Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (10 page)

I woke to a knock. It was still dark, and the embers had not fully burned down in the fire.

I took a pistol to the door. “Aye?”

“It is Sarah. Open up before I am seen,” she hissed.

I removed the chair and opened the door. She rushed past me, wrapped in a robe with a small lamp in her hand. I closed the door and stopped myself from returning the chair to its place under the knob. She eyed me curiously.

“I block the door with it,” I muttered and pushed it aside. “Old habit from when I lived here before.”

Then I noticed her eyes were actually on the pistol and not the chair.

“Old habit from the days when I did not live here,” I said sheepishly, and set the weapon on the bureau. “Though it would have served me better here.”

I studied her. She seemed calm and not angry. She had a bottle hanging at her side.

“What do I owe..?”

She cut off my words. “I want to know.”

“What?” Though I knew.

“Everything.”

We stood whispering in a pool of lamplight. For some reason I felt safe.

“May I ask a question first?”

She nodded resolutely.

“Is there a formal betrothal?”

She sighed and shook her head. “Father would not approve.”

That was indeed interesting. “Without offending, or attempting to rally you, whose idea was it?”

This was greeted by another sigh, and she turned and went to the chairs by the fire. She sat and pulled her feet under her before answering forlornly, “It was his. I have seen the other women who have caught his eye, and at one time I thought he fancied Elizabeth; but then he turned his attention to me, and I was gratified. I am too plain to attract the attention of most of the young men, and too opinionated for them if our father’s title draws them in. But Shane appears to appreciate me for who I am. And then you said what you said this morning, and I… began to wonder.”

It was my turn to sigh. I put wood on the fire, and curled under my blanket in the chair I had been sleeping in.

“Far be it from me to defend him, but his feelings for you may be sincere. What occurred betwixt him and me need not be indicative of…”

“It would be indicative of his character, would it not?”

I shrugged my acquiescence and pointed at the bottle. She took a pull and passed it over. I took my own drink and started at the beginning. “I was very happy when he came to live with us. Mother was heavy with you, and Elizabeth was still in the nursery. I had been alone for eight years, really, with the exception of my nanny and the other servants – whose children would not play with me, I might add. To have a playmate was a gift from God, as far as I was concerned. I did not care why he had come. I was told his parents had died, but he never spoke of them.”

“He was a dour child, all dark hair and eyes and pale skin. I was this happy child for the most part. At least that is what I remember. I was lonely, but happy. I had learned to read, and I had Mister Rucker. And then I had Shane. I saw us as a pair of childhood friends who would grow up to do great things together. At that age, I tended not to dwell on how those stories often went bad.”

She smiled.

“We did become the fastest of friends, and we complemented each other well,” I continued. “He was always just a bit better than I at all things physical, though, with the exception of riding. He had no affinity for horses, nor they for him. I excelled at books, though he outshone me in mathematics and matters of logic on occasion. He had no mind for philosophy, history, or literature, and often fought with Mister Rucker over the need for anyone to learn any of it. Art was beyond his comprehension. I doubt any of this has changed.”

She smiled and shook her head.

I nodded. “Despite our differences, all was truly well until we reached our adolescence and I discovered, though I did not understand the implications at the time, that I favored men far more than women.

My adoration of Shane did indeed take a different path at that time, and I yearned for things I did not know how to ask for. I was awkward and unsure and, despite not truly understanding what a sodomite was, or what buggery actually referred to, or anything of that nature, I was leery of expressing my feelings to anyone, because Shane and all the other boys our age only spoke of their interest in women. I thought women were fine, but I wanted to touch boys. So I said and did nothing, and then there was this afternoon where we ended up in a barn during a cold rain and our attempts to warm one another led to something else.”

I glanced at her, and found her blushing and studying the fire. I was not flushed. I refused to allow myself to dip below the quiet surface waters my tale was drifting on, and drop down into the murk of memory where I knew the pain and emotions lurked.

