Were we merely together because he felt he had no alternative? That no one else would love him as I did, so therefore he must make the best of it and accept me as I was, as a man? Could I let him go to see if he would choose me of his own accord?
I had to. The question was now in my heart, and I knew the only way to resolve it was to do the thing I was terrified to do.
And perhaps, a formidable opponent was best.
Flickering light far up the road heralded more riders and disturbed our reveries. We slipped into the brush to wait for them to pass. The approaching party turned out to be several riders and a buggy. They were proceeding at a sensible walking speed that allowed their torches to actually show them something of the road beneath their feet. We could hear them talking as they approached, mainly because two of their member – a man and a woman – were arguing quite ferociously about some incident at the party. Thankfully, I could not recognize their voices and the few details we heard did not lead me to believe the matter involved us. It seemed to concern his drinking and her flirting.
“I will never do that,” Gaston breathed in my ear as they drew close. I could hear the humor in his voice.
I chuckled silently. “Oui, thank the Gods we will be spared this aspect of normalcy.”
As they drew abreast of our hiding spot, the closest horse smelled us and tossed his head, but his rider was either half-asleep or drunk and merely cursed at the animal.
I was minded of all the times my mount had behaved strangely and someone, even myself, had ever complained of the animal’s stupidity. Well, perhaps there were often wayward madmen lurking in the brush.
I remarked on this to Gaston when at last we felt we could emerge onto the road without scaring either man or beast and getting ourselves shot.
“Well, as you have said,” he said with soft amusement, “our Horses are our truth. They see the madmen lurking in the bushes.” Then his voice changed and I knew he had turned to face me. “They see them on this course, do they not?”
“Oui,” I sighed. “And the madmen are very likely us.” I thought of all I had been thinking before and knew that though it was all very true, and a thing I wanted the answer to, being as we were – mad – that I was a fool to pursue such an answer. The path surely led to one of us having a sizable bout; but then all things related to his inheriting likely did, and we might as well suffer them.
“So shall we reassure our Horses that all will be well and go on, or choose another path?” I asked.
His thoughts must have been following my own. “I feel there are madmen lurking in the bushes of any path we will ever take that actually leads somewhere.”
I chuckled. “I concur.”
He found my hand and we began walking again.
“She must want children,” he said. “Or be willing to birth them and leave them with us. She can do whatever she likes after she gives us children.”
“I agree. Do you wish to discuss that with her, or do you want me to talk to her?”
His grip on my hand tightened. “I will talk with her. If… If she is still enamored of you, I would rather you stay away from her. She must know she deals with me on this. That she is marrying me, not you by proxy.”
“Oui,” I sighed. “I would not have her think otherwise, and my arranging anything would be viewed oddly by her father anyway. It is possible he feels I harbor more than fondness for her.”
Gaston snorted. “I do not wish for her to love me, but it bothers me that she still might be in love with you.”
“No more than it will bother me if she falls in love with you,” I said.
“I cannot envision that,” he said sadly.
I shoved him a little and teased, “Are you implying I am more lovable than you?”
“Oui. You are handsome and charming.”
I smiled in the dark and my heart swelled a little. “Thank you, but that only helps in making a good impression. You are very handsome and you can be quite charming too, once you know someone. Now where shall we house her?”
He sighed heavily. “Do we need another house? Can she not remain at Sarah’s when we rove?”
“Women…” I tried to best consider how to phrase it. “There can only be one captain in a house. Neither Sarah nor Christine are the type to wish to be first officer.”
He swore.
“But, that brings up another matter,” I said. “This must occur soon if we are to rove. I am assuming your father will leave when his ship returns.”
“Oui,” he sighed.
“Do we wish to rove? Or, would you like to return to France?”
“I cannot until the other matter is resolved,” he said thoughtfully.
“Oui, and now I feel your father will surely do that, but…” I sighed as I realized we had not discussed a rather important matter. “We could wait here until those documents are sent, and then go there with Christine if you wish. Or, despite your reinstatement as the Lord Montren, do you wish for us to go to Christendom at all? Or do you see us as staying here for many years and then going there after your father has passed? How do you view that matter?”
“I do not know,” he said with surprise. Then he was silent for a good distance. “I suppose I should discover what he thinks will occur. But… I feel I would rather remain here in the West Indies for as long as possible.”
I was relieved to hear it, even though it was what I had assumed. “All right. That agrees with me. We will need to procure a house for Christine, then.”
We spent the rest of our journey home discussing a new house like Sarah’s, and how to improve the bathing room.
Sarah’s house was dark as we approached. We decided we should let ourselves in the back gate in case they had barred the door already. We hoped the dogs would not wake everyone. Thankfully, they did not bark, but much wagging of tails and snuffing occurred. We were going to climb up the cistern, but I decided I wanted water and went to the cookhouse. There was a single lantern in the atrium. The Marquis sat beneath it, playing with a deck of cards. I sighed. Gaston eyed me curiously from where he stood near the stable. I motioned for him to come to me, and once he did, he too saw his father and sighed.
