Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (11 page)

“Then why?”

“First, let me say that I did not realize events had advanced so very far. When he tortured a horse in order to anger you, I decided enough was enough. I was called away before I could confront him, and by the time I returned, you were gone.”

Fury gripped me, and I very carefully set the glass down before I crushed it in my hands or hurled it at him.

“Son,” he continued. “You must understand that I will regret that for the rest of my days.”

“That will make two of us, then. Why? You did not intend for it to go as it did, but apparently you were not against it occurring.”

“I thought it might put you off men.” There was no amusement on his face. He was stating a truth.

On several occasions I have been confronted with situations in which there can only be two responses: tears or laughter. I was damned if I was going to cry in front of him, so I laughed.

“It is a damn good thing you are on the other side of this table.”

“I know,” he chuckled in return. “Why do you think I walked over here?”

I wanted to smash something. I held my voice steady. “Damn you to Hell, you are an utter arse, truly a bastard of the worst design.”

He accepted my words with a solemn nod.

“What did I do as a child to earn your hatred?” I asked.

He shook his head thoughtfully. “I never hated you.”

“Fine, your dislike then, because I can never remember you approving of me. And that far predates my favoring men.”

He sat forward. “Christ, boy, you never knew when to be seen and not heard. And when you were not telling the world about every thought that ran through your head, you were doing a great number of things to insure that you were seen, heard or not. You made pictures with your food. You spoke to your mother’s spaniel and every other animal you encountered, as if they would respond. We could not allow you to be seen by proper guests, after you informed the Lady Willoughby that she should have a portrait made like your mother’s, because the painter would make her look prettier than she was. In that instance you were three years of age, and you had gotten the better of your nanny’s dull wit and escaped the nursery.”

I was incredulous. “And you hate, excuse me, dislike me for all of that?”

“You were not as I expected.” He sat back, face stern again.

“What did you expect? Shane, a child with little imagination or wit?”

“Aye, I believe I did,” he sighed. “I control all facets of my life, and you were this little monster who did things in a totally unexpected fashion.”

And thus one of the great questions of my life had been answered; two, actually. It was an anticlimax of the worst sort.

“I was a fool,” he said into the silence, his eyes suffused with guilt.

But oddly, it was a distant thing, as if he were not confessing to me, as if I were not the one wounded.

“Well, I do not disagree with you,” I said sadly, “but why do you feel thus?”

His eyes were back on me, and there was a trace of a smile on his lips. “You have become ten times the man I expected.”

I was at a loss. “What…? How…? Damn it, why would you feel thus?

What have I done to earn your favor now? Returned home? Admitted I killed a number of men? Dissuaded my sister from a marriage? Been civil to the pastor? Struck you? How can you decide such a thing when truly you know so little of me?”

The smile slowly spread across his face. “I never envisioned a day when I could speak with you in this manner, man to man. I never envisioned a day when I would wish to. And beyond that, your uncle has shared what news you gave him. You have made a man of yourself.

You never asked me for anything. You never tarnished our family name.

Despite the hardships you were forced to endure, you did not go mad or become a drunk. You survived.”

Teresina’s words echoed in my head. Uly, if you feel this is Heaven...

well, then, how very little you expect of perfection. My father had expected very little of me, indeed. Yet still he was attempting to compliment me, and I felt he was sincere.

“Thank you.”

“I will not ask you to forgive me,” he said seriously, as if it had been a negotiable matter.

“That would be best, as I am feeling quite torn at the moment, and I would not wish to offer promises I might not be able to keep.”

He winced a little. “I understand.”

“So, now what do we do?” I asked pleasantly.

He smirked and sighed. “A very good question. What do you wish?”

“Well, I cannot kill Shane. So that is denied me.”

“Damn,” he sighed. “I thought that your intent. Understand this: I cannot simply banish him, nor would I. He is integral to certain matters now, and well-accepted as my right hand. His loss would be disruptive and difficult to explain.”

