Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (31 page)

He placed them in my ears with great care, and I enjoyed his ministrations and their weight almost as much as I enjoyed the anticipation in my hard cock. When his hands at last wandered down my body to free my straining member, I was sure everythingwas veryright and wonderfulinmyworld. sure everythingwas veryright and wonderfulinmyworld.

I did not produce enough jism to fill the syringe, but it was enough for Gaston to prove the device could suck it up and spit it out.

“She canuse it herself,”he said. “We just need hand it to her withyour seed inside.”
“Or Yvette can use it on her,” I said with amusement at his happiness. Then another aspect of his words struck me quite soundly. “My seed?” I moved to sit and realized I was still bound.
He regarded me withconcern, and his miensuggested he knew this would be a matter I would contest. “I still think the next children should be yours. I have had mine. They have caused enough trouble. I would have a child of yours raised with

sighed and quit struggling. I supposed I could be well with it. Truly, it might even be delightful. I tried to envision a little blond boy running about with his red-headed one. Then I wondered if the child would have mycoloringor its mother’s.

“Wait, what ifAgnes does not wish to carry my child?” I asked.
“We will discuss it with her,” he said. “I do not see why she should care. And she willbe married to you.”
“True,” I sighed. “All right then, release me and we will deliver this joyous news to the ladies.”
He shook his head and the cruel glitter returned to his eyes. “I amnot satisfied,”he purred.
“Oh, thank the Gods,”I breathed.
“Oh, thank the Gods,”I breathed.
A wonderful interlude later, we at last emerged to find the house quiet in the lethargic grip of the afternoon heat. As we did not yet have a good place to hang our new hammock so that we might nap, we dispelled our post-coital inclination to sloth, and went about scrubbingand paintingour room. Bythe time the house was rousingitselffor the eveningwe had a cleanwhite box that showed no trace ofits prior use.
Gaston and I stood in the doorway and regarded the dryingwalls and wet floor. It did not remind me ofthe dungeonit had been. It did not even remind me of the other rooms in the house. It was now merely a simple space—a blank canvas— upon which we could paint what we would of happiness and hominess.
“What think you?”I asked Gaston.
“It is empty.”
“I do not feel there will be a taint upon anything we fill it with; do you?”
“Non,”he said witha shrug. “This willdo.”
Over his shoulder, I spied Yvette emerging fromAgnes’ room. She looked around as she began to make her hurried way toward her own rooms. She saw me and froze. I smiled and turned my head away. When I glanced back, the door to Doucette’s room was closing. I moved to look down into the atriumand thankfullysaw no one watchingthe upper balcony.
“Agnes is alone now,”I said quietly.
“Good,” Gaston said without a seeming care as to why that should or should not be.
“Yvette was withher,”I whispered.
“Yvette was withher,”I whispered.
He frowned, and then the meaning came to him and he grinned. “Thenperhaps she willbe inas fine ofspirits as I am.”
I laughed and followed him to Agnes’ room. At our knock she told us to enter. We found her nursingApollo.
“How was your afternoon?”I drawled teasingly.
She blushed to her nipples, but her smile was as radiant as the chariot of her son’s namesake. Still she managed to say demurely, “I did not sleep.”
I fell on the bed laughing and was enveloped in the smell ofwomen. “Did youknow what to do?”I teased.
She snorted with embarrassment. “It was not so very

She hit me inthe head witha balled cloth.
Gaston was still in the doorway, leaning oddly on the door. Despite his fine spirits, he seemed suddenly ill at ease. I awarded hima questioninglook. ThenI saw his erection:the one he was trying to hide fromAgnes by staying behind the door. I did not blame him: the thought of the two of themwrithing about on the bed—and the remembered smell of a woman in the heat ofsex—had stirred mymember too.
I stood and snatched the syringe fromhimand showed it to Agnes. My matelot was no fool, he used my distraction to drop onto the bed and roll on his side with the bedding strategicallybunched before him.
“This is a syringe,” I told Agnes, and then demonstrated its workingwithwater fromthe basin.
She was quite interested, but obviously at a loss as to whyI felt the need to tellher about it here and now.
“It can suck up any liquid in the tube,” I said. “Such as jism… And thendeliver it witha squirt.”
She frowned, but then her eyes widened with understanding.
“Yvette can deliver seed to your womb without us,” Gaston said – apparently more relaxed now. “Or you could do it

