Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (61 page)

Beside him, Striker appeared alarmed, and I could see him casting about in his mind for some way to remedy the matter.

“Can you bake pies?” he asked Rachel quickly. “Cheesecakes?”

Rachel shrugged. “Aye, sir.”

“Such a thing would go a long way to making Pete here a happy man,” Striker said.

“Pete being a happy man would be in the best interests of all,” I added.

Her gaze returned to Pete, and understanding suffused her fine features. She nodded. Her voice was gentler, but not patronizing.

“I am sorry to snap like that, sir, but I am used to scolding my brothers and cousins. You can look at the chickens all ye want, but if they are scared they will not lay, and there will be no eggs for breakfast.”

“If She Be Mean To Me She Goes,” Pete said to all of us, and stomped back to the coop.

A truly awkward silence settled over us for a moment.

“I am sorry, sirs,” Rachel said. “I will endeavor not to anger him again. I wish for this be acceptable to all of us, as I do not wish to return to my uncle’s house.”

“I am sure everything will be fine,” Theodore said with forced cheer.

Striker was kind. “It would be best if you did not order him about or scold him. I would say do not hit him but that, uh…”

“I would not dream of it, sir,” she said quickly.

“If you should ever feel he is about to strike you,” I said and looked to Striker. His small nod let me know that was indeed a possibility. “If that were to occur, you should run and seek one of us immediately.”

She gave us a sad smile. “Sir, if that is to start I may as well move back to my uncle’s. I know what to do in such a situation. I cover my head and wait for it to pass.”

“Nay,” Striker said firmly. “You should run. I doubt the men you have lived with before have killed men for a living.”

“Oh,” she said. “Then I shall run.”

“To us, as we are the only ones who may be able to mollify him.”

Striker frowned. “Please understand; no man here will condone him striking you. We will not tolerate it. However, it is a possibility. I love that man with all my heart, but he is possessed of demons sometimes, as we all are. I would not see you harmed by things you are not responsible for.”

She nodded soberly. “Is it possible that I befriend him then, sir?”

“I do not know. I have never seen him around a woman for any duration. I do know that he has ever had a woman be kind to him.”

Striker went to talk to Pete.

“You do not actually think he would harm her?” Theodore said, with a good deal of indignation.

I shrugged, and Rachel cut off his next protest. “In truth sir, I would rather it be this way. I would rather a man hate me and hit me than say he loves me and hit me.”

“I concur,” I said with a smile.

She entered the house and Theodore followed her, apparently in a furor to discuss furnishing it; or perhaps he just wanted to bask in her womanly presence.

“If he does strike her, he will only do it once,” Gaston said quietly in French.

“I know,” I said, “because she will be dead from the first blow. I would say we should terminate her services and send her home for her own safety; however, that does not seem to be safe or acceptable either, and she seems willing to embrace the risk.”

As I was, I thought. I, too, had accepted the Gods’ challenge.

Wherein We Share

We left furnishing, provisioning, and all other things associated with preparing a house for residence in more capable hands, and retrieved our gear and proceeded to the gunsmith’s. We left our muskets to be disassembled, checked for damage from immersion in salt water and the general mishandling they had suffered, and then cleaned, oiled, and the wood sealed anew. Additionally, we left half of our pistols there for the same service.

Gaston went to the back room to discuss something with Massey, and I guessed it to be the cost of these services.

When we left the smith’s, I asked, “So how much do I owe you now?”

He regarded me sharply. “You owe me nothing. We are matelots, Will. All I have is yours.”

“I know that in theory, but we have not discussed money.” We had not been matelots prior to roving; and now that we were, the only matters of money had been the selling of the tobacco, which we had both taken a separate share of, and my using that to pay for half the advance rent on the house. Striker had paid the other half.

Gaston paused in the street and regarded me with concern. “I am sorry, Will. I am not used to speaking of it. Do you have any money?”

“Possibly thirty pounds at Theodore’s.”

