Elena laughed lightly. "Oh, my dear Commodore, you must think me terriblement potinière, non?"
"No, madam, but I'm too much of a gentleman to say exactly what I think of you. Good day!" James turned on his heel and walked away with the stiffest military bearing he could manage. He'd handled the whole situation badly but he feared what damage this woman was going to do. A pirate assault on the port he had some way to defend against. A gossip's marauding tongue, however, was far more difficult to counter.
As he marched away, he heard one of Elena's companions remark on how rude he was. He couldn't entirely suppress a smirk as he wondered if they would consider it more rude for him to pull his sword and chase the Wendover chit into the bay. Visions of spanking her while she stood on the dock in a sodden dress nearly made him laugh. She would get her just desserts in the end.
)O(
Aaron had watched James’ progress down to the fort as long as he could, shading his eyes against the sun until his mate had been obscured by a stand of trees. It would be two or three more hours before James would return and Aaron busied himself with a book that James had brought him. The story of a man marooned on an island with no one but a savage he called Friday for company was so far-fetched in some ways that Aaron had to wonder if the author had ever been close to the sea, let alone upon it. He had, in passing, mentioned to James at tea that there had to be something going on between the hero of the story and Friday in order to explain why Friday didn't just up and devour the hero one night. James had laughed at him.
"Not everyone is like us, my Raven," He had then taken Aaron's hand in his own and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Crusoe and Friday were just friends, nothing more. Don't read anything improper into Mr. DeFoe's words. I'm sure he would be terribly offended."
"Aye, well, per'aps," Aaron conceded. "But if you crashed on the shore of some island and I was the only native there, we wouldn't be jus' friends, would we?"
James had leaned over then and kissed him properly. "Hardly. Now eat."
I still bet the reason that first bloke kept Crusoe was because he liked the cut of his jib, Aaron mused. If Jamie were being offered up as a slave, I'd buy him but it wouldn't be to do no gardening or housework. Aaron found himself staring at the pages of the book before him but imagining a shirtless James bending over to pull turnips in the garden. He was seriously thinking about how to surprise James that evening when he realized he was being watched.
"He--Th' master says ye're scared," The soft whisper caused a chill to run up Aaron's spine at first until he turned and spied the little black boy standing a few feet away.
"Ye can talk!" Aaron yelped then pressed his lips together, realizing what he'd just done.
Henry smiled. "So can you. The master said ye couldn't."
Aaron sighed and patted beside him on the davenport for the boy to join him. Henry did so, his little hand rubbing across the brocade unconsciously. "I'll tell ye the truth, mate. Me name's Aaron, not Erin, an' ye needn't call ol' Jamie the Master. He's the Commodore, to everyone else but t' me an' you, he's James, eh? I can talk but my voice is bad an' it hurts me something awful to do it so I only talk to James an' a couple others. Now you can be one of me conversationalists too, can't ye? Jus' don't mention it t' no one, mate."
"So ye're not scared?" Henry asked, his eyes perplexed.
Aaron sighed. "Now, that part's true, sad t' say. Seems silly, don't it? But some bad things happened t' me, son, an' it makes things hard fer me t' go anywhere or t' have visitors. I'm tryin' t' get over it but I jus' have t' take it one day at a time, savvy?"
"When I'm scared, I just close my eyes and pretend I'm in the stable with the horses. It's warm an' quiet there and the horses are soft if ye pet them. Can you do that? Would that make you feel braver?" Henry closed his eyes as if to demonstrate. When he opened them, Aaron was smiling at him.
"I'll give it a try, mate. Can't hurt nothin' t' try, can it? Yer lessons done fer the day?"
Henry smiled brightly and nodded. "Can I-May I go to the stables and visit the horses please?"
Aaron shook his head but smiled indulgently. "Mighty impressive, lad. Ye already sound like some high-falutin' lord or somethin'. Ye must be awful smart t' be finished with yer lessons so early. Very well, be on yer way. Them stalls don't muck 'emselves, do they?"
