Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (11 page)

colt.” This seemed to please him, and I felt ease in my heart at

the thought as well.
“I shall date the letter with your birthday,” he said. He
scratched the date into the corner and wrote the greeting before
regarding the rest of the blank page with a sigh. “Pretty words
willnot make himunderstand,”he said after a time.

“Thenwrite uglyones,”I said.

 

“Thenwrite uglyones,”I said.

He gave a snort of mild amusement and frowned at the page anew. I left him to it and went to continue our impromptu inventoryofthe hold.

Sometime later I saw movement at the steps and turned to see Striker descending fromthe bright light into our shadows. He peered about inthe dark. “Will? Gaston?”

“Here,”I said, and went to joinhim.

Gaston’s pen stopped scratching and he was soon beside me. The three of us sat in the passageway outside our den.

“Just you?”I asked.
“Aye, Pete feels you’re angry with him,” Striker said with a shrug. He peered about, his eyes still adjusting to the darkness. “You know, it’s damn hot down here, and it stinks; youwould be welcome ondeck.”
“We do not feelwe are readyfor suchscrutiny,”I said.
He sighed. “Aye, I canunderstand that.”
If he truly did, it indicated pity, and I wanted none of that. I struggled to keep the frownfrommyface.
“How are you feeling?” Striker asked, and chewed his lip as he studied me inthe dimlight.
“Like I look,”I said witha smile. “But as mymatelot can attest, I have the constitutionofa horse.”
Gastongave a smallhuffofamusement. “A boar.”
Striker grinned, only to quickly sober. “I amsorry, Will. I’m sure Gaston told you about the fighting that delayed things. We didn’t know what to do. Everyone thought you and Sarah

would be wellenough.”He rubbed his forehead and sighed.

would be wellenough.”He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Sarahwas,”I said, and watched his reaction. He frowned and studied a crate thoughtfully. “Aye, it

appears that way. She says that her father ordered them not to harmher, and that she gave themno cause.” He frowned at me. “She says yougave themcause to do as theydid to you.”

“Does she?” I growled, and heard it echo from my

 

matelot.Striker held up his hand in supplication. “I’mnot saying I

agree with her,” he said quickly. “I love the woman: God I love her. But women have a different way of seeing things. They tend to be practical.”He met mygaze levelly. “I’msure theygave you cause to fight them.”He grinned. “She says you blinded some fat

fool.” I smiled withrelief. “Aye. Myfather sent the little bastard

to… How did he phrase it? To cure me of my sodomiacal tendencies.”
“What?”Gastonasked withalarmand incredulity.
Striker hooted with amusement and laughed. “I can picture how wellyoureceived that.”
“Not well, I assure you.” I smiled reassuringly at Gaston. “I told him when we were introduced that if he did anything to trouble me I would kill him. And that they were damn fools to anger me if I was truly to be the next Earl. The pompous little bastard thought I would thank him for saving my immortal soul, though; and Thorp…” And here my humor ended. “He… thought he could break me. He found pleasure in it,” I finished

quietly.“Will, you don’t sound like a broken man,” Striker said

“Will, you don’t sound like a broken man,” Striker said withgreat admirationand kindness.
I sighed and nodded my thanks at his praise; but I said quietly, “Ifyouhad arrived but a daylater, I might not sound as I

do.” And as it was… MyHorse snorted disparaginglyat me.

Striker took a heavybreathand nodded withresignation. He looked to Gaston. “I’m sorry. I could not be sorrier if I tried.”

Gaston studied him and at last sighed and nodded. “I forgive you, and Pete; you at least wanted to rescue them. I wish Pete had not let thembe taken, though.”

I thought of that night, and remembered what I had known then. There had been over a hundred muskets and pistols pointed in every direction. It would have become a charnel house. The image of seeing Gaston bloom with Nickel’s bloody wounds overcame me, and I gasped withsurprise and pain.

“Non, nay,” I said. “I would rather suffer allI have again than lose Gaston. People would have died that night. Any of us could have died that night.”

Gastontook a ragged breath, his eyes onme. Striker sighed and nodded withresignation. “That’s what

I keep tellingPete.”
“I willtellhim,”I said.
“NoNeed,” came from the shadows beyond the hatch,

and Pete walked into the light. “IHearYa.”

Striker started such that I knew he had not known his matelot was there. I was equally surprised that we had not seen the GoldenOne come below.
the GoldenOne come below.

Pete and Striker glared at one another, but Pete paused where Striker sat, and leaned down to kiss his matelot’s forehead before coming to embrace me with gentle regard for myinjuries.

“IBeSorry,Will,”he said sadly.