The Marquis did not seem surprised when we walked out of the shadows, and I realized he had his back to the main door and his chair situated such that he could easily glance up at our room.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said lightly.
He smiled and shrugged, but his eyes were on his son. “Are you well?”
Gaston nodded. “We needed to talk.”
“I would like to speak with you,” the Marquis said. “Alone.”
My matelot crossed his arms and squared his stance.
I shook my head and went to whisper in his ear. “There are things you might need to hear that he will never say in front of me.”
He sighed and nodded, and kissed my cheek.
I left them alone and climbed the stairs to our room with my water bottle. Once there, I gratefully lit a lamp and doffed my clothing and tossed it into a heap in the corner. I rummaged through the medicine chest for the unguent Gaston prescribed for insect bites. I applied what I hoped was the correct one – it smelled as I remembered – and threw myself on the bed to lean against a post and drink my water, and wait.
I tried not to think of how much of this activity there would be in my future. We had left Gaston with friends on my marriage night, and still he had become distraught enough that he had asked that they take his weapons and bind him so that he did not come and find me. What would I do on his wedding night, get drunk and cry on Pete’s shoulder?
At last my matelot slipped in the door and came to kiss me. He appeared tired in the soft golden light.
“Well?” I asked with a smile. “Does he approve of her? Does he worry I will impede the matter?”
“Oui and oui,” he sighed, and searched about for a place to set his hat, at last deciding on a chair in the corner. “I thanked him for naming me Montren again. He sai
d he felt he had failed with his other sons, and that perhaps the only reason I have turned out as well as I have is because he had little hand in it.” He awarded me a rueful quirk of his lip as he hung his jacket on the same chair.
I chuckled sadly. “At least he sees it. Are you proud he feels you are now so worthy of his respect? I should think…”
“Oui,” Gaston said with surety, “and I told him so.” He shrugged as he folded his shirt. “It made me very happy.” He did not sound as if it did at all.
“But then the discussion turned elsewhere,” I said.
He turned to regard me and sighed as he scratched a bite on his neck. He went to the medicine chest and – to my relief – used the same unguent I had.
“We discussed Christine,” he said. “He feels she is an excellent candidate. He thinks we should pay a call to the Vines’ tomorrow. He too, thinks we should see to this quickly.”
He sighed again as he stood and propped his leg on the chair to unlace his boots. “He wishes for us to return to France with him. I told him I am not ready yet. And… he seemed to understand that.”
“So what is wrong?” I prompted, when he did not speak as he finished doffing his breeches and folded them as well.
He regarded me sadly. “He understands that you are very important to me, but he wonders if another could become just as important. If someone else, a wife for instance, could help mitigate my madness as you do.”
I sagged back on the bed to gaze at the ceiling. I could not look at him. “That is… reasonable advice, I suppose.”
“It made me… sad,” Gaston said. “That he should view that as the only reason you are important to me.”
I raised my head to gaze at him again. He was scratching his chest absent-mindedly, and gazing out the window.
“I had thought our discussion was going well,” he continued. “But the last time I had a pleasant-seeming discussion with him was that night, and by morning…”
He looked down at his chest with bemusement, and then tears; and I saw the Horse take him. I knew, as if I could see his very thoughts, he saw the scars that marred him from shoulder to thigh as he thought she might.
I cursed my foolishness. They were so familiar to me now – so much a part of him – that I had not considered how they would appear to another, or even that he must reveal them.
I went to him and took his shoulders. He regarded me with a child’s wide eyes.
I spoke gently. “If she is so damn concerned with vanity that she cannot see beyond them as I do, then to the Devil with her. She will not be a proper dam to our puppies.”
“But what can I tell her?” he asked desperately. “I will not have her know…”
I put fingers to his lips. “Tell her nothing. Tell her you will not discuss it, and if she cares for you she will not ask, as you told me when you first revealed them.”
“That will not appease her,” he said. “You loved me enough not to ask and still it troubled you. She… will have no reason not to ask… others – not that they know, but… And what of my madness? What will we say of that?”
“That you are mad,” I sighed, “and that if she feels you are behaving oddly, she should tell me of it and I will deal with you.”
He nodded slowly, but he was becoming more agitated. “I will not have her tend me or be around me when I am mad. You are the only one my Horse will trust. She will not decide if I am to be bound or drugged or…”
I silenced him with a kiss. “No one but me will ever do that again,” I whispered against his lips.
“My father will not, either,” he hissed.
“Non, of course not,” I said soothingly.
We could not go to France. I must have a long talk with Christine.
I led him to the bed and bade him lie down. “We are tired,” I whispered. “Can you sleep? Or should I make it all go away?”
“Please make it go away.”
I found the oil, and massaged his back and arms until he drifted to sleep beneath me.
I wondered what we would tell Christine. My ire rose that we should have to tell her anything at all, but I was too tired for it to grow into anger. I could not see where she would know how to handle him: she was just a girl; what could she know of madness? But perhaps his father was right, and I was giving myself airs to think I was the only one.
