Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (89 page)

Then his eyes found me. “You thought I would let a man insult my wife, non?”

I sighed and shrugged apologetically. “I am sorry. I did not understand the situation, and furthermore, it was not my place. I make a great habit of rushing in where angels fear to tread, so to speak.”

He chuckled and appeared thoughtful. “You are a gentleman.”

“Thank you. Not every man I encounter shares your good opinion of me, and many times I would not warrant it.”

He studied me with a small, knowing smile; then his eyes shifted to Gaston, and then away from both of us to contemplate his glass.

“So what manner of troubles have you caused elsewhere?” he asked.

I was happy to oblige him, and proceeded to regale them with the details of both our voyages, neglecting of course Gaston’s bout of madness and the witchcraft charges. Thus the remainder of the evening passed pleasantly enough.

Madam Doucette finally retired, and Gaston and Doucette went to check on Dickey. I was left to wander about with a lamp. To my delight, I discovered a library, and set about perusing the titles. Most were medical volumes, but there were also a number of historical and philosophical works.

I was deeply engrossed in a tome when I sensed movement in the doorway. I turned to find Doucette regarding me. He shrugged. “Gabriel has gone up to… your room.”

“Ah, I should follow along then.”

He glanced at the book I held. “I assume you are educated in Latin and possibly Greek.”

“Latin, oui, Greek, non. And having lived for a time in Florence, I possess greater prowess in the more common spoken form of Latin than I do in the classical variety, though I can muddle through as long as I am not asked to translate ancient kings speaking of future accomplishments. According to my tutor, I tend to lose track of my tenses and become somewhat lost in time in those instances.”

He smiled. “When I first saw you, I thought you were one of the common barbarian horde; and I wondered at that, as I could not see him associating with an uneducated man in any fashion. Are you of noble birth as well?”

“For whatever value that may have, oui.” I replaced the book and joined him near the door.

“What do you know of him?” he asked.

I smiled and shook my head. “A great many things that I do not feel at liberty to discuss with anyone, including you. And as you most certainly feel the same concerning me, that leaves us both at a loss.

Though I am sure there are a number of things we know that would serve the other well in… caring for him, perhaps.”

“You know how he arrived here?”

“I know the incident that left him scarred occurred immediately before he left France, and that one of his father’s men placed him on the ship in your care. And that you tended him until you reached this island and his body was healed. Then he left you and lived on the Haiti for a time.”

He nodded. “Do you know how the incident, as you call it, occurred?”

“Do you?”

He smiled. “Does he still not remember, or will you not tell me?”

I took the time to consider my answer, and let him see me in thought.

“He remembers more and more, and I will not discuss that with you.”

“I suppose that is your prerogative… as his matelot.”

There was a mocking quality to his words, and I did not care for it.

Though I could not precisely name it as contempt, it bore close relation to it. I recalled Gaston’s words when he first told me of the man before me. “You do not approve of matelotage?”

He waved my words aside. “I understand it, and I have no approval to give or withhold on the matter. I merely did not think he would become involved in it. He has always expressed such disdain for it and the men who engage in it.”

I found that interesting, but did not allow my thoughts to show: especially as he was watching for my reaction. I wondered at his game.

“He did not expect to meet me.”

Doucette smirked for a moment. “Non, I suppose he did not.” He sighed and settled himself more comfortably against the wall. “When they brought Yvette to me, and I began to heal her, I thought, now here is a girl for Gabriel; and I refrained from expressing my own feelings toward her, in the hopes that he would return. Eventually I came to think he never would, and I married her because she is a precious girl and deserves a home of her own.”

“Of course she does.” I pushed my annoyance aside and let myself contemplate what a disaster and possible tragedy that would have been for all involved. How could Doucette not have realized that? The same way he had not realized what an imposition his pride in his handiwork was with both of them.

“Tell me,” Doucette said. “If he were to meet a proper girl he would be attracted to, would you release him?”

