone from the other end of the hallway. He was staring intently at the source. I stepped to the top of the stairs and found my bride leaning against the wall holding a candle. She was fully covered in her white sleeping gown again, and appeared very small and young. Her eyes were locked on Gaston, and though still bleary with rum, held something akin to wonder and curiosity.

“Go back to bed,” I told her kindly.

She startled slightly at the sound of my voice and looked over to glare at me.

“Is that him?” she asked.

“Aye.”

She gave a little snort of amusement and began to turn away. She stumbled on the hem of the huge gown and flailed with the candle.

Gaston grabbed it and handed it to me. Then he picked her up as one would a babe, and carried her down the hall. I could do nothing but follow.

He deposited her none too gently on the bed. She gazed up at him invitingly, her lips parted coyly, and I did not need the dim candle I held to see the light in her eyes. I wanted to cross the room and smack her.

Then my gaze shot to him. He seemed mesmerized by her, and even from where I stood, I could see he was aroused. I wondered if this was the answer to the production of a child. I surely did not care if he took her. But that was what she wanted, was it not? To feel she could lead at least one of us around by his prick.

“Gaston,” I growled, surprising even myself.

The triumphant smile she turned toward me was quickly dismissed when, with a growl, Gaston grabbed her by the throat and leaned down to whisper in her ear. When he released her a moment later, she rolled away from him to curl on her side. I could hear her first sob as he came to me. He snatched the candle holder from my hand and slammed it on the desk before leading me from the room.

As soon as I closed the door, he shoved me to the wall. His member was hard between us.

“She is vile,” he snarled in my ear. “They are all vile. Sisters and brides and all of them. This is yours. It is always yours.”

He ground slowly against me while licking and nibbling along my neck.

I thought of candlelight and white gowns and how he had described his sister on that night, and I sighed. I wrapped my arms about him tightly, and held him until he stilled and his cock shrank unspent. At last he returned my embrace and sobbed quietly into my neck.

When the worst of the emotion was past, he released me, and I felt a gentle kiss on my lips.

“I love you,” I breathed.

“I am sorry,” he whispered.

“Hush.”

He took a ragged breath. “She looked like… Gabriella, not in the hair or features, but…”

“I know.”

“I am a monster,” he hissed.

“Non, you are just a man,” I murmured. “And you are correct about this one; she is vile. Tonight I learned that she wishes for power through controlling men with lust. She finds delight in it, and frustration in me because she has no power over me.”

“I told her I would never sully myself in her,” he hissed. “That I would rather fuck a dog, and that it pained me that you should have to stoop so low to have children. I have changed my mind, Will. I want no part of anything that might issue from that.”

I smiled. “Then it is good I failed to bed her again tonight, and that I have set things in motion that might allow us to be rid of her when we return.”

A door opened and we looked up the hall to the darkness near Sarah’s door. Pete emerged from the shadows and into the dim light from below.

We went to meet him.

“She Be Fine,” he said.

I looked past him and saw Sarah coming out of her room with a candle. She looked well enough.

We went to the parlor. Striker was sprawled on one end of the settee, with my uncle and Rucker looking on with concern and bemusement from the chairs they had occupied before Gaston burst in. Ashland was sitting nearby, rubbing his shoulder. He eyed my matelot suspiciously.

Pete snatched the bottle of wine Striker was drinking and took a long swig; some missed his mouth and flowed down his naked chest.

My uncle watched this with evident horror. Rucker seemed in awe of the Golden One.

When he was done drinking, Pete glared at Striker and grumbled,

“She Talks Like’Er Brother. Take Me Days Ta Think On It. INot Be Takin’Ya Back Though.”

He turned and headed toward the door.

“I love you,” Striker said. “I can’t see living or fighting without you.”

Pete paused and swore quietly, and then he continued out the door without looking back.

I looked about and found Sarah leaning in the doorway of the parlor.

She wore a smile that made her appear to be a God of old: it was full of ancient and mysterious sadness, patience, and love. It was a womanly thing in a way I cannot describe.

“And I love you, too,” Striker said and stood to go to her. “And I do not want to go on without you.”

Her smile deepened, and he picked her up and carried her upstairs.

Rucker seemed greatly moved and entertained. He was smiling, and once they were out of sight, he began to cast about as if he would see some new actor enter the stage. His questing gaze settled on Gaston and me.I sat on the settee, and Gaston joined me.

My uncle was quite distraught and seemed not to know what to do: whether to sit, go, speak or swear.

“They have been together for ten years now,” I offered. “Pete and Striker. Sarah was well apprised of the matter and Striker chose her.”

Uncle Cedric’s gaze finally came to settle on Gaston and myself. He looked from one to the other of us.

I knew not how we appeared. Gaston had been crying, and I was sure it was evident. I took Gaston’s hand and felt an answering squeeze.

I smiled at my uncle.

“Well, it is not England,” my uncle said at last, and raised his glass in toast.

“To Jamaica,” I said, and hefted the bottle Pete and Striker had left behind.

I felt the Gods smiled upon the new traditions we made, as They had surely been instrumental in their design.

