Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (61 page)

doing a husband’s duty. Nothing I could do this night would please her, and I would not subject my poor manhood to her scorn.

I knew well I would spare us nothing in withdrawing this night with the deed undone, yet I now knew it could not be done with my member.

I had been in such a dire situation only twice before: on one occasion I had pleasured the lady such that she did not realize I was unable to mount her, and in the other, she had possessed a dildo which we put to amusing use. In both cases, the woman had wished for me, and the failing had been due to abundant wine and other concerns haunting my seat of reason such that they eclipsed all passion I might muster.

I supposed that was somewhat true in this matter as well, without the abundant wine.

I cast about, and spied the hilt of my dagger on my sword belt, which I had thankfully deposited within my reach on the corner of the bed: as I am always wont to do for other reasons. It was smooth, though somewhat ridged. With salve, and her state of inebriation, and having nothing to compare it to, I thought it would do handsomely.

Being careful not to shift my weight and alert her, I drew the blade, and being all too aware of the steel pointed at my flaccid member, slathered the hilt in salve and positioned it before her. I propped my weight on one arm beside her, and holding the dagger carefully, thrust the hilt inside her at the proper angle. She gasped and made another annoyed sound. I ignored her and concentrated on rhythmically thrusting while pumping my hips until I thought a sufficient, though short, amount of time had passed and I could pretend to spend myself with one last thrust and a hearty grunt.

The hilt was indeed smeared dark in the lamplight. I wiped it on the bed linen and returned it to its sheath.

I left the bed quickly and donned my breeches. She in turn pushed the gown down again and sat up to hug her knees. Her eyes fell upon the stain on the linen, and quickly left it to find me. Her glare was level.

“Are you satisfied?” she asked.

I shrugged. “The deed is done.”

She snorted. “I do not see why there is such a fuss over the matter.”

I bit my lip and busied myself with dressing. “I will come again tomorrow night. As I will sail the day after, it would be best if I spilled my seed again before I go. If the… If God smiles upon us, you might become pregnant and speed things along. Still, I think it would be best if your body seasoned before you were with child, though that will lengthen your unfortunate time here.”

“I would rather be pregnant and get it behind me,” she said.

I nodded. I did not know how I would ever accomplish that.

“Until tomorrow, then,” I said.

She sniffed with bitter amusement. “Aye.”

As I padded down the hall in bare feet, shirt, and breeches, carrying all my finery, I wanted very much to strike my father again. Not to the degree I wanted to beat him for all he had allowed Shane to inflict upon me, but added blows for the misery he had inflicted on others.

I could hear guests in the hall and front rooms. I stole down the back stairs, and other than garnering surprised looks from the housekeeper and Coswold, I managed to leave the building unseen. I ran through the darkened streets and alleys, haunted all the way by the sounds of drunken debauch from the taverns on Thames.

There was more of the same at our house, as a card game was in session in the front room; but all grew quiet as I entered. Gaston was not in evidence.

“What?” I asked without preamble.

Cudro shook his head sadly. “He’s in your room. He feared losing himself. He did not. He feared it enough, though, that…”

I did not hear the rest: I was already up the stairs and into our room. Gaston was lying on the hammock, bound. I threw the clothing into the corner and went to him.

His eyes were calm, and dark green in the candlelight.

“May I release you?” I asked.

“Now that you are here,” he said.

I cut him free and we embraced.

“I was almost overcome with the urge to go and find you,” he whispered. “I kept envisioning you with…”

I shook my head and pulled back to regard him. “You need not. I consummated the affair with my dagger.”

His eyes shot wide, and I realized how that sounded.

“Non, non, with the hilt. I could not rise for her, or rather, stay risen.

She was…” I groaned.

He moved so that he could tug on my ruffled shirt. I doffed it and my breeches and he likewise removed his clothes.

We lay naked together, nose to nose, and I told him all that had occurred with the Damn Bride.

“So your father chose her for political reasons?” he asked.

“She seems to feel that is the cause.”

He sighed. “I feel some sympathy for her. I will endeavor not to hate her, but I am pleased you could not lie with her, though that defeats everything.”

