Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (32 page)

“Lord Montren, thank you, thank you,” the man gushed as my matelot finished wrapping the foot. “Since you have begun treatingme I hardlyfeelit at all. However canI repayyou?”

“You would not happen to have a horse?” I asked without thinking, and immediatelyregretted it as Gastonregarded me quizzically. I had not told mymanofmyquest for his birthday gift or anythingassociated withit.

“You have need of a horse, Lord Montren?” the man asked withsurprise.
Gaston awarded me a knowing smile and turned back to his patient. “Oui. I wishto do some riding.”
I stifled a sigh and regarded the man with hope. Even if the horse were known, I could at least keep mysearchfor land a secret ifI did not continue to be anidiot.
“I have a horse,” the man said. “Not much of a horse. He was a good worker in his day, back when I had land. But now that I’ve moved to town, all he does is eat more than the mules. I’ve beenthinkingofbutcheringhim. He’s fat enough, and he doesn’t have manyyears left.”
Mymatelot’s face slid into the amiable smile that he used when dealing with disagreeable patients. I always found it surprising. It was as odd to his person as the fine linen shirt and breeches he had taken to wearing; and very much a part of his new professionalmask. I was proud ofhimfor being able to don it, though. There had been a day when we had never thought his Horse would stand for treating fat old men for gout. And my Horse did not dislike it: it seemed I saw it for what it was; not a change in his character, but merely a form of disguise that allowed himto do as he needed inthis place.
“I would be willing to take the animal in payment for the rest ofyour treatment,”Gastonsaid.
The man was pleased and astounded. “My lord, then I will have received a bargain. I think the animal eats more than I’ve paid you.” Then he frowned with a tinge of guilt. “He was never a ridinganimal. He’s a biganimalbred for the plow.”
“I think we can find some use for him,” Gaston said pleasantlybut firmly.
“I’llhave a boybringhimaround,”the mansaid.
Gastonshook his head. “Non, Willcanfetchhim.”
As the man hobbled out the door on his crutches, my matelot pulled me aside and whispered in English, “Go rescue the poor creature.”
I grinned and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”
The man did not attempt to make conversation as we wound our way to his house on the other side of town. One reason was that maneuvering his bulk about on crutches left him very little breath to speak; and for another, I had somehow slipped into a position of unimportance here on Tortuga. I was not viewed by Gaston’s wealthy patients as his servant, but I was apparently not perceived as his equal, either. I found it did not bother me; as it had never troubled me when I assumed such a role around the powerful friends I had shadowed in Christendom. I preferred this anonymity.
We at last stood before a small paddock with two mules, a donkey, and a dirty-gray, fat, old, swaybacked gelding the size of a destrier. He was surely eighteen hands, with ribs as round as a hogshead. He stood between the other animals and the hay, chewing a mouthful of the same, regarding his owner and me with the resigned mien of a horse who knows the men eying him will be troublesome yet there is nothing he can do about it. I have loved some horses upon first seeing them: I did not feel that grand emotion for this creature, but I did feel great fondness and admiration.
“He’s called Pomme,” the man said and shrugged as if the name were a curiosity.
“Then Pomme it is,” I said pleasantly, though I could not understand why someone would call a horse of this nature an apple, either.
I entered the paddock and took a length of halter rope from the peg on the shed and approached my new steed. He considered me and twitched his tailas I looped the rope over his

head. His withers were taller than my head. I felt no threat from

head. His withers were taller than my head. I felt no threat from him, but as large as he was, if he wished to cause a fuss he would be dangerous. He merely eyed the feed one last time and sighed as I led himaway.

“Good riddance,” his former owner said as we passed him.
“Truer words could not be spoken,” I mumbled in English as I glanced back at the gout-ridden merchant. Pomme seemed to snort his agreement.
Allthe feed the mightyPomme would surelyeat ina year was worth the expression on my matelot’s face when he beheld

the beast.“He is huge,”Gastonsaid withwonder.

 

“Oui, and not allofit is fat,”I remarked witha grin.

“Is he as old as he looks?” my man asked and stroked the misty-greymuzzle.
As the rest of the animal was the same color, it was no indication of his age. I raised Pomme’s head and examined his well-wornteeth. “Oui, he is old.”
“Canhe be ridden?”
I sighed and got a handful of mane and vaulted onto the wide back. Pomme sighed and shifted his bulk to his right rear leg. I regarded my splayed legs and comfortable crotch—not a thing I was accustomed to when riding bareback—and chuckled. “Aman could nap up here. He is as comfortable as a well-stuffed settee.”
“And as prone to movement,”Gastonnoted.
I laughed. I laughed harder stillwhen drumming my heels

on the beast’s fat sides produced no reaction. When my

on the beast’s fat sides produced no reaction. When my amusement passed a little, I clucked and was rewarded with a pair of swiveled ears. “Come now, Pomme, let us stable you,” I said and flicked the halter rope. He took a step forward and I continued to cluck encouragement.

