Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (29 page)

For her I allowed sympathy to flow. I felt again the

For her I allowed sympathy to flow. I felt again the empathy I had experienced with Gaston’s father. Here was another who must care for the wounded and mad. We were brethren in that regard. Yet, did I have a right to stand where I had on the matter as I had a year ago—as a fellow sufferer of the vagaries of a loved one’s madness—now that I had proven I could be as mad as mymatelot?

Gaston had returned from the cookhouse with an axe. With great enthusiasm, he waded into the debris and handed whips to Sam, tellinghimto burnthem.

“I thought he could not bear whips... I mean...” Yvette said withcuriosity.
“He overcame it. After what occurred here, he realized he did not wishfor themto be a weakness. It took manymonths, and muchpatience, but we at last inured himto them.”
“As my husband wished to do,” she said without

challenge.“Oui, but without strapping him to a chair or holding his

eyes openwithhooks,”I said without rancor.
She winced.
Gaston had cleared space around the chair, and now he

was attacking it quite savagely with the axe. I looked back to Yvette and found her fearful and tense with her gaze locked upon my matelot’s efforts. Her scar-twisted lip made her look as ifshe was preparingto snarla warningas a dogwould.

“Do you fear knives?” I asked to distract her. Doucette had claimed she did not, but I doubted he had truly known or

 

cared.“Non,” she said quickly with conviction. She turned to

“Non,” she said quickly with conviction. She turned to face the table, shutting out my matelot’s antics with a slim but determined shoulder. Agnes offered her hand, and Yvette took it gratefully.

I kept hold of my tongue and turned attention to my food. Surely she had a trigger:as surely I was seeing evidence of Gaston’s behavior pullingit now.

Yvette toyed with her food a moment before lowering her voice and dipping her head in an earnest birdlike manner while seeking my gaze. “I never saw the blade. That is why I do not fear them. I onlysaw
him
… The one who… scarred me. He was very intent: like he was doing some chore that required great… concentration. It was as ifI wasn’t there.”

I glanced at my matelot: engaged with great concentration in destroying a thing that had harmed him. I understood.

“Did youknow him? Your attacker?”I asked.

She shook her head sadly and sighed. “Non, but he had visited the brothel before. He was well known. There had been no trouble with him. It was my first time with him, and all had gone well, and we had begun to speak afterward, and… suddenlyhe became mad.”

“What did youspeak of?”I asked.

She nodded. “Dominic was ever curious about that. He thought I must have triggered the man’s madness.” She shrugged.

“It would never make youto blame,”I said quickly. “Non, non,” she said with a smile. “I do not feel that.

Understanding it was madness made me feel… relieved. I Understanding it was madness made me feel… relieved. I understand I did nothing to anger him. I just…” She shrugged again. “We were talking about women he had known. I had compleminted him on his skills. He had been quite the charming lay. Very kind. I must have reminded him of someone. I knew even as it happened that he wasn’t angry with me. He didn’t even look at me; at least not my face. He pinned me to the wall with a hand on my throat, and… he seemed so concerned about what he was doing. So intent, youunderstand?”