“Oui, as am I. I know not what we will do. And I have caused other mischief as well.” I told him of my arranging a marriage.

“Will,” he said when I finished, “I cannot allow you to go anywhere by yourself.” There was no amusement in his tone, but there was no recrimination either.

“Oui,” I sighed. “Has there been word of Striker?”

“Non, not that I know of.”

“I can only pray he will not hate me,” I said. “That I chose the course he planned to take.”

“Oui, tell the Gods all must be well,” Gaston said sincerely.

“All must be well,” I said with conviction. “I feel this is a course that can make many happy.”

Though I felt some unease at my sister’s melancholy demeanor when last I saw her.

“It is not an evil thing,” he said with continued contemplation. “But oui, I should not allow you out of my sight.”

“Because I will do mischief, or because your Horse will think it?” I asked lightly. I did not wish to dwell upon my mistakes.

He grinned. “Both.”

He fondled my manhood, which, in wake of the other attempt, had only experienced tepid and cautious interest in lying there with him. It quickly came to life at his ministrations. I returned them in kind upon his, and found him equally lively.

“As I lay here waiting, I decided I wished to have you again,” he said solemnly.

“There was doubt?” I teased.

“Within me,” he said.

I wanted to, but as he had asked our friends to bind him lest he lose control already this night, and as disaster had occurred the last time I took him in the aftermath of our wrangling with a woman, I was concerned.

At my frown he added, “Trust me, Will.”

“My love, if this goads your Horse into…”

He silenced me with a kiss, and soon I was goaded on by my unrequited manhood to not care what he wished, as long as he wished for me in some fashion.

He rolled beneath me and I discovered he opened for me with ease.

I followed the course I very much wanted to follow, as water runs down a hill. He was tight and warm about me, and I sank into him with relief, not seeking to satiate my lust so much, but my soul. For the first time, I was able to thrust into him with abandon, and though I enjoyed his doing the same to me in abundance, I realized I did need to do this on occasion. I came hard, and the blinding white light of Heaven filled my closed eyes for a time. As my member shrank inside him, he pulled my arm around to stroke his. I cupped my hand about his cock head before he came, and delighted in the sudden pooling of heat. I spread the captured jism upon his belly.

As we drifted to sleep, I felt the momentary stir of worry that perhaps his Horse did not seem as content as mine once again; but it did not keep me from sleeping, nor did it trouble my dreams.

We woke abruptly to noise downstairs. It was still dark, and the candle had burned down. We reached for weapons as footsteps pounded up the stairs.

“Gaston, Will,” Liam called from beyond the door. “Don’ ya be shootin’ me. Come quick. It be Striker.”

We drew on our breeches hurriedly in the dark and were downstairs, pistols still in hand, a moment later.

Striker was on the table. The Bard and Cudro were attempting to get him to lie down. He was drunk and arguing. He was also beaten bloody.

I shoved the pistol into my waistband and went to help them. Gaston ran upstairs to get his bag.

“What happened?” I asked.

Striker reached for me and pulled me into his embrace.

“He came looking for Pete,” the Bard said grimly. “He was drunk, Pete was drinking again. They talked for a time in the cabin, and then we heard them fighting.”

“The bastard,” Striker said. He released me enough to spit blood on the floor. “No more! He doesn’t own me. I’m a free man.”

One eye was swelling badly and his lip was split. I thought it likely he was missing teeth, the way he drooled blood. There was a gash on the side of his head.

The Bard and an anxious Dickey were also bruised and bloody.

“How is Pete?” I asked the Bard.

He smiled grimly. “Better. Took six of us to tie him to the mast.”

“Oh, Hell,” I sighed.

Gaston returned and we managed to convince Striker to lie upon the table so that he could be examined. He passed into unconsciousness as Gaston stitched the gash on his head. As my matelot worked, I began to wonder who I should beg the Gods to provide me protection from: Pete or my sister.

“We must see to Pete,” Gaston said in French as he finished bandaging Striker.

I nodded reluctantly.

The Bard nodded tiredly, for though he did not speak French, he recognized the name.