“After that afternoon, things were still well between us, for a time.

We would sneak into the other’s room, or steal away to the hay loft or the woods whenever we could to… ease one another’s adolescent fervor.

Truly, he always initiated our trysts. Outside of when we were alone and actually engaged in the activity, he would not speak of the activities or our meeting to engage in them; nor would he allow me to. He struck me on several occasions for doing so. And there was one time when he trounced me thoroughly for wiping my hand on the sheets. He had been terrified the maid would know. I had explained that I was sure the maids knew everything anyway, and I always used the bed linen. I went to breakfast with a black eye.”

I shook my head. “I remember mother getting that look she has. And Shane daring me to say anything with his eyes. And Father, he did not look at me at all.”

My anger was surfacing out of the murk, and I took a long pull on the bottle. Sarah looked sad and did not ask for it back.

“I think we may need another,” I said.

“You finish it,” she said.

I set it down. I had distracted myself sufficiently. I found the emotional distance I needed again, and went on.

“Then came the period when he began to shun me publicly, not around the family, but around the few friends and acquaintances we had. He called me sodomite and all manner of things. Then he would drink and show up at my room in the wee hours of the morning. He would apologize and explain that people were talking and one of us had to be blamed, and everyone thought I was something of a sissy, anyway. I was mortified, but he always soothed me and I always let him.

Eventually it became more than even my love of him could overlook, and I told him no more and began to block my door.”

I could not let myself think anymore. I simply let the words tumble out, as I had once rehearsed them in some fantasy I held about speaking of it all to someone. It was sad and amusing to me that I had fantasized about such a thing. I concentrated on that, and not the meaning of the words I spoke.

“That was when the real trouble started. That was when he began to use force to take what he wanted, and our liaisons were no longer pleasurable sessions of mutual release but increasingly violent violations upon my person. I would fight him on occasion, and he would beat me senseless and do what he wanted. Yet I still did not take up arms against him. And I knew I could tell no one, as I would somehow be held to blame in all of it. And, in some way I did feel I was to blame.

It was not until he destroyed my horse that I admitted the situation was truly intolerable, and not a thing he would grow beyond or overcome.

And then I left.”

I was pleased with myself in the telling. I was not crying, though my eyes were moist and my throat constricted. Nor had I shouted or broken anything. I had not delved into the emotion much at all.

“I have never relayed all of that to anyone before,” I said.

It was true. I had not told it all even to Alonso, as I had been too ashamed and thought he would think less of me for allowing any of it to happen more than once.

“I am sorry I asked it of you,” she whispered.

“Nay, nay, it was for the best. I should have told someone years ago.”

“I have seen…” She paused, and I found her eyes as teary as my own. She gave me a grim smile. “I have seen him exhibit some of the behaviors you describe. I have heard whispered things about those years. I have examined this room and seen evidence of strife. I have seen him strike servants. I… He has always displayed the utmost kindness to me. Yet, I sense violence deep in his soul. I found it intriguing. I thought of him as being like all the heroes from the stories, virile, stoic, misunderstood. And… now I feel somewhat the fool…”

“Do you know how many young women I have seduced because they found me dangerous and different?” I asked gently.

“A fair number, I would imagine,” she snorted sadly. “More than the number of men you have killed?”

“Far more,” I grinned.

“Now I am confused.” She smiled. “I know not whether to feel less alone or less unique in my fascination.”

“Why do you think I was attracted to him?”

She chuckled, and then sobered to touch my arm. “Oh, Marsdale, he has said such awful things about you. I was heart-set on you as a villain. Yet when you spoke this morning, it was as if your words lit a lamp; and I saw so many things I had hoped would stay hidden in the corners because I did not wish to see them.” She took a deep breath. “I think he killed a young boy in the village.”

I regarded her sharply. “One that will not be missed, I assume.”

