Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (88 page)

Sarah nodded. “I thought that might be the case. I cannot see anyone lying with her. Agnes cannot even conceive of it.” She tittered and covered her mouth as if she had said a thing she should not.

I grinned. “So you have had that discussion with the girl?”

“Aye, aye.” She smiled. “And nay, we will not be entertaining one another in my husband’s absence.”

“I do not wish to know,” I said.

“Oh, hush,” she chided.

I laughed, but it was short-lived. “So the Damn Wife claims a child?”

She sighed heavily. “She has a lover. She has chosen a young planter’s son who bears a resemblance to you. At least she had the wisdom to do that. However, she is so deep in the rum so often, she has not possessed the sense of a goose about the matter in terms of discretion. Everyone knows of it.”

“Oh Bloody Hell,” I said lightly.

Behind me, Gaston gave a grumbled sigh.

I was not truly surprised, nor was I truly angered or even distraught over the matter.

“So, do they all find me the cuckolded fool and the object of many a jest?” I asked.

“Only those who do not know of Gaston,” she said sadly. “Those that know you are a buccaneer and have a matelot think her the fool.”

I shrugged. “I suppose, as those are the only ones whose opinions I should care about, I should not feel badly over the matter.”

She shrugged. “If she is with child, though, it is not yours by your admission. What of that?”

“I do not know,” I said sincerely. “I will have to think on it.

Obviously, there is enough gossip that I could put her out, now, could I not?”

“With ease,” Sarah said. “There are many who expect you will as soon as you return.”

“Then I have not returned of yet,” I said quickly.

“Then you had best sneak about town,” she said.

“Or ask Theodore to come here,” I said. “He is the only other I would see while here.”

I regarded her again. “So, I assume she has been telling everyone that she was so blessed as to become pregnant on her wedding night – with all knowing she has a lover – and thus your being truly in that state after your wedding night would make others look askance at you and the friends you keep.”

“Aye,” she said sadly. “I know not what to say. I have only been hopeful that James would return soon. But even then, they will count months and wonder.”

“There is nothing for gossip in a small court or city,” I said kindly.

“I know,” she sighed. “It makes me angry, though.”

I sighed with her. “I well understand that; I do.”

Movement caught my eye at the base of the stairs, and I saw Pete standing there. I had doubted she had slipped from bed without waking him. I waved him over.

Naked, he padded over and dropped gracefully to the floor beside Sarah, to lie on his belly and elbows. He regarded her curiously.

Sarah, shy in his presence, spoke demurely. “I needed to speak to Will.”

He nodded. “’Bout The Babe?”

“And my Damn Wife,” I added.

He nodded thoughtfully, then his gaze met mine and he seemed poised to speak; but as was sometimes his way, he uttered nothing and merely grinned.

He turned back to Sarah, and shifted so he could run fingers down her thigh. She rewarded him with a slight gasp of breath.

“Let’sGo Back,” he murmured.

She nodded mutely, and I could see much in her eyes; and none of it could be named reluctance or resignation. He stood, and pulled her to her feet. Once there, he deftly stooped and lifted her into his arms.

“ILike Ya, You Be Light.”

She giggled and they disappeared back upstairs.

“People should have more faith in one another,” Gaston whispered.

“Oui,” I sighed with a smile. “Striker should have trusted Pete.”

“Non, all of us,” he said with a shake of his head.

I spared no thought for his meaning as he pulled me down to lie beside him and kissed me deeply.

I woke to my name yet again. This time it was Gaston. I opened bleary eyes and saw it was before dawn; the golden light of a candle competed heartily with the weak light from the shuttered windows. My matelot sat on the floor, watching me expectantly. The house was silent.

I pushed myself slowly to sit. He rewarded my efforts with a brief kiss and a bottle of water.

“I found your chests under the stairs,” he whispered.

I nodded. I had wondered where the things we had left in the house had gotten to.

“I wanted to find this.” He indicated a burlap bag sitting on the floor between us.

I thought I had seen it before, but could not remember what it contained. I nodded again and attempted to gauge his mood as I sipped water. He appeared pensive, and this urged my sluggish mind to full wakefulness.