I looked to Cudro. “Do not let him wander off.” I indicated Striker.

“He has a busy day once he wakes.”

The Dutchman snorted with amusement.

Gaston and I went upstairs to don clothing and weapons.

“It appears you anticipated Striker’s choice correctly,” Gaston said thoughtfully as he pulled his tunic on.

“So it would seem. Yet I still feel I have done a great mischief.”

He regarded me curiously. “Will, if they have parted, it is not your doing.”

“I suppose not. I did not bring them together. I did not make Striker favor women. I did not make Pete hate them. I did not invite my sister here with designs of them meeting. Still…”

“You seek guilt,” he said kindly.

“Non,” I sighed with amusement. “I do not seek it; I think it follows me about, ever ready to pounce.”

“Hmm, I wish I could spew a balm to ease your conscience, but I did not tell Morgan and Modyford my friend and sister would marry without consulting them.” He grinned only as he finished.

I sighed, only partly with amusement. “Thank you. I so needed to hear that.”

He chuckled and embraced me for a quick kiss. “I love you,” he whispered as our lips parted.

“That is most important.”

My words minded me of my musings of the night before as we gathered our weapons and made our way downstairs. If Gaston occupied a position of primacy in my life, did I measure all things by his judgment? Had I accepted his love, and his love only, such that I heard his opinion of me and no other? Was that madness, or was that as it should be when one loved? I felt the urge to ask his opinion on the matter, and chuckled to myself at the irony of that as we walked out into an oddly misty morning just before dawn.

Port Royal was nearly silent, and the light of the few lamps appeared shrouded. There was a chill in the air: not as one would find in England, and not so that I was uncomfortable in breeches and tunic; but enough for me to notice it.

“I thought it did not get cold here in winter,” I remarked.

“It usually doesn’t,” the Bard said. “This is strange. Happens from time to time, though. Don’t worry, it won’t get any colder.”

I wondered if it were a portent. I did not feel it boded well if it were.

The men aboard had released Pete, as he had calmed considerably after the fight. We found him sitting on the quarterdeck, staring at nothing with his back to the rail. In the dim lamplight, I could see that he was bruised and battered, but not nearly as badly as Striker. With the mist and eerie quiet, I felt we approached him in the aftermath of battle.

He looked up at us and heaved a tired sigh. “Ow Iz’E?”

His words were slurred in addition to his usual lack of enunciation, and it took me a moment to puzzle through what he said. My matelot was not so slow.

“He will survive,” Gaston said with a shrug. “How are you?”

“IBe Well. IDidna Mean Ta Hit’Im As I Did. Made Me Mad With Anger.”

Gaston knelt beside him and began probing his wounds. Pete did not shrug him off.

“What did he say?” I asked once I translated that last. They looked up at me sharply and I realized I had phrased my question poorly.

“What did Striker say to make you so mad?” I added quickly and squatted beside them.

Pete glared at me: not as if I were a friend who had earned his ire, but as if I were a man he did not know and my words angered him.

“I am not to blame,” I said, as much for myself as for him.

“Ya Asked’Er’Ere!”

“Because she was in danger where she was, and long before I met the two of you!” I protested.

His frown was stubborn, and I knew I fought a fool’s battle with a drunk. I stood and retreated, pleased I was wise enough to do so, yet angry with myself that I was not so wise I would not stew on his words, as they piqued my guilt.

This matter would need to be resolved once he was sober. Or, sadly, perhaps it was not to be resolved. I did not wish to consider that outcome, though.

Gaston spoke quietly with him while he worked. I stood at the rail and listened to the town begin to wake as the eastern horizon slowly brightened. At last Gaston finished and came to collect me. We slipped off the boat and into the canoe in silence.

“He is aware of why this has occurred,” Gaston said, “but he wishes for a scapegoat; and you are married now, despite me, and Sarah is your sister.”

I sighed and shrugged. “I know. Thank the Gods he does not know what else I have wrought.”

“Do you intend for Striker to marry her today?” he asked.

I craned about to regard him and found him smiling.

“It should be soon,” I said with an answering grin. “We sail… when?