“Release him? You make it sound as if I have entrapped him in some fashion.” His words bothered me more than I cared to admit; and I thought of the dismay I had felt upon seeing his erection that afternoon.

“In a way, you have, though I do not think it with malice.”

“How kind of you.”

He shrugged. “It is a matter of convenience for all of you. You fancy yourselves in love because all men form close ties; but you know that it is not as it is with a man and a woman.”

“I do know that; intimately, in fact. It is not the same, and I rather favor one over the other. I am not with Gaston out of convenience or a lack of alternatives. I wish to be with him.”

He shook his head with consternation. “And you have been with women?”

“Oui, a number of them.”

“And still you feel you prefer men?”

“Oui.”

“Is that because you wish to be a woman?”

I was taken aback by the thought of it. “Non. Non, not at all.”

“Perhaps you secretly harbor a desire to be a woman. Perhaps you are not even aware of it.”

“If it is a thing of which I am totally unaware, then I would have to admit the possibility of it, simply because I cannot deny the existence of something I, by definition, cannot know. However, I do not think that to be the case. I do not feel I am in any way a feminine man.”

“Are you attracted to Gabriel because he possesses feminine qualities?”

“Non, quite the contrary. I am attracted to Gaston because of his manly qualities and demeanor, though on occasion he does behave in a manner some may define as feminine.”

“What about him attracts you?”

I chuckled with bemusement. I found it difficult to believe I was engaged in the discussion. “It would be easier to ask what I am not attracted to in his person.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, in truth, his madness. He is not overly fond of it, either. We would both like to overcome it and rid ourselves of it.”

He snorted dismissively. “Madness, what does that really mean, Will? There is nothing medically wrong with him. I can attest that no damage was done to his head. Oui, he is easily angered; all severely wounded people are for a time. And like any intelligent man with a fine creative mind, he is prone to periods of fantasy and intense introspection. Such things are often attributed to madness by those unfamiliar with it. I feel it is a thing he has been told and he has come to believe the words of others.”

I was incredulous and did not bother to hide it. Gaston had truly hid it from him well.

“I suppose,” I said carefully, “I must be unfamiliar with your definitions of madness, and sadly am forced to rely upon my own. I love him and I cannot be so charitable.”

“What does he do?” Doucette asked arrogantly.

“I do not feel I should continue this conversation tonight. If you will excuse me.”

Gaston appeared in the doorway behind Doucette; and I surmised he had been listening. Doucette turned to regard him with surprise.

“I thought you went up,” he said.

Gaston shrugged. “I did. Will was not there.”

“We were just talking about you,” Doucette said. “Will is of the opinion you are mad.”

“I have been listening, and I am.” Gaston’s gaze was level and reproachful.

“According to whom?” Doucette scoffed. “The uneducated and superstitious?”

Gaston shook his head with annoyance. “I know I am mad, by my definition. I experience acute emotional states in which I am unable to maintain rational control of my actions or faculties. You can call it what you will. I call it dangerous and debilitating. At those times, I become a threat to my friends, and I am at the mercy of my enemies. There is often accompanying memory loss and intense feelings of confusion. I can be driven into these states by specific circumstances; some I have catalogued, others I have not. Most, if not all, of these triggering events appear to be related to my being flogged and presumably the events leading up to it.”

There was an awkward period of silence. Doucette finally broke it.

“I need to think on this. Would you be willing to discuss the details with me in the morning?”

“Of course.” Gaston shrugged.

Doucette appeared more thoughtful than arrogant as he began to leave us. Gaston stopped him with a light touch on his arm.

“Will knows far more about me than you,” Gaston said. “Do not be dismissive of him.”

“I meant no offense,” Doucette said, but it was obvious he wished to say something else. He left us instead.

“How much did you hear?” I asked, and grimaced as I recalled the topics of conversation.

“All. I came down as soon as I did not find you. He was watching you for awhile before you saw him. I did not mean to spy upon you, but upon him, as I wished to see what he would say outside of my presence.” He led me up to our room.