Henry shook his head and bounded out toward the back door. As he raced through the kitchen, Aaron heard Beatrice shout in surprise then give the boy a verbal lashing for running in the house. Despite his desire to cling to the safety that this whole domestic scene offered him, Aaron realized there was something nagging at him. There was something he had to do and if he didn't do it soon, he would never be happy. The only problem was that it meant he might never see James again.
)O(
Chapter 48:
Eating Disorder
James didn't mention Elena Wendover to Aaron. He had no intention of putting Aaron under that woman's scrutiny again, no matter what. It was bad enough that he had to deal with the woman on certain social occasions but he would not force Aaron to deal with her. As a result, Erin ended up spending much of the Christmas social season at home with James often leaving parties early or sending his regrets. When mention was made that Abigail Robbins would be expected to visit Nassau after the first of the year at the invitation of her aunt, James nearly took up drinking. It only took one nightmare from Aaron, however, to prevent him from indulging regularly. He'd always known that the nightmares frequently caused Aaron to try to harm himself. It was sometimes sheer luck that kept Aaron from succeeding. What bothered him, though, was that Aaron was so quiet about what the nightmares meant. If Aaron would just tell him about the nightmares, James suspected it would help him immeasurably.
That night, Beatrice fixed a traditional meal of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. James brought out a proper port for their drink and was nearly three glasses in when he realized that Aaron had barely touched his food. James glanced down at his own nearly clean plate.
"What's wrong? Is the meal not to your liking?"
Aaron shook his head but made no effort to speak. His wine-glass was as untouched as his plate. James reached out to take his hand but Aaron pulled away. Another moment later, Aaron shoved his chair back and left the room. James considered pursuing but decided against it. He would give Aaron some time. Aaron had done this before and nearly always returned when he had himself under better control. He waited for a very long time before he decided that he could wait no more. He rose from the table and went in search of his mate.
He found him, finally, in the garden, staring out at the sea. He approached carefully, removing his greatcoat. "You'll get a chill out here. How will I ever answer to Beatrice if I let you get ill?"
Aaron started, hard, and whirled to look back at James. James tried to catch his eye but Aaron turned back to the horizon. James rested his coat over Aaron's shoulders and attempted to draw Aaron into his arms. Instead, Aaron pulled away, taking another step or two away. James was at a loss.
"Aaron, are you feeling all right?"
Aaron shook his head again. James wasn't sure if he could stand much more of this. He held his silence for a while, applying the patience he'd developed on long, quiet watches aboard ship. The moon rose fully, bathing everything in snow-white. James stepped up beside Aaron but made no attempt to touch him.
"I think I'll retire for the night. You will join me later?"
Aaron didn't answer, simply remained gazing at the ocean. James started back into the house then stopped, placing a hand on Aaron's shoulder. "No matter what, my Raven, I do love you."
At that, Aaron lowered his head but he made no effort to respond. Deciding that he had done all he could, James went into the house. He went up to their room and prepared himself for bed. Then, wrapped in his robe, he stepped out onto the balcony to watch Aaron. If he had to, he would keep vigil all night just to make sure Aaron was safe.
Fortunately, though, Aaron decided a short while la
ter to return to the house. James retreated to the bed and poured Aaron a glass of cider, as he did every night. He slid beneath the blankets and pretended to sleep.
He heard the door open and Aaron began to move around the room as he got ready for bed. Minutes passed then Aaron's weight on the bed gave James his opportunity. He opened his eyes. "Aaron?"
Aaron sighed heavily and James came around to sit beside Aaron on the bed. After a moment, Aaron looked up into his eyes then looked away. "Sorry, love."
James smiled and shook his head. "No need to apologize. I'm just glad you're here."
"I never thought ill of ye, love, fer leavin'. Fact is, I was glad of it," Aaron paused and James heard him swallow with difficulty. "I-I thought--or maybe I hoped that ye would be me knight in shinin' armor an' come t' me rescue. But after a year passed, me hope started t' wear thin. That's when it happened," Aaron was looking in James' direction but his eyes were seeing something very distant. "He used t' bring lads from ships they took or towns they sacked t' rape me, same as with you, but it weren't the same."