 

“I will not forgive you, because you did nothing wrong,”

I said withfreshtears.
He turned to Gaston. My matelot looked up at him
pensively, and thenembraced him.
“I’mdamn thankful no one died that night,” Striker said.
“Except your wife,” he added quickly with a guilty grimace, “and
that damn traitor, Nickel. And…” He sighed. “We don’t know
about the children yet.” He met my gaze. “Truly, we were all
upset about your wife.”
I had not thought of Vivian for some time; the lost
expression upon her face; her fear. It could be said that if she
had but waited; but they would have already had their hands on
her; and she had no ground to courageously hold once Nickel’s
betrayal was revealed. She had been routed years ago; and her
happiness and faith were so fragile; and she knew what might lie
ahead at the hands of men. She had known evil. I had
understood whyshe did as she had that night. I stilldid. “Nickel killed her with his treachery,” I said. “He
betrayed her trust and faithfar more thanhe betrayed ours.” “How?” Striker asked. “From what I remember, the
damnfooldid it for her.”
“He refused to believe her,” I said. “He believed in the
dictates of society and not the person he professed to love. She dictates of society and not the person he professed to love. She told him I would release her from the marriage and everything could be sorted out, but he refused to accept her word, and
went and made his dealwithThorp as a result.”
More images of that night returned to me: Bones lying in
a bloody heap; and Thorp’s savage kicking of Julio. “What of
the others:Julio, Davey, and Bones?”
“Farley saw to them,” Striker said with a glance at
Gaston. “Thankfully he came ashore before the damn sloop
chased the Bard and Cudro off. They’re healing. Julio will
probably never walk right again, though. They all sailed on to
Tortuga withSavant.”
“So, allour friends—save perhaps Liamand the children
and, well, his wife, and Rucker, Sam and Hannah—are on
Tortuga?”I asked.
“Aye,”Striker said, “and as your matelot might have told
you, we had to argue with Savant about him hauling Gaston off
with them. Savant’s own men finally won him over. His
quartermaster told him he was being a damn fool caring about
what reward he might get from Gaston’s father—in front of the
men; and most of his men agreed Gaston was a member of the
Brethrenfirst, and a lord second.”
I looked to Gaston, he appeared thoughtful.
He felt my gaze and looked up. “I was not…”He sighed
and switched to French. “My Horse was in no mood to listen,
and did not understand.”
I smiled and turned back to Striker, who was watching
us with a worried frown. “He is not angry with you, truly. He
was beyond himselfinthose hours.”
Striker nodded and awarded Gaston a wan smile. “Aye,
youwere the worst I’ve seenyou.”
“I stillam,”Gastonsaid.
Striker and Pete frowned at that.
“We are not well,” I said. “Neither of us. Which…” I
looked to Gaston, and he sighed and nodded. “Brings us to a
thingwe must discuss. Where are we?”
“The strait of Florida,” Striker said, and watched me
speculatively. “The winds are with us and we’ll make Tortuga
inside of a week. No matter what we find there or plan to do
next, we need to offload this cargo and provision. We’ll
probably lose a number ofthe men too. Some willstay wherever
we sail, but we had to pay some of the others in coin against the
plunder we haven’t sold. They care not for Cayonne or France.
Theywant to returnto Port Royal. Our troubles aren’t theirs.” “Thank you,” I said soberly. “I cannot thank you or the
others enoughfor comingfor us.”
Striker waved me off. “You’re our dearest friends, and
Sarah’s our wife.” He chuckled at that. “What else were we to

do?” Gaston and I would have done the same for them. It

made what I would say sticky on my lips. I forced the words out. “We do not wish to go to Tortuga.” I held up a hand before Striker could protest. “You should go to Tortuga, but Gaston and I wish to go to the Haiti. We are not ready for Cayonne and the intrigues there.”

Pete was thoughtful, but Striker was fightinganger. He rubbed his face and would not look at me for a time.

