Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (46 page)

We had indeed gathered an audience, almost as large as the duel had. The howling and cheering ebbed in my ears beyond the pounding of my blood. Gaston and I stood, our sword tips in line, watching for the next move. His eyes left mine to look me over, and when they returned I saw the battle light dim. He stood straight and dropped his sword to his side.

“Enough,” he whispered between breaths.

I knew he was not as winded as I, and that he did this to spare me having to lose if we continued. We embraced. I kissed his cheek.

He whispered, “No one will bother us now.”

I felt the fool as strongly as I felt my admiration for him grow. I was indeed out of practice, and not merely with the sword. In the ballroom with the lady flinging Madeira long ago, I had played several of the reactions I witnessed to my advantage. Here, I had only taken the first step of observing, when he had already formulated his battle plan and begun to implement it. I did not let my unfamiliarity with the terrain excuse me. I had grown lax, and there were truly as many intrigues here as there were in any great house in Christendom. Men aboard a ship were just as trapped with little to do but meddle with one another as any pack of wolves known as a royal court.

Pete loomed over us. Not that he is truly that much taller than I, or even Gaston. It is just that the Golden One seems to take up so very much space, as he radiates some aura about him like the sun.

“Teach Me!”

Gaston and I laughed in agreement.

“All right then,” I said as I caught my breath. Using my matelot as an example, I proceeded to give a basic lecture in fencing, involving the differences between a rapier and cutlass, how they are used, and what tactics we had utilized during our match and why.

At one point Cudro called out, “We don’t need to learn that.

Spaniards don’t fence.”

“I beg to differ,” I replied. “My last sparring partner was a Spaniard, and he fenced very well. And as for what one needs, you do not need to do anything. It has been my experience that if man only did what he needed to do, Adam would have stayed in the Garden of Eden, alone.”

This brought a round of guffaws and laughter, and Cudro thankfully abandoned us.

I agreed to start teaching actual stances and the like on the morrow, and sprawled on a dune to rest. The other men drifted off. Gaston sat behind me, legs on either side of me again, with his arms wrapped around my shoulder and chest. I leaned into him with contentment

“Did you fear I could not fend off any challengers?” I teased.

He shook his head with amusement. “I was tired of seeing eyes upon you.”

“Surely you jest.”

“Non. Many think I have done well, far above what I should deserve.”

“Because of my father?”

Gaston snorted. “Because others do not find you revolting.”

“If what you say is true, then I have truly been leading a blind and blissful existence.” As I thought on it, though, I realized I had not looked beyond him to see what others may have thought of me.

“I have not noticed,” I added with a bit more sobriety. “Your regard has been all I have sought or been aware of.”

“I am honored.” He was quiet for a time. “Your last sparring partner was a Spaniard?”

“Oui.”

“And he was good?”

“Oui. You would defeat him handily, though.”

“Was he the one who was almost your matelot?”

I moved so that I could look up at him and gauge his reaction. He did not appear as if he wished to hear my answer. “Oui.”

He grimaced and sighed. “A damn Spaniard… Do not let anyone else know.”

“Rest assured, I will not. I am dubious about my wisdom in letting you know, considering your feelings for that nationality. Promise you will not view me as tainted.”

“It will be difficult. I cannot imagine it.” He grimaced again.

I was amused. He was truly perturbed and not just playing the part.

“He was quite handsome.”

“They are all fat.”

“He was not fat.”

“And stupid.”

“Nor was he stupid. Please grant me some degree of taste and pride.

I did not bugger Davey because he was stupid, and look at him.”

“They are arrogant.”

“Well, he was that. You might like him, if you did not know him as a Spaniard when you met.”

“He is still alive?”

“Oui, I would hope so. He was going to live in Panama on his family’s plantation.”

“So he is in the New World?”

“If everything went according to the plans he relayed to me, oui.”

“Do you wish to see him again?”

“Non, but perhaps out of curiosity. Are you jealous?” I teased, wondering if he would deny it.

“Non.” He would not look at me.