She nodded sadly. “All called the fellow a sodomite. I saw Shane with him once. Shane struck him upon seeing me, though they had not seemed to be engaged in a dispute prior to that; quite the opposite. Then he told me the boy had made advances to him. I had, of course, been appalled, and decided what I had seen had been a misunderstanding on my part.

“Some time after that, I made some comment to Shane about being careful when entering the village, lest he be stalked like a buck. It was just a jest. Yet Shane replied quite seriously that he had seen to that matter. Later I learned the boy had been missing for some time. Many thought he had run off to London, but then they found a body with his clothes in the creek the next spring. Many said it was a good riddance, and nothing was made of it.”

I sighed sadly. I was not at all surprised. “Justice is only served if you have money or status. I have never known or heard of any place that was not that way. And even then, one can find one’s hands tied.”

“I do not wish him dead,” she implored.

“It is not in my best interests to seek his death,” I said with equal solemnity. “Be that as it may, I am concerned for your well-being in light of what I am interpreting as a profound change of heart on your part, which I have been a willing participant in.”

She nodded sadly. “He will be quite put out.”

“Do you have a… relationship, with our father? Can you speak to him of this?”

“Aye.”

“Then I suggest you do so.”

“Have you ever told him… anything?” she asked.

“Nay.”

She frowned. “Then do I have your permission to…?”

“Aye, tell him anything you feel the need to.”

Her embrace was unexpected, but I felt relief in her arms. Once she was gone, I indulged myself in tears and the rest of the bottle. Despite the chair, I slept more soundly than I had since that first night at my uncle’s.

I was awakened by another knock on my door. This time, light greeted my opening eyes. I called out an inquiry without rising. The room seemed very cold, and I did not wish to emerge from the blanket.

I had not barred the door, and if it was Sarah or the maid I intended to tell them to enter. It was my father’s manservant. My father wished to see me.

“It is Christmas morning,” I said. This meant nothing to the insistent man.

I dragged myself out of the chair and drew on my coat. I was exceedingly disheveled as I followed the man to the study. My father was in a robe, and pacing. I crossed the room to warm myself at the roaring fire. I decided the light seeping through my drapes had been something of a lie. The sun had not broken the horizon yet.

“You wished to speak with me?” I asked after his man had withdrawn.

“I have been speaking with your sister.” His eyes were dark with emotion.

I raised a brow. She had made fast work of that.

“She apparently does not indulge herself in stewing upon matters,” I remarked.

He smiled. “Nay, she does not.” Then the smile was gone and his eyes held mine. “Do you blame him?”

“For a great many things, but which particular act are you referring to?”His lips quirked again. “For wanting to marry into the family.”

“Nay, nay, I do not blame him for that at all. Nor do I think him a fool for wanting to marry Sarah; she will be more than enough of a catch for most men, though most men would not have the spine to take her on.”“True.” He nodded appreciatively. “Thus it irks me that he wished to marry her merely for her relation to me. I had feared that very thing.

He asked me for Elizabeth’s hand several years ago, and was quite distraught when I told him her betrothal was of some political use to me. I do not think he loved her, either. Not that I truly cared. With Sarah, I care.”

I thought it must be good to be Sarah. “So, you had guessed at his design.”

“Aye. I am not blind.” He shrugged.

“Father, take this how you will, but you have given me great reason to believe you are blind about such things.”

His breath was heavy, but his eyes held no malice. “I was not blind then, either.”

I felt very cold, despite the fire reddening my hands. “Then, if you were not blind, then one might assume you condoned what occurred.”

“I did.”

I struck him, good and hard on the jaw, and he was thrown back to his desk. I had not known I would do it until my fist clenched. He seemed no more surprised than I had been at Sarah’s slap the day before. He pulled himself up and tested his jaw a little, before retreating to the far side of the desk, where he pulled a bottle and two glasses from a cupboard. He motioned for me to take a seat across from him, and poured for both of us. I sat.

“I deserved that,” he said with a rueful grin, “and probably a great deal more.”