I shrugged. It was as I had expected, and I thought he dissembled.

He would not banish Shane because he did not wish to; no excuses or reasons were necessary.

“My uncle has invited me to accompany him to the colonies. I must confess I have been intrigued by the option. I also do not feel I am ready to spend the rest of my days in studies discussing business and politics.

It is probably best that I leave, until the matter of Shane has been resolved in some other fashion. If you are very lucky, someone else may kill him and save you having to make a choice. Or I may die, and then you can adopt him.”

Instead of wincing or grimacing, he smiled. “Damn, boy, you are indeed my son.”

I did not feel that it was a thing I should take pride in at the moment.

“I have a better idea,” he said, and rifled through the papers on the side of the desk. He found one and sailed it across the table between us, so that it came to rest at an angle in front of me. It was a map of Jamaica.

I chuckled with sincere amusement. “So, you will endeavor to solve your problem by sending one of us to the other side of the world.”

“You have an excellent grasp of the situation.” He grinned.

“You would trust me to see to your interests?”

He chuckled. “I would trust in the fear your presence will engender in the men I have hired, such that they will see to my interests.”

“Ah, and what will you expect me to do?”

“Whatever you please. I will grant you ten percent of the profits. You can drink, whore, duel, or whatever else you engaged in throughout your travels in Christendom. You could even marry and produce an heir if you have it in you.”

I ignored his jibe and asked solemnly, “How long would this endeavor be expected to last?”

“A year or two; no more, I would imagine.” He was growing more enthused with my interest.

“When would I be expected to sail?” I asked.

“As soon as possible in January.” He at least had the good sense to grimace at that.

“Then much is in order already, I trust.”

He nodded.

“Who did you plan to send if I had not arrived and proven a likely prospect? You surely knew Graeland was ill-suited.”

“I thought to send Shane… but…”

“I take it Shane did not wish to go. Or is it that you did not wish to part with him?”

He chuckled and shrugged. “Shane was intrigued by the prospect.”

“But you did not wish to risk him.”

He met my gaze and sighed. “Nay.”

I shrugged. “I will go.”

Calm descended over me like a comfortable blanket. I now knew where I stood, and many a question haunting me had been answered. I could not accomplish my goal, as of yet. And I still was not sure if killing him would actually solve much of anything, so I was willing to allow Shane to live for now.

And as for Jamaica, I was actually delighted by the prospect. It would be adventure. And, oddly, it would put me in better graces with my father. Despite the ambivalence I felt toward that at the moment, Rucker’s words about my being Earl some day still rang in my heart. If I survived.

Perhaps the Gods were laughing.

Wherein I Obtain Sheep

I found myself on the road to Bristol in the second week of January, 1667; alone save two of my father’s men, who were along to protect me from highwaymen and handle my baggage. I did not feel I needed them for the former; but was thankful they were present for the latter.

I was not happy with the chests full of clothes, bedding, chamber pot, cookware and other necessaries I was told it would be difficult to obtain in Jamaica, and was pleased someone else was about to lug them around.

I did have some baggage I was pleased to bring, which included my swords and pistols, a moneybox, and two muskets from my father’s house. One was a new flintlock my father had given me, and the other Shane’s favorite wheellock, which I had quite frankly absconded with.

The flintlock was a well-crafted and more functional weapon. The wheellock was an expensive thing of beauty over fifty years in age, its barrel and firing mechanism fabricated to exacting standards by a fine gunsmith in Amsterdam, and its stock inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It had been my grandfather’s, and I was damned if I would let Shane keep it. Another crate was filled with books I had acquired in London with Rucker, and cards, a fine chess set, and other amusements I doubted I could find in the West Indies without paying outrageous sums for their transport. As it was, I was thankful my father had given me a healthy purse with which to outfit myself.

So not all of the baggage was without merit, though it was cumbersome and not in keeping with how I usually traveled. Conversely, though I usually journeyed alone, I was ill-pleased that on this trek but there was no one to go with me.