With great purposefulness, he upended the sack, and the horse whip I had purchased for him tumbled out, like a large snake. My heart seized for a moment, but I did not allow my gaze to waver from his face.

He appeared calm and controlled as he smiled weakly at me.

He reached for the whip, a sudden movement that froze as his skin contacted the leather. There was a pause of several breaths before his hand contracted about the handle. His breathing was fast, and his features tensed, but I did not see the Horse.

I ran a tentative finger over the coils of braided leather resting against my leg and waited.

“I wish to wield it,” he whispered.

“Are you still fantasizing about flogging your father, or someone else?” I asked carefully.

“Someone else, perhaps,” he sighed, and pulled the handle to him to examine it.

I thought “perhaps” was far shy of the truth, and he was not looking at me.

“Do you wish to flog me?” I whispered.

His breath caught, and his eyes darted to mine. “Not with this.”

And then there it was, lying between us like the three-headed dog of Hades, a giant sleeping thing we dared not wake. We studied one another over it. He was pensive, scared of my response. I do not know what I showed upon my face, as my thoughts were a jumble. Then one rose above the rest. He was entrusting me with one of his horrible thoughts: he was putting faith in my love.

“What… would you wish… to flog me with?” I asked.

He took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “I have envisioned spanking you with a strap.”

I tried to recall the strappings I had taken as a boy. They had hurt, but it was a pain quickly gone that left only a lingering soreness. The beatings had never deterred me from committing the crimes for which I had been punished. They had stayed my hand on lesser offenses, where I thought the pleasure of the infraction would not be worth all the trouble of the beating if I were to be caught; but for serious things, things I truly wanted, I had taken the beatings in stride.

I needed clarification. “I do not wish to be punished. That is to say, I would not have this done as a chastisement, even as a game. I have seen that played by certain people and I never found favor with it.

The courtesan would call the man a bad boy or the like and beat him playfully, and…”

Gaston frowned in thought. “Non, I want to hurt you.” His brow furrowed deeper still and his eyes were earnest. “I do not wish to enact the things done to me, the punishments I received, but to discover how it feels to have that... power.”

I nodded. I had thought as much.

“However shall we…?” I began to ask.

“You would allow me?” he interrupted.

“Oui,” I said quietly. “I would allow us to try it at least ounce, to see if the matter meets with your expectation, or… exceeds mine.”

He sighed with great relief. “You do not hate me.”

“Non,” I said with assurance, “I cannot conceive of hating you, as we have discussed many times. I know… This is one of your horrible thoughts, is it not?”

He nodded.

“I am not appalled by it,” I said. “I cannot see how we will be about it, though. There will be noise involved, unmistakable noise to some, and… Well, we will require a great deal of privacy. Perhaps when we return to Negril Point.”

“Or when we raid again this summer,” he said. “In all the noise, we can slip away as we did in Cuba.”

I nodded, but my breath caught in my chest as I thought of him coming for me with a strap in hand, and battle lust and the Horse in his eyes. The shame and arousal I had felt when he had bound me were very vivid in my memory.

“Oui, that might do,” I managed to say.

It would not be here and now, though, and I was not sure if I were disappointed or relieved.

“I must relieve myself,” I said, and crawled from beneath the table to stand.

He nodded up at me. “Thank you.”

I shook my head. “It is not…” I was a fool. I was granting him a thing few would. “You are welcome.”

He was running his hand over the braided coils as he peered up at me. His having a whip was such a strange sight.

“Will you be well enough alone with that?” I asked.

He frowned and looked at the whip he was slowly drawing into his lap. He sighed and smiled back up at me. “I feel it will no longer affect me as it did before. It still gives me pause, but I have untangled more of the knot concerning it.”

I stood there, nearly cramped with the need to relieve myself, but I could not leave him just yet.

“How so?” I asked.

“I have been afraid of wanting to wield it. I have considered that craving evil, and that was knotted in with the rest, and I considered it madness. And it surely is, but…”

“I will condone it,” I finished for him.

