Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (23 page)

“I must marry,” she spat. “I must because I have no other recourse.

I do not wish to become a nun, though I have heard there are nunneries that harbor intelligent women. But then I would be trapped in ways I am not now. I suppose there are alternatives within the courts, but then my entire life will revolve about pleasing men, and I absolutely refuse.

If I do not marry, I have nothing of my own. I have nothing of my own now. I can inherit from my father, but some man would need to manage it for me, because other men would not deal with me directly. I am not a person unless I bear some man’s name, and then I am his property.”

She was distraught to the point of tears, and I knew not how to comfort her. I had not considered the whole of it from her perspective.

I had met women who were unhappy with their lot in life, and complained of a disparity in the way things were managed, but I had not understood. I thought it much like the occasional bleating I heard from sheep, protests made quietly against the rule of wolves by those that would never raise arms and thus become a wolf. Miss Vines was right, she could never even become a true wolf; she could only be the mate of one. It was made worse in that she was of noble blood. She was not even known by her own name. She was not Christine Vines, but Miss Vines, her father’s daughter, and once she married, she would be Mistress Whoever. I vowed to call her Christine.

Gaston and Agnes had joined us and heard it all. Christine walked into the surf and tried to compose herself, with Agnes hovering helplessly nearby. I looked to my matelot and found him as surprised by her words as I.

He joined me. “I would not add to her misery.”

“Oui,” I sighed, “but she is correct. Perhaps… there could be freedom in bondage in this instance, much as what we offer Agnes.”

I joined the girls in the surf. “Christine?”

She looked at me sharply and then slowly smiled.

“I apologize for my outburst,” she said and pawed the tears from her eyes. “It is another weakness of my sex; I cannot seem to become engaged in any discourse that holds meaning for me without bursting into tears.”

I remembered her complaining of that when first I met her: I felt I had greater understanding of it now. “There is no need to apologize. And if I were in your situation, I would probably take my life.”

She snorted with amusement. “Thank you for that, I guess.”

“I would never bar a wife from pursuing anything she wished, such as she was able within the damned confines of society.” I said.

“I thought that might be a possibility,” she said with a small smile.

“And that is why I sought you out.”

She studied the surf, her arms tightly crossed. “Since I must marry, I, like you, would rather it be someone of my choosing.”

“I will need an heir, and then I care not what else you do. I would have you be happy. And even if we are not to marry, I would have you be happy.”

She nodded. “Would you allow me to travel? Can you afford to have the proper nanny and governess? Would we live in that house, or would you build one elsewhere? Will you teach me to fence and shoot?”

I grinned. “Aye, you may travel, by which I assume you mean returning to Christendom. Hell, you can go anywhere you can book passage and be reasonably assured of surviving unharmed. With or without my father, we can afford to have a full compliment of servants; you need not care for the child. I will receive a plantation upon the deliverance of an heir, and that is not my only source of funds. I have been granted a plot in town to build a fine house. I will gladly teach you to fence and shoot, and even sail. And Gaston can even instruct you in medicine, if you are so inclined.”

She smiled, and then her gaze flicked between Gaston and myself and she sobered. “I would suppose you would share my bed only as necessary to produce a child.”

“Aye,” I said solemnly. “In my heart, Gaston will always be first, and I will share his bed in my house.”

“I take no issue with that,” she said tightly, but she kept her eyes on the sea.

“Likewise,” I said gently, “if you find someone you love, it need be unrequited only in the manner of marriage.”

She nodded. “I cannot think of what else to ask for.”

“If there is a thing forgotten in this negotiation,” I said, “let us agree to consider it without prejudice in the future, and augment our agreement as necessary.”

She chuckled. “Then I will accept your offer of marriage.”

“I am honored.”

Despite our fine words, she appeared as uneasy as I felt. I supposed it was to be expected. We were not simple people, and therefore we did not lead simple lives. The Gods knew nothing we did would ever be easy.