He regarded me with surprise. “No wonder you are concerned. I have close to a thousand pounds with Massey, and a great deal more with another on Île de la Tortue. If anything befalls me, it is yours. I have already informed Massey; the amount on Île de la Tortue will be more difficult for you to obtain, as the one who holds it for me does not approve of matelotage.”

I was near slack-jawed at the amount. “I have married well, indeed.”

He smirked.

“Who is this other on Île de la Tortue?”

He frowned. “My… mentor, Dominic Doucette. I will tell you of him sometime, but not here and now.”

I nodded, and we continued up the street. I still did not feel I was due his money; but it was as if a great weight had been lifted from me, knowing that I need not worry about how we would come up with our share of a ship or how I would pay to have my weapons cleaned.

By midmorning, we were on a ferry to the Passage Fort, and shortly thereafter at the livery. I chose the best two animals available, and was anticipating some fine riding, as the day was breezy and clouded and not overly hot. Gaston eyed the animals suspiciously, with his arms firmly crossed; and I knew my plans were not to be realized.

“Ah, I remember you saying something of not being a horseman.”

He sighed. “Non. I am not a horseman. I have never possessed any talent for horsemanship or fondness for the beasts, and I have not ridden since coming here.”

I regarded the two spirited geldings I had chosen and, with a sigh, inquired of the stable boy as to their most placid and tractable mount.

He pointed to a swaybacked mare in the paddock.

Gaston sighed yet again. “Even I can see that is an ugly horse; and I would not wish to trouble it, as it appears ill. I will endure, and possibly not conquer, but at least endeavor to make peace with this animal.” He approached the sorrel, which eyed him askance.

“Non, take the bay; he seems good-spirited. I do not feel that redheaded demon has any interest in making peace with you.” I tied our bags behind the saddles.

“You feel the other one is angelic in its browness?”

“Non, I feel he is somewhat more angelic in that he is not champing at his bit and did not take a nip at the stable boy.”

Gaston kept his distance as he circled the sorrel and cautiously approached the bay, from the wrong side. It was difficult not to laugh.

“Am I to understand that you have truly experienced less than positive moments on horseback?”

He snorted and slipped under the bay’s neck, to get between the two animals on the supposedly angelic horse’s correct side, where he proceeded to mount it with some degree of competence.

“Staying on the animal’s back has always been a positive experience,” he said, once up.

I mounted the demonic sorrel. Just out of the paddock, our mounts were a little skittish, as they were in need of exercise. They pranced and sidestepped a bit, and tossed their heads, as high-spirited and healthy animals are wont to do on occasion. During this, Gaston hung on and maintained little control of the animal, so that I was forced to grab his reins. I realized how apt his metaphor for his madness was. Or rather, I was able to view it in a different light.

I got both animals walking up the road at a brisk pace, and they soon settled down. Gaston relaxed, and I was able to hand his reins back. He awarded me a grateful and slightly sheepish look.

“Thank you; I do not know how to control them.”

“They are merely restless. They become content when they realize they are actually going somewhere.”

He nodded and regarded his horse’s pricked ears. “They are a bit like very large dogs. I am fond of dogs.”

I chuckled. “I like dogs, though I never developed an affinity for them. I have always been fond of horses, though,” I said lightly. “I used to ride to the hunt, and have often found a good ride of any speed to be a balm for my soul. I have always kept a fine horse if I resided anywhere for sufficient duration. Have you kept dogs?”

“Oui, on the Haiti, but they are more feral creatures. I have never owned a horse, and I did not learn to ride until I was twelve.”

“See, therein lies the problem. I had a pony named Blackie when I was two, an age where I had no sense and no fear. With him began my affinity with horses, especially black ones, though the color obviously does not have a damn thing to do with their performance or behavior. I have always been fond of ebony animals, though.”

My mind was running through the various black beasts I had owned, and I recalled Goliath. The old heart-rending emotions filled me; and I watched a wagon pass us on its way to the Passage Fort with great interest, in an attempt to distract myself.