He nodded. “I am still not sure where the line lies between madness and sanity, but I am beginning to see how much it can move.”

I smiled. “As am I.”

“Go,” he said with a small smile as I fidgeted. “I will be here.”

I left him and sprinted to the latrine. For a few blissful moments before I emptied myself, I was able to avoid thinking of what had just occurred. Then it wrapped tight about me, pressing upon my heart and inducing my soul to writhe a little. I wondered where the line lay in my heart between the oblivion of madness and the safety of sanity. I felt I had crossed it, just as I had in Puerto del Principe.

The whip was back in its bag when I returned, yet he was naked and waiting for me with eyes that glittered in the candlelight. My heart raced and my cock sprang to life.

His voice was warm but commanding. “Lie down. Under the table.

On your back.”

I dropped my breeches, which won me a smirk, and did as he ordered.

“Grasp the table legs,” he ordered once I was in place.

I spread my arms and wrapped my fingers about the ball of wood at the base of the legs.

He sat astride my waist. I wished he would slide further down my body and thus trap my manhood between us, but he did not.

I watched with delight a he teasingly greased his cock upon my sternum. Then he carefully wiped his hands dry on a rag. His fingers played over my chest, toying with the sparse hair there and finally moving to caress my nipples. I gave a small grunt as the pleasure tingled through me. He awarded me a nasty smile. Then his fingers tightened. The sudden pain tore a gasp from me. He did not smile at that, but leaned closer to study my eyes as he continued to twist and pinch. I tried to stay quiet. I gripped the table legs tightly, such that the wood creaked.

I knew I could tell him to stop and he would, but that was not a thing I would do. I thought it a test and not a game. I must endure; I must prove I could endure; furthermore, I must prove I was willing to endure. It was not a challenge, however; and though it did not bring the peace of surrender of his being inside me; it brought another pleasure of my Horse. I imagined being ridden hard at the hunt, urged toward a jump I could not see, and having to trust his hand and eyes to keep from breaking a leg. I ran for him, gasping and twisting. Through the haze of the pain he caused, I saw his fascination with it, and deeper yet, with me.

I wanted to please him in this, and at that thought, shame blossomed through me and I let out a little cry; and then I realized the jump was behind us. The pain muted and became a distant thing, and there was only him.

Sensing the change in me, he kissed and nibbled the corner of my mouth, and I met him with hungry lips and tongue. He abandoned torturing my nipples and moved so that he could push my legs up to enter me in one hard thrust. Then he truly rode me hard, and I clung to the table and tried not to wake the house until we both came with harsh grunts and cries.

He collapsed upon me, and we clung together. Our lips said what words could not.

We slept again; and in my dreams, the Gods offered me an apple, but I could not say whether it represented temptation or absolution.

Sometime later, we woke to feet upon the stairs and scrambled to dress. Thankfully, it was only Pete, and he was carrying his breeches.

“She Be Feelin’Sickly,” he said.

“I know not what to give her for it,” Gaston said, “but I will look in on her.”

Pete seemed relieved by this, and, ever the physician, Gaston went upstairs without so much as a glance at me.

I smiled at Pete and donned my breeches; my breast was so bruised I had hurried to don my tunic first, lest someone ask of it.

“So, do you regret your decision?” I asked.

“Which One?” He sighed and sprawled in a chair.

“Taking her to remain with Striker.”

He shook his head thoughtfully and frowned at me.

“Ya Do Look Alike.”

I snorted. “This, after seeing her naked?”

He smirked, but it quickly fled and he smiled sincerely. “ILike’Er.

Didna’ Think IWould.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Striker’llBe Damn Pleased’Bout The Babe. Iffn’It Don’tKill’Er.”

“She is healthy, and of a good age for it,” I said as much for myself as for him.

“She Na’ Be Seasoned.”

“But, she is…”

He waved me off and shook his head. “Don’Mean Ta Speak ADoom.

Just, They Die Easy, An IWould Na’’Ave’Er Go.” He sighed. “Battle, That A Man Can Do AThing About. But Birthin’Babes, That Be AThing O’Women An God. Nothin’AMan Can Do.”