Exhausted and melancholy, I arranged our weapons and pulled the netting about the bed before curling next to him.
I woke to a light rapping on the door. At my call, Dupree answered and apologetically explained that it was quite late in the morning and the Marquis wished to speak with us.
Gaston obviously drifted in the bowers of the restorative sleep he often experienced after a bout: he had not stirred at the knocking or voices. I relieved myself and drank water. He had still not moved. He looked so peaceful in repose. I caressed his cheek and brow with a fingertip. At that, he stirred a little, and I widened my gentle touch to include his neck and shoulders until he opened an eye to regard me with annoyance and curiosity.
“You are very beautiful when you sleep, but it is late in the morning,” I whispered.
He snorted and rolled onto his back to reveal his piss-hard member. “Am I beautiful at no other time?”
I grinned. “It is much like your eyes: they are ever green, but the shade and hue changes with your mood and the light. Such is your beauty: it is ever there, but it varies so that I am often struck anew by it.”
“You never cease to amaze me,” he said with a smile, and caressed my cheek. He fingered his member.
I kissed his palm. “I will gladly take that.”
He frowned and looked down at his cock, only to smile and make the happy humming sound I so adored.
I was soon mounted atop him, gripping the headboard and staring out the window at a wheeling gull as I pleasured us with slow measured strokes. His hands ranged over my body; and my cock, though it had risen quickly for the occasion, bobbed happily between us without the pressing ache of need. It took a long and peaceful time, as it ever did when the prick involved is filled with as much piss as seed; and I savored it, thinking of the Marquis waiting below. We were not at his beck and call, and he would never own Gaston.
When at last my matelot came with a long happy grunt, he quickly rolled me beneath him, and pinned me while he plundered my mouth and exercised a strong hand upon my member until I exploded on my belly.
We laughed, only to have him sober quickly and hold me with great earnestness.
I sighed in his arms, wishing we could have staved off the matters of the day a little longer.
“You must speak to her,” he said. “You must tell her she will not find love here. That if she wishes to wake to a man who loves her that she will need to look elsewhere. I will give her a name and she will give me children and then she can have her freedom to seek what she will, but I will not love her.”
I wondered how I would say that diplomatically when I knew how very much his love meant to me. For a moment, I wondered how anyone could accept such conditions, and then I remembered that nearly all noblemen did when it came to marriage.
“I will speak with her if you wish it,” I said.
“I cannot… tell her such a thing,” he sighed. “I have difficulty speaking to her at all.”
“You did not last night,” I teased.
He rose to his elbows to regard me. “That was… we were discussing things of…”
“I understand,” I said. “You were speaking of things you know, and telling some damn woman that she will not be loved in her marriage bed is not a thing I would wish for you to ever do so often that you will become comfortable with it.”
He smiled grimly, and gave me a brief kiss before easing off the bed to find the chamber pot.
“Should I also broach your madness or scars before she makes a final decision?” I asked.
“Oui,” he sighed. “I wish her to know that there are things… she will never know about me, and that I do
not need another matelot. If that is unsatisfactory to her, then we will not marry.”
“All right, let us dress and eat and go and find the Vines. Oh, and Dupree knocked earlier: your father wishes to speak to us.”
He appeared rueful, and then he grinned. “I am pleased you made him wait.”
I stretched languorously. “As am I.”
I dug cleaner shirts and breeches from the chests for both of us, and we dressed like buccaneers pretending to be gentlemen once again.
The Marquis and Dupree were seated at their usual table in the atrium. They appeared relieved to see us. Pete and Agnes were playing with the dogs in the yard. No one else was to be seen, though the door to the room I now knew to be Sarah’s office was open. There was a plate of fried fish and the grainy yellow cakes that I did not know the name of on the table, with butter and hot chocolate. With barely a nod of greeting at his father, Gaston and I sat and helped ourselves to the food.
I ate a piece of fish and washed it down with water before asking the Marquis, “In all your speaking to Sir Christopher last night, did he mention where they were residing this week? I believe they have a house in town as well as several plantations.”
He raised an eyebrow, but responded pleasantly enough. “We are to see them today. They were staying at a plantation near… Spanish Town, is it? They planned to attend mass this morning, and then come to their house here in Port Royal, where Gaston and I are to pay them a call.”
I nodded and swallowed a mouthful of the grainy yellow cake. “We feel I should speak to Miss Vines before a final decision is made.”
“I do not see where that is necessary, Will,” he said diffidently. “Gaston should speak to her, and then arrangements will be made between Sir Christopher and me.”
“Oui, that is how it should be, and I do not wish to interfere in that,” I said carefully. “However, there are matters that must be discussed with the young lady prior to either her decision or ours being finalized.”
“Such as?” he asked sincerely and without rancor.
“Well, some mention must be made of his madness and scars. She does not know of them, and we feel she should prior to her agreeing to marry him. And then, she must also be told that certain explanations will not be forthcoming, yet… Well, I must concoct some story about that night to stave off her curiosity without telling her anything we do not wish for her to know.”
Treasure Page 22