“Is something wrong?” Gaston asked.

“Old memories,” I sighed. “The best horse I ever owned was a spirited black stallion that was damn near too large to be considered a proper hunter. He was more destrier than riding animal. He could jump and run, though, and I imagined he could have done so with equal alacrity even if I had been astride him fully equipped in plate mail. I was the only one who could ride him. My cousin found this unacceptable, and while I was away, he sought to break him for his own use. I returned to find a tortured and ruined horse that I had to put down. I almost shot his hunting dogs in retaliation; but I could not bring myself to harm them, as they were as innocent of the war being waged as my horse had been. So I created a funeral pyre for Goliath using every ounce of alcohol in the house, because that was my cousin’s favorite thing. Of course he could always procure more, and the horse and been a unique creature. I left home after that, as the damage to those around us had grown too high.”

I was overwrought, and I wished to give the sorrel his head and just run. I had not intended to say as much as I had. Gaston rode silently beside me, and I could feel him waiting. I knew I should continue and explain. I knew I could say I did not wish to discuss it, and he would leave me with it; but I no longer wished to carry it. It would be best if he knew.

Yet, even though I had spoken of it all before, it was still damnably difficult to force the words from my throat. “I had… have... a cousin, a second cousin on my father’s side, named Jacob Shane. He came to live with us when I was eight. I had always desired a brother, as I was a lonely boy in a big house, with only servants and tutor to annoy and no one to play with. Shane was a serious boy, and deeply troubled by the death of his family. We shortly became the closest of friends, as boys are wont to do. He was better than me at everything, except our studies and riding. My parents found his demeanor far more suitable than mine. He excelled at the sword and all other physical pursuits. It was considered by many a shame that I was my father’s son and not he. I later learned he felt the same, and was resentful that a mere difference in birth had put me in the path of so much and him so little. Yet when we were young, all of this was not known or understood, and we lived in a kind of Eden with few cares.

“Then our lives were ravaged by adolescence. As I discovered my manhood, I came to understand that I was fond of boys and not girls. I became infatuated with Shane in something other than a platonic sense.

One day, a situation occurred in which we discovered his manhood was as interested in being pleased as mine, and cared not who did the pleasing. For a time after that, our lives achieved an even greater degree of perfection, as we had this new territory to explore together. Then he discovered that it was not a place a proper Christian young man should go. He began to avoid me during the day and continue to seek me out at night. And then he began to publicly revile me amongst our associates and still seek me out at night. And finally I began to resist and… the war began, of which my horse was the greatest casualty, and I was forced to retreat wounded.”

We entered Spanish Town and I was thankful for the interruption.

Once we were through and on the road to the plantation, I hazarded a glance at him. He was quiet and thoughtful.

“I did not kill him,” I said quietly. “I had not killed before and I felt….

I felt I had led him astray and it was my fault. And I harbored hope with a fool’s fervor that he would change.”

“Will,” Gaston said gently. “I understand. I do. This thing that happened to me, the scars, I brought it on myself and I do not blame the one who did it, as I would probably have done the same.”

That bothered me, but the calm in his eyes forced all the other thoughts away.

“I love you,” I said.

He smiled. “I know. Because I now understand that what I said to you on the galleon was tantamount to hitting me with a whip, and yet you stayed.”

The dark pressure weighing on my soul had been released for a while, and I felt more content than I could remember. I moved my horse closer and caressed Gaston’s cheek. He captured my hand and kissed the backs of my fingers. He did not release me.

“Do you think it is possible to… perhaps not erase memories and pains, but to paint over them?” he asked.

I nodded. “I have been able to, on occasion. Alonso’s patience and persistence allowed me to… receive a man’s love again. I had been bestowing myself upon those who would have me for many years and…”

He flushed and looked away, but he did not release my hand.

“I am sorry,” I said. “I know…”

“Be patient,” he whispered. “Not that you are not already.”

I squeezed his hand.

“May I ask you something awful that you may not wish to speak of?”

he asked.