Gaston walked alongside as we headed for the alley and the entrance to the yard. “Pomme?”
“His former owner said it was his name.”
“I wonder who named him,” Gaston mused. “I doubt it was that man. He does not seemthe type to name horses.”
We made our leisurely way into the yard and quickly attracted the attention of everyone in the atrium. Pomme—to my pleasure—reacted not one whit to being surrounded by loud, strange people and dogs.
After I explained that he was our new horse, Liamlifted Pomme’s lip and shook his head with incredulity. “Damn, Will, what’re ya goin’ ta do with this old nag, feed ’im every bale o’ hayintown’tilhe dies?”
“I intend to ride him until he becomes a bit trimmer. He has a comfortable back.”
“We could always eat him,” Henrietta said. “Or feed him to the dogs.”
I glared at her.
Her husband leaped to her defense. “Will,”he protested. “The damndogs alreadyeat us out o’ ’ouse and home.”
“Then it is lucky for everyone we are wealthy,” I said and dismounted Pomme to lead himinto the paddock.
“True, true,” Liam said good-naturedly, but an icy breeze had blownover the assembly.
breeze had blownover the assembly.
I did not regret my words. We fed all of them, and I thought it best theyremember that fromtime to time.
I turned my back on them and rummaged about in the tack box to see if there were any grooming implements. Doucette had only owned a mule, and I doubt any attempt had been made to groom it. To my surprise, I found a curry brush. When I turned back to Pomme, I found our audience had wandered off—except for Gaston.
“I want to be a horse like him someday,” my man said witha wistfulsmile as he scratched behind Pomme’s ears.
I had half expected him to chide me for my less-thandiplomatic words. “Old, fat, and gray?”I asked withamusement.
“Oui,” he said and grinned. “With you to take care of me.”
My heart swelled and ached in an old, familiar way. “But mylove, I willbe old, fat, and graytoo.”
Gastonembraced me. “It willbe wonderful.”
I supposed it would be.
“Perhaps we should avoid getting fat, though,”I said as I pulled my man down into the straw. “I should hate to spend my dotage withgout—evenat your side.”
“Oui, no fat,”he laughed and kissed me.
As I lay there with himastride me and my tongue twining with his, it occurred to me that I too wished to be like Pomme someday, or rather my Horse did. Would it not be heavenly to be that calm, complacent, and carefree? Much as I was now, I supposed. Though we would have to make damn sure no one thought to feed us to the dogs because we had ceased to have thought to feed us to the dogs because we had ceased to have worthintheir eyes.
Now that I had a mount, albeit a ponderous one, I began to go further afield seeking my original quarry, land. I soon discovered plantations here looked much as they had on Jamaica. They were highly prized business enterprises, peopled with serious Frenchmen determined to make money off the soil, and sad-looking Negroes and bondsmen determined to live. I wanted none ofthat. We did not need so very much land for our purposes, anyway. And if it came with men and expectations it would be useless to us as a retreat. Thus I stopped seeking a known acreage suitable for any other man’s purpose, and turned my gaze to small groves and precipices of land unsuitable for cultivationand therefore devoid ofvalue to other men.
A few days later I hacked my way down an overgrown path onto the open shoulder of the small mountain above Cayonne. The forest fell away, leaving a grassy knoll bounded by steep inclines down toward the town. The view was gorgeous. We were a little east of Cayonne, and I could see the harbor and channel, and even across it to the Haiti. There was enough flat land to build a small dwelling; and enough rock and wood to build it with.
I dropped Pomme’s lead rope and he began to graze, I sat on the edge of the cliff and considered how very peaceful I felt and how very much I wanted this little plot of land. I could see cultivated fields and several houses tucked here and there in the folds of the mountain’s flank. I wondered which lay claim to this piece ofheaven, or perhaps none did.
I fetched some parchment from the saddle bags I had
I fetched some parchment from the saddle bags I had taken to throwing across Pomme’s bare back on these excursions, and carefullymapped—to the best ofmyability—the plot’s relationto the three houses and the fields I could see. Then I set off toward those signs of civilization in the hopes of finding liberationfromthem. I was carryinga fullpurse.
The first overseer I managed to encounter, on what appeared to be the closest plantation, gave me some startling information. He looked up the hill to the open shoulder I wished to claim and shook his head. “That’s not Bousart land. That up there, that whole ridge, is part ofthe Doucette land. It belongs to that Englishman, Striker, now.”