We walked another mile up the beach. During that time, we determined that I should speak to Sir Christopher when he returned to town the day after next. Tomorrow, we would see to matters with Agnes’

father. The gangly girl was greatly enthused that she would be sharing a house with Christine. Oddly, this seemed to annoy her friend.

At last we found a suitable place, and bade the girls sit and watch. I settled into en garde with relief. Thankfully, the girls held their applause and comments, and thus I was able to forget they were there. For the next hour or so, there was only my matelot, steel, and sand. It was joyous.

When we had enough, I toppled Gaston to the sand for a lengthy kiss. He enjoyed it, and was beginning to tug at my tunic when his eyes shot wide.

“The girls,” he hissed.

“Oh bloody Hell.”

I hoped they would not insist on tagging along every day we remained in port.

Agnes clapped enthusiastically as we approached. Animated so, she was even gawkier than she was while timid. I wondered if she would grow out of it someday.

Christine watched us with a somber mien.

“Physical exertion is a balm for the soul,” I told her. “Did you observe anything, or have you been mired in thought?”

She gave a guilty shake of her head. “Somewhat mired, I fear. And have seen men spar before, and you both seem to be excellent at it, but there is so much movement I become lost. I know there are positions and movements…”

“And you shall learn the basic ones today.”

She stood eagerly. I handed her my rapier, and she promptly frowned at the weight. I suppressed a sigh. She could not run a league; she surely could not fence for any duration.

I began to take her through the various stances, but by the second it was obvious she could not maintain form with the weight of the rapier.

She could not hold it at arm’s length. Gaston had perceived the problem as well, and handed her a dagger.

“Come now, I wish to learn the sword,” she protested.

“If you can learn with a dagger, you will do well with a sword,” I assured her. “But Lady, you see you cannot practice with a sword. If you truly wish to fence, your first order of business will be strengthening yourself.”

“We will go over calisthenics after this,” Gaston added.

This disheartened her greatly.

“Christine,” I chided gently. “A woman need not be weak in body, though I doubt any woman can be as strong as a man… of comparable build. However, you have never had account to exercise a muscle – other than riding, I would imagine.”

“And that not enough or lately,” she muttered. “I am a fool.”

I grinned. “Do not chastise yourself. If you wish to run with the wolves, then you need to act like one. You possess an ambition; spend every waking moment achieving it.”

She was slow to smile, but when it came, it was predatory. “You are correct.”

With that, she threw herself into diligently learning the proper stances with a dagger, and then in practicing all the calisthenics Gaston showed her.

As the sun reached its zenith, we decided to return to Port Royal, and retreated farther into the shade of the brush and palms to make our way there. This proved too rough on the girls’ bare feet, so we returned to the surf. The beach of the Palisadoes is pebbly, and does not possess the soft sand of the beach at Negril or the lovely strand on the larger Cayman isle. Still, it was far softer than stepping on all manner of burrs and other things that the brush offered.

I began to think the girls would not wish to go anywhere on the morrow. Their legs and arms were quite red, burned bright by the sun.

Gaston would have to give them a salve. And they limped. I briefly considered carrying them, but that would not do if any saw us. Of course it would not matter if Christine collapsed, which was likely: she was nearly too exhausted to walk. I knew she would ache in every muscle once she stopped moving.

“I think you should stay abed and rest on the morrow,” I told her. “I fear you will not wish ought else.”

“Nay,” she said with gritted teeth. “I must do it all again.”

I snorted. “Nay, you must rest. We were cruel to ask so much of you this day.”

“Do not coddle me,” she chided. “What would you say to me if I were a lad who wished to become a buccaneer?”

“I would call you a fool and tell you to go back to your mother. And that if you could run three leagues and lift me.”

“Why?” she asked with more curiosity than challenge.

“It is not a pleasant life, and it is fraught with danger.”

“Then why do you do it?” she asked.

Gaston was chuckling quietly beside us.

I sighed. “It has its charm if… you are a man who does not favor the trappings of civilization. It truly has an allure if you favor men.”

“Hmm,” she sighed. “Then it may not be for me. I do not know if I favor men.”