I chuckled. “Well, you are doing a fine job convincing me otherwise.”

“I am envious. I believe there is a difference, non?”

There was indeed. I turned in his embrace until I was kneeling before him, so that our eyes were level. I pinioned his gaze with my own.

“Truly, there is no need for that. There is a definite inequality between what existed with him and what exists with you. If anyone were to observe the entirety of the two situations from an impartial position, they would see that if either of you had reason for envy, it would surely be him. And, having experienced the emotions you engender within me, I would rather be alone than return to what I had with him. For any overtures of love he may have relented to make... pale in comparison to the regard I hold for you.”

He shook his head as if he did not believe me.

“Why will you not accept my word?” I asked.

“I have done nothing to deserve you.”

I smiled. “Considering the effect I have on many lives, that may speak well of you.”

He relented and smiled. I turned and settled into his embrace again.

I dearly wanted to know what haunted him so; but I knew, as with other aspects of our relationship, the knowledge would be long in coming.

We sailed the next morning, cruising further north and west, toward the strait between Cuba and Campeche. Our daily routine resumed, and two days after leaving the islands, Striker, Siegfried, Gaston and I were lounging about in the morning after weapons practice. There was too little deck to truly spar, but I had endeavored to give Pete an exhausting lesson – for me – on the rapier; and now the Golden One was training with Davey.

The match was uneven to the extreme, though Davey had taken well to wielding steel in general. However, Pete was amazingly fast and, as Gaston had noted to me that first night, possessed a genius for all combative pursuits. Thus Davey was covered with little cuts, which he gleefully ignored in the name of trying to deliver the same to Pete, who was noticeably unmarred. I was greatly entertained, as one might imagine, by the sight of two men looking as Pete and Davey did cavorting about, with muscles straining under taut golden skin while wearing only breeches.

Still, after Davey took another good cut, I was moved to wince and say, “Mayhap someone else should spar with Pete.”

Striker snorted and frowned. “Let him bleed.”

I raised an eyebrow in response. I remembered my observation after the duel, which was that I was, quite frankly, not observing enough.

I regarded Pete and Davey from a different perspective, that being Striker’s. Pete had called a halt to the match, and now they stood talking and joking about Davey’s wounds. Pete was being Pete: happy, effusive, and the center of all attention. Davey’s eyes were filled with adoration for the Golden One. This was, of course, what rankled Striker.

“It is hero worship. It will pass,” I murmured.

“Aye,” Striker said, “and I cared not what the others whispered, especially after the duel, but observe Davey.”

He stood and took my water bottle and walked up-ship. As he passed Pete and Davey he stopped long enough to throw his arm around his matelot and whisper something in his ear. Pete snaked an arm around his waist and listened with interest, and then the two parted and Striker went below to fill the bottle. I had kept a partial eye on them, but as instructed, I had watched Davey. Striker was correct; there was an issue at hand. Davey’s entire demeanor changed in Striker’s presence, and his eyes flashed anger and defiance.

I wondered how Davey could be so foolish; and then I attempted to see events through his eyes. Pete and I had rescued him; Striker had been robbing the ship with Gaston. Pete had taken Davey to shore and purchased weapons for him. Pete often spent time with him when Striker was busy as quartermaster. Pete was training him; Striker was not. Davey did not sleep with them and see their nightly antics.

Davey came from a world where liaisons were of a more casual and less permanent nature. It was entirely possible he did not understand the true depth of their relationship or its duration.

I had little time to think more on it, as Pete joined us with a grin.

“You Spar With Me?” he asked Gaston and Siegfried.

My matelot smiled. “Aye, tomorrow. You will not fare as well, though.”

“Good.” Pete grinned.

We all looked to Siegfried. He shrugged. “God knows I need the practice.”

Striker returned. He dropped beside us on the steps again.

“We have not discussed this, and obviously we should. You two are in the boarding party, correct?” Striker said.

“Aye,” Gaston answered.

I had assumed everyone was in the boarding party when we took a prize. Not wanting to appear the fool, I kept my mouth shut. Striker seemed satisfied with Gaston answering for both of us. I decided I was also.