“I would like the next child to be Will’s,” Gaston said carefully. “Ifit pleases you.”
She frowned but for a moment and thenshe looked from one to the other ofus and nodded. “I think that a fine thing.”
“We will be one family,” Gaston said with great happiness and relief.
I smiled with them, but I had dark thoughts: few things came so easily or simply to us. Gaston and I had worked very hard to become a well-matched team—very hard indeed—and would not trial and perseverance of that degree be required for Yvette and Agnes to have a fine marriage that would stand the tests of time; or for us to have a fine stable relationship with them? Were we to be four horses hitched to one dray, or would we be two teams and two carts attempting to pull the same load of children through the world? However was that to work? I did not wish to share my marriage with any other; and I knew without doubt that Agnes and Yvette were not truly a team: that would be a long time in coming. I was not sure if it would have been worse to have our children gotten upon two women who were not involved with one another, or with these two who were. Sadly, I wished forAgnes to be the mother ofour children and nothing else. And I knew how very unfair that was. She deserved happiness. I once again cursed my inability to give Gaston children—or, for that matter, his ability to produce his own.
We would have to see how it allplayed out over time. Though I saw hardships ahead, I saw nothing to fear of the magnitude necessary to make me voice my protests and concerns and thus change our course. I resolved to have faith in the Gods.

My concerns seemed unfounded as one pleasant day passed into the next in our new home. Gaston settled into the role of Tortuga’s physician, and soon had patients from all over the smallisland. We heard tales that some needed much coaxing: they had heard he was mad. Still, they came in the end, and Gaston treated them with decorum and prowess until it seemed none doubted his sanityor ability.

My days were spent frolicking. I quickly settled into the role of a careless colt. I assisted my matelot, I played with babies, I read great books, and I let my cares drift away on the eveningbreeze.

We spent the first part of any night sitting about laughing and drinking with our cabal until many of them sailed to the northern colonies of Virginia and Carolina to engage in honest trade. We teased one another a great deal about this honest and legallifestyle we had adopted, but allthought it was for the best.

We had discussed the trading journeys fromthe first, but everyone had harbored concerns that my father might have men set to report the presence of our ship and disrupt our business ventures as he had on Jamaica. We also worried that without the ventures as he had on Jamaica. We also worried that without the ship, it would be difficult for us to escape ifthe need arose. After much discussion—much of it patient reiteration of my thoughts about what my father would and would not do quickly if at all— it was finally decided that they should indeed go; because there was trulylittle theycould do ifmyfather sent anarmy.

The only remaining concern was the recognition of our ship and fellows. Cudro and the Bard could easily secure papers attesting to their being French and the like, but the
Queen
was known. Thus we decided to rename the
Virgin Queen
the
Magdalene
. And to further her disguise, Gaston and I paid for the Bard to do a thing he had long wished, and our ship was brought into Cayonne’s harbor and her forward square-rigged mast was given another fore-and-aft rig so that she ceased being a brigantine and became a schooner.

They sailed in the middle of February. We expected themto returnbefore we could possiblyhear anyimportant news from France. Gaston and I wished for Striker to go with them; but everyone decided Pete and a one-armed man would be too easy to recognize: and Striker refused to go. Pete was obviously torn, but in the end he said he was not interested in such legal activity.

We were not sure if he simply did not wish to leave his matelot: and matelots they still were. For all his anger, Pete was ever there to drag his man home; and for all his drunkenness, Striker seemed ever truly appreciative. We continued to see themalmost every night after the others sailed. Gaston and I said nothing to either of them about their troubles; and truly, my frolicking Horse simply wished the matter would go away of its frolicking Horse simply wished the matter would go away of its ownaccord.

As for the rest, we settled into a happy routine. Agnes and I were married, and every day we provided Agnes with a little cup of my jism. We were not surprised or disappointed when my seed did not take. We were not sure ifit ever would— using this method. It was entirely possible it offended the Gods. As the collection of it was always a pleasurable event on my part, I cared not one wayor the other.