I nodded. “And he was not tryingto killyou, per se.” “Non,” she said with a bemused expression. “He could have done so easily.” She shrugged. “When he was done, he dropped me and donned his clothes and left.” The remembered fear returned to her features. “Then I thought about screaming. And it was like I could not scream loud enough for anyone to hear me. I felt I was falling into a deep well. And I knew I would drown, and they would not hear me. And I slipped away. Then there was Dominic, pullingme out.”
“Did you know Doucette?” I asked, reluctant to disturb her reverie, but not wishingher to become mired init.
She shook her head; and then that movement traveled down her spine, and she shook the memories away as a dog shakes off water. She smiled at me. “I had seen Dominic, and heard of him, but I hadn’t required his services. I was very new here.”
And then he had become her savior. “What happened to the manwho hurt you?”I asked.
She sighed. “The other patrons killed him. The girls said he seemed confused about whythe menwere angrywithhim.” he seemed confused about whythe menwere angrywithhim.”
It seemed that the event that scarred her held more in common with the attack of a wild animal than the horrors to which Gaston and I had been subjected. That was why she seemed so untroubled by it. Her pain and misery had not been inflicted in the name of personal vengeance: it had not been a personalmatter at all.
As I thought on what I knew of her, I realized this revelation explained her ease about men and knives—a thing I had found curious upon learning of her scars—but it begged more questions than it truly answered. I could not believe that her ladylike manners and speech had been taught by Doucette since her marriage.
“How is it you became…
employed
in that profession?” I asked. “Please do not be offended, but you are very well spokenfor a... whore.”
She smiled winsomely. “Thank you. I was raised to be a courtesan– froma longline ofcourtesans—inMarseille.”
“Ah, that explains a great deal; yet, however did you…”
“Come here?” she supplied. She sighed and glanced at Agnes with a sad smile which the girlreturned. “I fellin love with the wronggirl.”
I laughed such that everyone else in the courtyard turned to stare. Yvette blanched and blushed and Agnes regarded me quizzically.
“I am sorry, Madam,” I said quickly and quietly. “It is just that your revelation is so in keeping with much that I have experienced here in these West Indies that I wonder why I did not suspect it.”
“Oh,” she said. “Why is it that men think they are the onlyones?”she asked.
“Because we are arrogant fools?”I asked withhumor.
She grinned, but sobered quickly with another guilty glance at Agnes. “I fell in love with—and seduced—my first serious patron’s fiancée. He was furious.”Her mienbecame truly somber. “I would not do the same again.”
Agnes looked awaywitha troubled frown.
“I was young and foolish,”Yvette continued. “Not that I am old now, it is just… That was only five years ago, but it seems a lifetime.”
“I assure you, Madam, there is no conflict here,”I said.
Her gaze met mine, and I saw in her young eyes how very much she must have aged in those five years—and especially in the three years since we had first met her: years in whichshe had beenforced to be the mistress ofher ownlife with no one to support and aid her.
“With you,” she chided. She glanced about. “But we dare not let others know. The Church: my God…” she sighed. “And men such as your fine friends who accept you as you are; but who willsurelyfind a womanlovinganother as anaffront ofa different kind. And…” She sighed yet again: this time with sadness. “There is Dominic. He would never accept it.”
“Would he understand?”I asked carefully.
Her gaze was chiding again. “He is not so very daft as that. And he despises sodomy—even in women. When I told himof my life he told me I was mistaken: that I had only thought I preferred women because I was trained I should not truly love men, as they would never love me. He claimed it was a common thing among whores who are poorly treated by men. I did not argue with him. He was—is—so very stubborn about such things.”
An old spark of thought jumped to life in my head. I smiled. “I think he protests too much.”
Yvette frowned; but across the table, Agnes smiled.
“What do youmean?”Yvette asked.
“I think he finds great favor with men, but cannot countenance it in himself,” I said. “Thus allwho do as he feels he cannot must be condemned.”
Yvette considered that for a time before saying, “He loves Gaston. More than he ever loved me. And, you are correct:it is not as a son.”
I nodded mutely. So, as I had expected, and my Horse had obviously known, I had told the world the truth when we sought to slander Doucette. There was always the kernelof truth inanylie. That is whya trulygood lie is so insidious.
I was minded of my father; and it set me to wondering about his true relationship to the matter of sodomy again. As always, it would excuse nothing, but it would explain so much. Perhaps the only reason I did not simply accept it was because acceptance ofhis havinga reasonwas the road to understanding; and that could lead to forgiveness and sympathy. I would have none ofthat. Or rather, he would receive none ofthat fromme. I wished to hate myfather withanuntroubled heart.
Gastonhad finished withthe chair. It laystrewnabout his feet: no one piece larger than a hand’s breadth. I was sure the axe was dulled from his striking the stone to cut the last bits down further still; but the anger and concentration no longer seemed to grip him. He went about the work now like a man splitting firewood: absorbed by the task, but emotionally oblivious to it.
I turned back to the women in time to witness an intense but silent exchange. Yvette was tightly gripping Agnes’ hand, whilst Agnes tried to pull it away without disturbing the infant in her arms or alerting anyone else to their tussle. The women were not looking at one another. They glanced about to see if others watched:no one was.
I reached across the table and laid my hand atop their straining ones, causing themto start. Yvette relinquished her grip and fell back in her chair with tearful eyes. Agnes jostled little Apollo to quiet him and stared at her reddened hand beneath mine. I pulled myhand back.
“What did I miss in my reverie?” I asked quietly with a calmmien.
“I amnot a child,”Agnes hissed under her breath.
Yvette pressed her hands to her eyes and sighed. “I did not saythat,”she breathed.
“When I was young,” I whispered, “I would have happilymeddled inthis matter out ofmyenthusiasmfor your love and myfervent wishthat youbothbe happy. But I have not been young for, oh, perhaps six months now, and I no longer feel it is myplace.”
Agnes glared at me; but Yvette chortled briefly behind her hands before peeringat me over them.
“I amafraid,”Yvette said.
I saw the scars from the event that had truly marred her soul: the tragedy of love that had driven her from Marseille and made her a commonwhore for a time. She had been thrown into the mud before swine for lovingsomeone.
I tried to stand in her shoes and see how her life could be destroyed, and I could onlythink one thing.
“My dear lady,” I said and took one of her hands. “What is the worst that can happen? The trouble that I likely bring to all who know me will surely destroy all you hold dear before anyrepercussions ofanaffair withAgnes could.”
Agnes’breath caught, and Yvette stilled. She studied me for a time before taking a deep breath and nodding. “I understand,”she breathed.
I looked to Agnes. “And you, mylady… People onlytell you to slow down because they love you enough not to want to see youhurt as theyhave been.”
She flushed and looked away.
“But…” I added. “If I had such a wondrous lady danglingbefore me, I would be impatient too.”
Yvette smiled. “Youmeddle well.”
“Oui, perhaps. It is good I am no longer young.” I left thembefore I could cause more trouble.
Gaston was quite amenable to abandoning his reduction of the chair to splinters. He leaned on the axe and grinned happilyat me as I approached.
“Is it dead?”I asked.
He cocked his head in consideration. “It has been dead