“I would be in the boarding party,” Davey said.

Striker looked from Davey to Pete and shrugged.

“He’sReady. Not Alone Though,” Pete said.

“I’ll go with you,” Davey said.

Pete shook his head. “Nay. I’mWith Him. Board In Pairs.

Watch The Other’sBack.” He clapped Davey’s shoulder. “Doesn’tHave Ta B

eAMatelot. Just A Mate Ta Watch Out Fer Ya. A Mate That Done It Before.”

Striker was amused, though he tried to hide it from the crestfallen Davey.

“Who would ya suggest?” Davey asked.

“Let Me Think On It. Sit.”

Like an obedient puppy, Davey practically sat where he had been standing. Pete sat on the bottom step between my legs, and began to look over the crew. Liam and Otter were in their alcove, next to Davey, and they began to look around too. Siegfried sat on the top step next to Gaston. The Bard joined us and leaned on the rail by Siegfried.

“What are we doing?” the Bard asked.

I stifled a laugh. It was appearing as if it would be matelot by committee, and I wondered if Davey realized what he was in for.

“Davey here needs a mate to go boarding with, or possibly a matelot,” Siegfried told the Bard.

There were now eight men staring at the rest of the crew, and some of the crew were staring back.

“We should probably discuss something,” the Bard said quietly,

“Otherwise they’ll all think we’re up to something.”

Davey helped by turning his back on the rest of the ship. “I’m just looking for a mate to board with,” Davey said.

Pete shrugged. “That’sHow They Start.”

“And even if it’s a matelot, you don’t have to bugger one another,”

Siegfried said.

“Then why bother?” the Bard scoffed with a teasing grin.

Siegfried chuckled. “Because some men don’t wish to bugger anyone, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be fine business partners and loyal companions.”

“If I have to put up with another bastard in my life, somebody is fucking somebody,” the Bard said.

“I seem to remember you being quite fond of the last bastard in your life,” Siegfried chided.

“Aye, I was. He was still a bastard, and I like being alone.”

“You’re on a ship.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did not dare tip my hand and look behind me to see my matelot’s reaction to their discussion. All I could tell was that he was very tense. I found the conversation interesting, and it made me wonder more than a few things about the true nature of Siegfried and Bradley’s partnership.

“How did you meet Bradley?” I asked Siegfried. “If you do not mind my asking.”

He sighed. “How did I meet him, or how did we become matelots?”

“Both.”

“I was shipwrecked, and the ship he was sailing on rescued us from the cay we were stranded on. We became friends, and I liked that ship and so I stayed with them and became a buccaneer. Sometime later we became matelots.”

His story did not answer the question I wished answered, but thankfully Davey was far more tactless than I.

“When did ya start fucking?” he asked.

Siegfried snorted with amusement. “When we became matelots.”

That answered several questions, and I silently applauded Davey on his artless audacity.

“Can you bugger someone and not be matelots?” Davey asked.

A strange silence settled over the group; not that they had all been speaking before, but as if they had to give his question some thought, or it disturbed them.

“Why would ya?” Liam asked.

This gave Davey pause. It gave me pause.

“Being new here, I have to ask, are you implying that buccaneers only have carnal relations with a matelot?” I inquired.

“Well,” Liam said. “If they ’ave a matelot they’re not lyin’ with anyone else, and if they don’t have a matelot and they want ta bugger a man, one would think they would like ’im enough to be matelots.”

I could see his reasoning, and I found it amusing. I had not spent any time watching the carnal habits of my crewmates, other than the wolves in our alcove, so I was not sure if this was accurate. Then it occurred to me that Davey had asked the question first. I had seen him engage in casual buggery with at least two other sailors and one of the bondsmen on the voyage to Jamaica. If he was asking, this seemed to indicate that he had not been as promiscuous here, as he had not seen others doing it or partners had not readily presented themselves.

“What if a man just favors men and wishes to sample all of the men who do not have matelots?” I asked.

They all looked at me, including Pete who had to turn around.