Rucker professed not to have the temperament to venture into the unknown. He wished for me to test the waters, as it were, and to tell him if traveling there were truly safe. Likewise, my uncle had already made definite plans concerning Massachusetts, and would be sailing a little later in the spring. I very much wished I could take Sarah with me; but that was not considered appropriate, and I was not sure what I would find in Jamaica in terms of disease or even housing. I assured her she could visit as well, and my father assured me he would be diligent in sheltering her from Shane’s wrath. As he actually cared for her, I took his word.

Bristol is a busy place filled with merchants, sailors, marines, and whores. After over a month in the country, I was quite intoxicated to be around so many people. I do not favor a bucolic existence. Yet, considering the nature of the place, I was pleased my leaving would be quick.

Thankfully, the weather was good when we arrived, and it looked as if we would sail on the planned departure date one week hence. Of course, this being January, I was sure that would all change.

I took a room at a pleasant-enough inn, and left the men to handling the trunks, while I slipped away to walk unescorted down to the docks.

After a few questions, I located the ship we had chartered, the King’s Hope. She was a modest three-masted vessel of a hundred tons and four cannon. Our cargo of initial provisions, sugar-mill grinding wheels, gears, pots and trappings, and the other supplies needed to start a plantation, including bondsmen, would comprise most of her cargo.

She would be carrying some other goods and passengers, though, and I would be forced to share a cabin.

The vessel was not docked, but moored in the harbor. At my current distance from her, she looked seaworthy enough to my untrained eye.

However, I knew not how to judge if a ship was truly fine. To me, all seacraft seem to look something alike, once they become large enough to be ships with several masts and not merely sloops or longboats. Though I still thought of my journey with enthusiasm, the knowledge that I would spend nearly two months cooped aboard that ship damn near put me off the endeavor.

Conversely, I knew if I stood on the dock long enough, the cold wind coming off the bay would make me swim to her if necessary. The last two months spent in an English winter had made me long for my balmy days in Italy. I thought I would be well-pleased with the tropics, as they were warmer still.

A fellow about my own age stood nearby, watching me. He appeared pleasant enough, with large eyes and a drooping face. I was sure he would have jowls as he aged if he put on weight, which he looked to do imminently. Middle age would most likely make him jolly.

I sighed at my bothering to make that much of an assessment of him. The means of my travel to England, the company I kept while here, and especially being ensconced in my father’s house, had left me no recourse with which to exercise my manhood. I now found myself eyeing everyone with hope of an interesting dalliance. Sadly, unless I was exceedingly discreet, I could not act on a quarry even if I found one, not while I traveled as my father’s son. It did not bode well for my future, and was not a thing I had considered when I accepted his offer. I hoped my horizons would widen considerably once I reached Jamaica.

The man smiled and nodded when I looked his way. “May I offer you assistance, sir?”

“I do not know. I am merely looking over that fine vessel there.”

“I see that, sir. Do you have interest in her? She sails within the week, but we still have a little room for another passenger or cargo.”

“Are you with her, then? I am the Viscount of Marsdale.”

He paled. “Oh, my Lord… Marsdale.” He remembered to bow.

I suppressed a sigh. That was going to be another inconvenience of traveling as my father’s son. I abhor bowing and scraping, the bestowing of it or the receiving.

“Who might you be?”

“Second Officer James Belfry, sir.” He bowed again.

“Pleased to meet you, Mister Belfry. May we board her? I wish to look about.”

“Aye, my Lord.” He happily led me to a ladder on the side of the wharf, and down to a longboat with four waiting men. I surmised he had been on his way out to the ship.

The vessel thankfully appeared larger as we approached in the small craft, until I climbed the ladder to her deck and beheld its true size. She might have appeared larger from the water, but she was every bit as small as I feared. It would be a long voyage, indeed.

After a moment’s indecision, seemingly concerning where to go first, Belfry led me to the hatch and down into the hold. I do not know where he thought the ship had additional space in which to stow further cargo.