"He brought lots of 'em aboard, ye know. Different types, different skins, most were young but there were a couple who were older. If they were like you an' figured out the game fast an' he found 'em entertainin' enough, he'd keep 'em for a few days, treatin' 'em like he treated the men until they got careless and slipped up, did somethin' t' displease 'im. When that happened," Aaron drew a breath and shuddered. "The kindest thing was t' throw 'em overboard but most met far worse fates."
"None of 'em were 'zactly kind t' me but at least they were human. When-When they fucked me, they came an' it was over, done with. Ye can't know how much I feared M-McSwain's touch on me skin, how cold he was--like death, an' then he never stopped until-until either I passed out or he got bored. Sometimes, both. I wanted t' die, Jamie. I wanted t' die so I decided that I'd not eat anymore. Soon enough, I'd be dead."
"It didn't work," James said gently, lifting Aaron's hand so he could kiss the knuckles. "He wouldn't let you starve."
At the words, Aaron sobbed openly, pressing his forehead against James' collarbone, his tears soaking the linen nightshirt James wore. James bit back the urge to vomit with effort and pressed a kiss to Aaron's hair. There were times he wished he had never heard of the Saucy Maid or had one glimpse of her former captain. Usually, those moments were brief and ended when he saw Aaron's smile or felt the warm hand steal over his own. Right now, though, he wished he had taken Aaron with him when he escaped the Maid, his career be damned.
He could well remember seeing Aaron on his knees on the deck, his hands held voluntarily behind his back as he leaned down to eat the garbage that had been heaped in the bowl on the floor. There had been just the briefest instant of eye contact between them as it happened and James had seen some other terror in Aaron's face. No wonder eating was such a trial for Aaron. James could imagine McSwain having his men force-feed Aaron, strapping him to a chair and stuffing the food into his mouth. The thought made him cringe. It is my fault, James mused, swallowing hard at the lump in his own throat. The fine meal that Beatrice had served them earlier sat like a rock in his stomach, making him wish he'd never eaten it.
"One night," Aaron's voice was a mere whisper, the stress and the tears shelling it like peas from a pod. "There was this-this boy. Not more'n eighteen, probably. Like-Like Ike, in that he was fair t' look on an' good-natured. He-He tried t' do what M-Mc-that bastard wanted him t' do but he couldn't, his cock didn't want to. So . . . Oh, God!"
Aaron pulled away from him and staggered to the balcony door, throwing it open and barely making it to the rail before the nausea overtook him. James was just a pace or two behind him, his hand catching Aaron's hair and pulling it back as he slid an arm around Aaron's waist. Aaron retched helplessly until he had to be thoroughly empty. Even then, the thought of what he was trying to tell James caused him to heave uselessly. Finally, he wiped his mouth with a palsied hand and leaned heavily against James as he was drawn back inside. James paused just inside the bedroom and sat Aaron down in the armchair so he was closer to the balcony if needed. He fetched Aaron's robe and wrapped him in it.
"You don't need to tell me, Raven, not if you don't want to," James said but realized that he was wrong. Aaron desperately needed to get this horror out, to let the memory lose its power over him in the light of truth, but James didn't know if he could bear anymore.
Aaron shook his head and tried to swallow, choking softly and starting to cough. James grabbed the glass of cider off the night-table and brought it to Aaron, holding it for him to sip. When the coughing fit subsided, Aaron looked up into his eyes. The misery in those eyes was palpable. "Got to."
He grabbed for James' hand and the younger man drew him close. Finally, he husked, "McSwa-That bastard started t' cut pieces off th' boy an' m-made me eat . . . Said he'd get the lad inside me one way or t'other. He was still alive, Jamie!"
At the words, James had to make his own visit to the balcony, returning when he was sufficiently empty and in control enough to be of help to Aaron. Was Aaron mad? James didn't care at this point. He certainly couldn't blame Aaron if he was. When he knelt beside Aaron, his spouse pulled away from his touch.