“Are you surprised?”

He shook his head. “His goading you concerning Madam Doucette was interesting. And I do not mean that in a pleasing way. The rest I expected.” He closed the door behind us, and I set the lamp on the desk.

“I was curious as to his game,” I said, “else I would not have spoken with him at all.”

“Do not vex yourself over it,” Gaston said. “He is at best an absent-minded chess player. He can discern a short series of moves and rarely sees the longer consequences.”

“As I do not.”

“Non, you perceive many things about those around you on occasion. He understands bodies but not minds,” Gaston said thoughtfully. “I had not realized that, until seeing him this time.”

“I worry for Madam Doucette,” I said. “She is as wounded as either of us in many ways, and she has had the good fortune of coming into the graces of a benefactor, and he does seem to care for her and wish her well. Yet based on what we have witnessed, I wonder that he does not cause her more grief. When he said he wished to hold her in anticipation of your return, all I could imagine is what a tragedy that might have been.”

“I thought on that, too,” he said sadly and removed his weapons.

“Without you… Unprepared as I would have been without you in my life, since you have wrought great changes upon me… I would have visited irreparable harm upon her, and even myself, especially in light of what I… we know now about…”

I had doffed my weapons while he talked, and I embraced him. “You did not wish to think about that. I am to distract you.”

He smiled. “You are doing a poor job, despite the threat to the priest.”

“Ah, so you did not find the rest of my conversation with him distracting?”

“Oui, I did.” He grinned. “Especially the part where he insisted that possibly you secretly wished to be a woman.” He pounced on me playfully, and we fell back upon the bed.

“It is truly strange,” I chuckled. “He is not the first man to cast that aspersion at my person on account of my favoring men. It is as if they can conceive of the matter in no other fashion. Men and women are the components of all things sexual, as they feel God intended, and therefore if one favors men, one must be a woman. I would suppose the same is true if a woman favors women. They would suppose she secretly wished to be a man. I would rather imagine that a woman who favors women simply wants nothing to do with men.”

He was sitting astride my lap, and he crossed his arms and frowned down at me. I raised a questioning eyebrow.

“And I possess female qualities?” he asked with little humor.

I rolled my eyes and then decided the matter should be discussed.

“You behave quite passively on occasion, especially in regards to matters of a sexual nature. In my thinking that is a feminine characteristic. I am not making complaint. And I understand why.”

He uncrossed his arms and ran his hands up my ribs to my shoulders and out my arms. He tugged at my shirt and sat back so I could partially sit to pull it over my head. Then he doffed his shirt. His fingers returned to my ribcage. With both hands moving in tandem, he played along the edge and then traced the arcs of my ribs and breastbone. Then they strayed to my nipples. I gasped at the sudden pleasure, and he lingered to toy with them until he had me arching for more. At which point he leaned down to tongue and suckle my left nipple and I moaned contentedly. He stopped and I opened my eyes to find him studying me.

With a curious frown he took my right hand and pulled my arm across my body, so that he could roll off me to lie at my side. I turned my head to regard him curiously. I remembered an abbreviated version of the same events when we first toured the Mayflower.

“I did that to her,” he sighed. He did not seem in any way vexed or angry, or possessed of any emotion, really.

“Oh,” I said. Even as I grappled with how disconcerting that may have been for him, my nipples and cock were curious as to whether that meant he would not do that again. “Did she enjoy it?”

He nodded. “Yet there is still something else, Will. Something more I dare not let myself see again. I am not ready.”

“Then do not force yourself.”

“I think I shall continue to be the woman in our relationship.”

I groaned and rolled onto my elbow to glare at him. “Now you are falling prey to their reasoning. That is not what I intended. And I have known a number of exceedingly aggressive women.”

“I jest.”

I rolled on top of him, and he regarded me with amusement; yet fear haunted his eyes.

“Make it all go away,” he whispered.