Yvette and Agnes appeared to get on well enough—so well that I occasionally worried someone else would see their affection for what it was. If anyone did, they made no remark of

He scurried and swayed about in the shadows, casting baleful glares in my direction and watching Gaston with hungry eyes. He did not seemprone to engage inanyofthe horrendous behaviors Liamhad told me of, though. I kept a waryeye onhimanyway.

Rachel appeared to be suffering a great deal with this pregnancy. She was always tired and grouchy, and fearful that some evil would befall the child after losing the last one. Gaston inquired of her health often; and was always told she was well enough. I stayed awayfromher.

We watched the little spy boys for a time. I quickly learned they did indeed report to Father Pierre. Thus they were no bother to Gaston and me, but we did have Yvette and Agnes to protect. I had two of the boys sent away—sold actually, to my chagrin and shame. I would not have been party to it if they had been the children of any ofYvette’s servants, but they were foundlings dropped on Doucette’s doorstep. Yvette secured positions for themas house boys at a plantation on the other end of the island. This change brought the remaining two younger ones handily in line. I do not believe they understood they would be gotten rid of if they posed a threat; nay, I feel they merely began to perceive their carefree existences might soon be at an end and therefore they chose to fill their days with more enjoyable boyhood pursuits than skulking about the house. We soonsaw verylittle ofthem.

I began to grow restless as February approached its end. We had been in Cayonne for two months. All was pleasant and looked to remain that way. Though we might receive a response to the letter Theodore had sent before we arrived, it would be several more months before we could hope to hear from the Marquis concerning Gaston’s letter to him about the marriage to Christine. We had occasionally discussed how we would go about ascertaining the other information I felt we needed before we could act on the matter of my father. However, we were now hampered in that endeavor by not wishing to reveal our location. It was entirely possible that every vessel leaving Cayonne sailed directly to some other port and reported of our being in Île de la Tortue, but it was equally possible that none did. We decided not to tip our hand in regard to Modyford—and eventuallymyfather—byseekinginformation from Morgan and thus admitting we were alive and well and livingona neighboringisland.

Withnothingto do, and few concerns I could act upon, I began to seek a diversion. I settled upon finally resolving the one problemplaguing Gaston and me in our new home—our lack of privacy. True, we had a room we were satisfied with, but it shared a wall with Rucker and Bones, and the shutters between it and the atrium did no more to block sound than they blocked the breeze. We loved quietly, and there had been no Horseplay beyond the occasional lucky times we found ourselves alone in the surgery. I now wished to acquire the retreat we had discussed that day in the market. And, with Gaston’s birthday rapidly approaching in the first weeks of March, I threw myself into the new task withenthusiasm.

I also recalled we had discussed riding. Truly, I had thought about it on many a day in the past two months. Even before I had a place to keep a horse, I decided a mount would aid my search: I might have to travel the length and breadth of the island to find our retreat.

After several days of asking everyone we knew— beyond our household—about available land and horses, I came to learn that unwanted horses were a scarce commodity on Île de la Tortue, and acreage for sale was rarer still. The blacksmith told me the best way to secure either was to walk about with a large purse and make offers on anything that struck my fancy— and pray the owner was drunk. I was also told I should be thankful I was not seeking a woman. I found great amusement in that, and did not tell himI already had more of those then I ever wanted.

I spent the day after that wandering about town asking every horse owner I saw if his animal was for sale. Two men offered to fetch me some of the wild ponies the Spaniards had left on the Haiti, but they admitted it might take months. I vowed to keep that in mind and went home dejected to find my matelot treating yet another older man for gout. Sadly, that ailment seemed to be in fine supply. Buccaneers were not fat, and on only rare occasion became afflicted with gout. This patient, like many others Gaston had been surprised to find on Île de la Tortue, was not a former buccaneer, however. He was either a former merchant ship’s officer or an actual French colonist. We did not like suchmen:theyminded us ofthe fat Englishplantation owners on Jamaica. Though French, and thus not prone to wearing wool, they were otherwise much the same, in that every thought in their head seemed to revolve around profit and their comfort and ease.