We satisfied Rucker’s curiosity about all things buccaneer, Spanish, and colonial in the tropics, for several hours. This initially proved to be both engaging and distracting, with the added benefits of calming Gaston and driving my uncle quickly to bed. But as the discourse progressed, and I heard Gaston speak repeatedly of what was and how it was changing, I began to experience the welling of a great despair and an even greater anxiety. Thus I was relieved when at last even Rucker’s scholarly ambitions could not hold his eyes open. We said good night and escaped into the dark alleys and quiet back streets. I knew I too should be exhausted, and my weariness was indeed a constant pressure behind my eyes; but I felt I would not be able to sleep once we reached our house. I wanted very much to snatch up our belongings and run to the ship to hide. I did not wish to visit those we would leave behind. I wanted nothing to do with any of them, not even my sister.

I nearly ran us home; and dismayed to see light spilling from the window and door, along with drunken singing, I headed for the back gate, hoping we could slip in through the yard and up the stairs with little notice.

Gaston’s hand on my arm stopped me, and I let him draw me into the darker shadows of the alley beside the house two doors from ours.

“I see why you left,” I said quickly. “Did Pete arrive with the rum, and thus…”

His mouth covered mine.

I did not feel passion rise in response. I had no use for rutting in an alley in my current demeanor. I wanted to be behind closed doors and under a sturdy table, preferably on a ship sailing far from all things English and of the Old World, especially fathers and wives.

He released my mouth, only to wrap his arms about me.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked with concern.

“Non. Let us get to our den.”

“I am calm… now,” he said. “It has passed. You need not worry.”

“I am not concerned about you. I am… It is I who feels the need to run. I have great need to be rid of this place and all it entails.”

He held me in silence for a time, and then spoke as if it were a curiosity to him. “Let me have the reins.”

I chuckled mirthlessly. “Oui.”

“Sit here,” he said with more authority. “I will retrieve our things and we will go to the ship. They are all here, so it should be empty.”

I sat where instructed. He seemed to take long in returning, and I fretted, only to soundly curse myself for doing so.

At last he returned with a bag and the rest of our weapons. I realized I had only a sword and pistol and was still dressed in a coat and boots.

He had truly arrived at the King’s House unarmed.

“What occurred?” I asked as he handed me my musket.

“They are drunk,” he said with a shrug. “There were men in our room. But Cudro is not so drunk he will let them harm anything, and Agnes is safe in her room. The puppies are with her.”

“That is not what I wished to know,” I said, “but I am pleased to hear all of it. What occurred with Pete to send you both to the King’s House in such haste? Though I imagine yours was precipitated by his.”

He began to lead me toward the Chocolata Hole. “He arrived with the men from the ship. They were drunk. Someone asked of Striker. Pete became agitated and left us. I felt I should speak with him and stepped outside. Then I saw him running up the street. I guessed his destination and went another way.”

“I am damn pleased you beat him.”

He nodded and sighed. “I am pleased I did not arrive to find you with her.”“Non.” I told him of my conversation with my bride.

He swore softly. “And then I…”

“Got the bit out of your teeth,” I said.

He snorted, and we reached the Hole and were locating a canoe before he spoke again. “Do you truly feel I am doing better?”

I nodded. “Oui. Do you? These last days have been trying and yet…

no one has died.”

I had tried to keep my words light, but there was too much truth weighing them down.

Thankfully, I saw the glint of his smile in the distant lamplight as he pushed the canoe into the water.

“And you have not been harmed,” he said. “Oui, I am doing well.”

This earned more amusement than it possibly deserved, but I was feeling in far better spirits by the time we rowed out to our nearly empty ship.To my surprise, Pete was the one who took the rope to tie the canoe and then accepted our muskets while we climbed aboard.

“How are you?” I asked him.

“Well Anough,” he said with a shrug. “But Na Ta Talk About It.”

“I am not well enough to discuss anything of its ilk, either,” I said.

We nodded to the men on night watch and went to the cabin. Pete followed us. I was not pleased in this, but there was little for it; and as he did not wish to speak on matters of concern, he would probably be no bother. Still, I was now somewhat in the mood to cuddle with my matelot, and I felt guilt at doing it in front of Pete in his current circumstances.

“Ya Gonna Fuck?” Pete asked as he climbed into his hammock.

“Not in front of you,” I said.

He snorted.

We stored our muskets and companionably arranged our weapons for sleeping, without looking at one another or speaking.

Pete spoke when Gaston reached up to dim the lamp.

“Don’tBe Doin’Nuthin’On My Account. Or Don’tNot Be… Fuck It.

Ya Know What I Mean.”

I sighed. “Striker wishes for both of you.”

“He Can’t’Ave Both O’Us. Now Shut Up An Fuck.”

“Non,” Gaston said flatly, and pulled me under the table to lie beside him.I lay in his arms and felt little relief from the anxiety that had gripped me at the King’s House. There was literally and figuratively a wolf in the shadows outside the door of our den; the problems I sought to escape by sailing would be traveling with us. Things would not be as they were before, and some of the new traditions we had established these last few days were not ones conducive to happiness in what I thought of as my true home, that being at sea or ashore with our fellows. Thankfully, Gaston and I were well with each other and becoming stronger. That, of course, eclipsed all else when I allowed myself to think on it. Still, I would miss and mourn Striker and Pete no longer being as they were.

We woke early, to a ship silent save for snoring: most of which seemed to emanate from the hammock above us. We looked at one another and realized that nothing need be said, even if we did wish to risk waking Pete, and also that we were not truly amorous enough to risk waking him with that, either. We smiled and quietly gathered our weapons for one more trip about town, and slipped out to the early morning light. We were rowing ashore before I chose to speak.