We all regarded her curiously, even Agnes, who appeared quite surprised.

“Do you favor women?” I asked.

“Nay, not particularly,” she said.

This admission caused her already rosy cheeks to flush, and she gave Agnes a quick glance. The other girl was blushing too. I recalled Agnes’ lovely portraiture of Christine, and a suspicion flared to life.

Agnes either favored women in general, or Christine in specific.

“You experience no interest or arousal upon considering either men or women?” I asked.

Gaston grinned at the horizon. Of course I had once asked him a similar set of questions.

Christine was glaring at me. “I do not choose to.”

I wondered if there were horrors lurking in her history. “Why?”

“Because if I surrender to lust or love, I am surely lost. My girlish heart will likely lead me to the altar, or worse, like a lamb to slaughter.”

“Ah.” I was relieved. It was merely her earlier concerns.

“Well, now that that aspect has been resolved,” I teased, “you are free to explore the other.”

She snorted. “I suppose so. Your friend Peter Wolf is very handsome.”

Gaston and I laughed.

“Is he the one you told me of?” she asked. “You said that Striker had a matelot that must be seen.”

“Aye, Pete is the one,” I said with a grin. “And he does not favor women in the least.”

“Pity,” she said with feigned arrogance. She sighed. “In truth, I do favor men. I find you handsome.”

She threw a guilty look toward Gaston and Agnes.

My matelot was thoughtful. Agnes was timid and withdrawn again.

“Let us teach you to shoot,” Gaston said to Agnes.

“Now?” she squeaked, and cast a frantic look to Christine.

“Now,” he said, and got a good grip on her wrist and towed her into the woods.

“I wish he had not done that,” Christine said.

“This taking of a wife is a new and uncomfortable concept for us.”

She screwed her eyes closed and gave an exasperated sigh. “It is so unfair. To all of us.”

“Aye,” I sighed. “I have considered abandoning my title many times.”

“Then why do you not?” she asked.

“Gaston finds merit in it, and the idea of children, and… there is thought that I can do good with it.”

She nodded. “I can see where that would be true. Power is power.”

“As we all have aims that can be met by this, let us make the best of it. I do not mean to tease you about men. I wish you to know that I am skilled with women, and I will make what we must do as pleasant as it can be without love. Not that I do not have respect and admiration for you, but obviously we do not love one another, and… never mind. I hope you understand.”

“I understand,” she said thoughtfully. “Would you do me a favor this minute? Since we are alone. Please kiss me. I have been kissed before and found it unpleasant.”

I lifted her chin with a finger, and gently lowered my mouth to hers.

I had forgotten how soft a woman’s skin and lips are. She pressed back with endearing and naïve earnestness. I slipped an arm around her waist, and asked for a little more, and she soon parted her teeth. She initially recoiled at the feel of my tongue, but I quickly seduced hers into playing. And then she was clinging to me with sweet sighs. I caressed her, even brushing over her bound breasts with stiff fingers until I found her nipples. She squirmed in my arms with little sounds, and sucked my kiss even deeper. I had not expected her to rise to passion so quickly, and my manhood strained to see this new playmate.

I finally decided I must stop; else I would throw her to the sand and take what should be saved until after the ceremony. Once released, she pulled away with shame-filled eyes and flaming cheeks.

“Well, I see our wedding night will be enjoyable for both of us,” I said gently.

“Apparently,” she said tightly. “As I seem to be quite wanton.”

“Oh, hush,” I chided. “Men enjoy sex. If you want what men have, you should surely claim that pleasure as well.”

This thankfully brought a small smile. “I suppose so.” She took a deep breath, and finally met my gaze with a curious frown. “Do you find me as arousing as I apparently find you?”

“Aye.” I snatched her hand and pressed it to my crotch.

She gasped and pulled away. Then with arms tightly crossed, she asked, “May I see it?”

With a chuckle, I freed my manhood from my breeches.

She regarded it for a time with impassive features, and then shook her head. “I do not see how it shall fit inside me.”

I laughed. “Lady, I have never understood how your sex gives birth.