for some time. I ammerelylayingit to rest.”

for some time. I ammerelylayingit to rest.”
“Good, thenlet us depart for the market.”
“Is there haste?” he asked quietly, his gaze glancing to

the table I had left.
“Non,”I sighed. “Need perhaps, but no haste.” He nodded thoughtfully, and we retrieved our belts and

baldrics fromthe library. We were hailed by Theodore and Liam as we headed toward the door.
“Where ya be offto?”Liamasked withgreat concern.
I gave my matelot a rueful smile—and he replied in kind —as we turned to face them. We were so unused to answering to anyone for our comings and goings: it was likely to chafe until we became accustomed to it.
We assured our friends we were merely going to the market and we had left our muskets as hostages. This seemed to assuage them, and we were allowed to go inpeace. ThenI spied one ofYvette’s servant boys followingus downthe street.
“I do not relishthis scrutiny,”I remarked as I cocked my head toward our less-than-deftly-surreptitious follower.
Gaston made a disgruntled snort when he saw the boy. “Should we lose him?”
“Non,”I said withregret. “Someone might value himand wishfor his return.”
My matelot chuckled, and so we ignored the spy and went about our business.
“What did you discuss withYvette and Agnes?” Gaston asked quietly in English after we had haggled with a stubborn merchant over our first purchase: an absurdly ornamental

chamber pot adorned with vines and grapes by some assuredly

 

chamber pot adorned with vines and grapes by some assuredlydrunkenGreek.

I told himofYvette’s true scars and my meddling as we purchased a new hammock.
The news pleased him. “So it is truly not her alone this time. The Gods finallysmiled uponAgnes.”
“It appears so.” I felt sudden unease as I thought on it. “But now we are four.”
He considered that and sighed. “I suppose so.” He looked to me. “Does it change anything?”
I shrugged. “Nay, I suppose not. It is just… more in the cart.”
His shoulders slumped as if he felt the weight already. “Aye. How do younow see the road here?”
I watched our spy buy a sweetmeat with a foolish display of coin. He pulled all he carried from his pouch and counted it in his hand for everyone to see before allowing the stallkeep to tellhima quarter slice ofcopper was enough. Three lankyyouths watched this fromnearbywithhunger intheir eyes.
“Packed sand awaitinga rainthat willrender it a mire we willnever pullfree of,”I sighed and went to the boy.
“Never show your coin,” I told the startled spy in hissed French as I pointed at the youths—who now regarded me with equally wide eyes. I took the boy by the arm and towed him back to mymatelot.
“Especially if you continue to throw things in the cart,” Gastonsaid withamusement.
“Nay, nay,”I assured him. “
This
does not go in the cart.