"Aaron?"
There was no response from Aaron at that. He huddled into the robe and stared, listlessly, off into the distance. James persisted. He took Aaron's hand and drew him into his arms, gently lifting the smaller man and carrying him back to their bed. He placed Aaron in the bed and joined him, pulling Aaron into his embrace as he settled the blankets over them both. Finally, he heard Aaron sigh, a sob hitching the end of the breath.
"It's not your fault," James said clearly, turning Aaron to look into his eyes. "You did what you had to to survive and it doesn't sound as if you did it happily. You've paid hundreds of times over for what happened to that boy, hundreds of times more than you should have. I need you to forgive yourself, my love. I need you to love yourself as much as I love you, do you understand?"
He didn't know if Aaron could speak to answer but he did know what it meant when Aaron took refuge in his arms and eventually drifted off to sleep. James, however, lay awake the rest of the night wondering if there was a place in heaven where he could give Angus McSwain the thousand lash flogging he so richly deserved.
)O(
Chapter 49:
Social Anxiety
Mid-January in the Caribbean of 1720 was far more pleasant than December had been. The days were warmer but the nights were pleasantly cool. It was on one of the warm, bright mornings that a well-dressed young woman marched determinedly up the path to the headquarters of the Royal Navy at Nassau. Charlotte Edwards steeled herself as she entered the fort. The set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes kept any of the marines from approaching her. She arrived at the Commodore's office and Lieutenant Andrews glanced up. "Yes?"
"Is the Commodore in?" She asked. "I wish to see him."
"Um, yes, well, he is in but he asked not to be disturbed," Andrews cast a nervous glance at the door to the office. "May I give him a message?"
"No, I'll wait until he's ready to be disturbed," Charlotte responded.
Apparently, her voice raised enough that Andrews grew concerned. "Just a moment, Miss Edwards."
He stood and knocked quietly at the door to the Commodore's inner sanctum. He heard Dunbar call to him and he stepped inside.
Charlotte noticed her hands shaking and made an effort to calm herself down. After a moment, James appeared in the doorway, followed by Andrews. "Miss Edwards? Is there something I can help you with?"
"Yes, Commodore, there is. May we speak in private for a moment?" She managed to keep her voice steady and at a normal conversational tone. "Please?"
James stared into her eyes, obviously worried, "All right. Come in."
James led her into the office and closed the door behind them, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Miss Edwards?"
"Call me Charlotte, Commodore," She hesitated, not exactly su
re how to address the subject now that she was here. "Do you know Lady Elena Wendover?"
James sighed and gave her a sour look. "I do. Unfortunately."
Charlotte felt a tiny ray of relief. "I just spent the morning with her at my mother's insistence. I was--bothered by some of the things she had to say about-about you but especially about Erin. She was especially eager to speak about the little mute boy now at Rum Harbor. She implied that he--Well, she seemed to say that Erin was his mother and that she--I don't believe it, Commodore! Not a word!! She's just a spiteful, mean-spirited 'thing!' What can she possibly have against Erin?"
"I have no idea," James said softly. "But she seems to feel that I should have married her niece rather than Erin. As for whether Henry is Erin's son or not, I highly doubt it. Erin has spent her entire life until we were married on Hispaniola. Henry was born and raised in Old Providence. I bought him to keep him from being harmed more than he'd already been. He is not Erin's son."
Charlotte bit her lip as she felt the tears in the corners of her eyes. She fumbled for a handkerchief and suddenly the Commodore was pressing one into her hand. She blotted at the moisture and sat down in an arm-chair. "I'm sorry, Commodore--"
"Call me James, please," He said and she glanced up at him to see him smiling gently at her. "I was afraid of something like this happening. I know that she's been spreading other rumors--"
"About Lieutenant Chambers and Erin," Charlotte said, her lips pursing involuntarily.
James nodded. "Among other things. As long as our good friends like you and your parents know the truth, Erin and I will survive this. I do thank you for bringing this to my attention. There is something you could do for me, if you would?"
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