“I suppose tellingyouyou’re mad would be stupid.” “Well, ironic,”I said. “We are mad, and thus we need to
behave madly, I suppose. We cannot pretend to be sane. If we
go there, then… we will likely create more trouble than we are
worth; and we already feel guilt that we have caused trouble for
allwe know.”
“You have a pregnant wife, and a missing child,” Striker
began, only to stop and shake his head. “Damn it, I know the
child is…” He swore quietly. “
Our
son is like some strange…
idea. He’s not real to me. I’ve seen him but for a few days,
and…”He sighed.
“I understand,” I said. “Believe me, I understand. Little
Jamaica is either dead—and if that is so, and all on that craft
died, I will mourn Liammore than her—or she is in the hands of
people who are far better versed in her care than we are. She is
not a healthychild to beginwith, and…”
I stopped and looked to Gaston, he was studying the
floor withmoist eyes.
I changed the topic. “And as for Agnes…”
“Tellthem,”Gastoninterjected.
I sighed and told themofthe Marquis’ letter. Pete and Striker swore vehemently.
“It would be best if Agnes does not go to France,” I
concluded. “Gods, it would be best if Gaston does not go to
France—at this time. And Cayonne is fraught with poor
memories for us. And despite how calm we might seem at this
moment, we are truly… barrels ofpowder but awaitinga spark.” Striker had appeared sympathetic, and then the anger took hold of himagain. “Damn it, Will, we all are! What are we
to do?”
“DoLikeWePlanned,” Pete said calmly. “AforeAllThis.
GoToTortuga ’CauseItBeFrenchAn’Na’English.
LearnTaLiveThereLessin’We’AveTaGoTaFrance.”
“Aye!” Striker spat, “but that was before the bastards
showed up and attacked our house. They can do the same on
Tortuga. France is best. Theywouldn’t dare do that there.” “Thengo to France,”I said.
He glared at me.
“Nay, I am not being facetious,” I said quickly. “Go to
France without us.”
“And do what?” Striker demanded. “Go sit around the
Marquis’ manor, and… do what?”
“Perhaps you need not live there. My damn father and
his men will assume that if you sail for France you will go to the
Marquis. Theywillnot seek youallover France.”
“And do what?” Striker snapped. “I’m a sailor. I’m a
captain. What in God’s name amI supposed to do in France? I
don’t speak French! I have been fretting over that since this
began. AmI to leave the sea? I don’t want to die drunk and fat
onshore ofold age!”
“LikeIDo?”Pete teased him.
“I cannot imagine that,” I said with a tight smile. His
anger was scaring my Horse. I could see his point, though; I
could not see what they would do there. I did not wish to go
there, either. “I do not know what any of us will do in France;
save hide there until my father dies.”
Most probably by my hand
, I thought bitterly. That was a thingI wished to dwellupon,
but not one I should whenso unsteadyinmyseat.
“Well, Gaston gets to be a lord,”Striker was saying with
less rancor, “but aye, the rest ofus… Sarah’llbe fine withit, and
some of the others, but… Damn it, I would raise my son…
children… onthe sea.”
Gastonretreated deep into our den.
I watched himleave with worry: not for him, but for me.
Striker’s rage and my last words had started emotions churning
inmygut.
“Will, you’re white as a sheet,”Striker said quietly. “We need to be alone,”I whispered.
“I cansee that,”he said withconcernand stood. “On the Haiti,” I said. “You go to Cayonne and live
there. No one should go to France.”
Striker set his jaw and squared his shoulders—despite
being stooped by the low ceiling—and glowered down at me.
“We’ll discuss it when you feel… reasonable. You’re mad, as
you say. You’re not thinking straight. You’re in no condition to
runaround inthe wilderness.”
I shook my head, fighting the feeling that I was a little
boy begging his permission. It angered me. “Do not thwart us,” I
said with far less force than I would have liked. I sounded as if I
was pleading.
Striker shook his head. “Will, I swore I would never
separate the two of you when either of you was mad, but I’ll be
damned if I’m going to let you two go and kill yourselves.” He
dropped to squat before me and darted his eyes to the doorway
ofthe den. “Will, are youtrulymad, too?”he whispered. Yes, I was; but I saw the danger in his eyes. It was not
borne of malice, but of love. Striker would chain us both down
here and haul us wherever he thought best. The frustration
Gaston must have felt these last weeks threatened to overwhelm

me. I smiled as if he were the fool, and said, “Aye, we will

 

discuss it later. You are correct; I will likely feel calmer as the days pass.”

My feigned nonchalance was apparently not fully successful: Striker studied me with suspicion; and my glance at Pete showed him peering at us in the dim light with hard but unreadable eyes.

“We need to rest now,”I said with the best smile I could manage, and moved to go around Striker and returnto the den.
He stood and let me pass. “Will, everything will be well. You’ve had a hard go of it, but it’s over now. You’ll heal, and everythingwillbe well, you’llsee.”
His words floated down across my shoulders. I did not feel them as a comforting blanket, but as a great mass of sail seeking to pin me down. I struggled free of them and into the safety of the den to find Gaston with his back to the hull and a knife in his hand. I moved to the side and crouched with my back to a barrel. We listened to Striker and Pete’s angry and indecipherable murmurs until we finally heard their retreating footsteps.
I released the breath I had been holding and met my matelot’s gaze. “We must escape them,”I whispered.