I was not sure if I was blessed or cursed. I thanked him and followed his directions to the nearest road and my sister’s plantation.
I was greeted by a man I recognized as I approached the house. He directed me to go around to the back. I did not see Pete or Striker about; nor did I expect to, as they had staggered away fromour home late in the night. Julio greeted me fromthe porch, though.
Sarah emerged from the house as I dismounted. She gazed upon Pomme with consternation. “However did you find an elephant on Tortuga?” she asked in English as she descended fromthe back steps to rub mymount’s nose.
I could not understand why a woman who appeared as fat as Pomme seemed intent upon insulting him—then maybe I could… I grimaced and defended him. “He is not anelephant:he does not have a trunk—or tusks.”
Mysister snorted. “Have youever seenanelephant?”
“Aye, I have seen a great number of fantastic beasts.” I sighed at the memory of many of them. “They would have been magnificent if they had not been confined to little cages and appeared miserable.”
“Striker is not a beast,” she snarled quietly for my ears alone.
I started and eyed her with surprise. I pitched my voice as she had hers. “Lady, your words speak far more of your thoughts thantheydo ofmine. I meant no suchthing.”
She flushed and looked away. “Why are you here? They are asleep; but surelyyouwould have guessed as much.”
“I came to see you; and nay, I am not being disingenuous. I have learned youpossess a thingI would have.”
“Do tell.”
“I wish to acquire a small plot of land that Gaston and I might use as a retreat from the bedlam of Doucette’s house. I have found a lovely little plot up on the shoulder of the mountain, and I have beentold it is onyour property.”
“So ask my husband. He will grant you anything.” Her mien had shifted from rancor to sadness. “It is not my land, anyhow. I cannot ownit.”
I sighed. “That is rubbish. This is your land. Anyone with halfa mind knows as much. And so I amaskingyou. And for the love of… Might we please stop this?”
She sighed and rubbed Pomme’s ears. “I am wary of granting you anything that will lead to your sinking further roots into this place.”
I scratched my head with sincere consternation. “I do not understand: Sarah, what is it that you wish? How do you perceive the future unfolding?”
Her brow furrowed with thought and not anger. As I watched her, I saw a thing I knew would displease my matelot:it surely alarmed me. Save her huge belly, Sarah was thin. She appeared frail, and her hair—the same straw shades as my own —was listless and looked to be as dry as the materialwith which it shared color.
She finally sighed and spoke. “I could be happy here—if our father was no longer a concern. I understand your reasons for not charging into his den, but… I want it done, Will. I am tired of worrying. I amtired of… my husband… worrying.” She met my gaze. “I amtired of… fighting you. Truth be told, at this moment I amdamnablytired ofbeingpregnant.”
“I can do nothing for that,” I said with a smile of relief that she was at least willingto be candid. “Whenare youdue?”
“May, perhaps.” She frowned anew. “How is Mistress Theodore? Is she not due soon?”
“She is as fat as my horse. I understand she is due any time now. I have not seen much of her of late: I believe she has begun her lying in—such as it is in her room. Sometimes she still dines withus, but not often.”
“I miss them. I was well-accustomed to living alone in England; and I have returned to that state, I suppose, but…”
“The girls could visit, youknow?”
“Girls?”she asked withanarched brow.
I sighed. “Agnes and Yvette.”
“I do not know Yvette Doucette. We met, obviously; and I saw her everyday before we arranged for her addled husband to sell Striker this land. I did not get to know her,

though.”I considered telling her of Agnes’ love, but decided

 

against it. Though we seemed to be talking, I did not trust my sister. And truly, it was not a thingshe needed to know.

Thankfully she had moved on to another topic. “Would Gastonbe willingto deliver this child?”
“Ofcourse,”I said withsurety.
“I would be grateful. I have met the midwife, but… I trust
him
.”
“He willbe honored.”
She nodded and seemed to take great interest in Pomme’s whiskers.
“What else troubles you?” I asked. “You do not appear hale and healthy. Is that due to all the worrying, or is there another concern?”
She shook her head with a thoughtful frown. “I do not feelill, onlytired.”
“Did youfeelthus while youcarried Pike?”
“I did not have so manyworries whenI carried Pike.”
“I think Gaston should tend to you
before
you labor,” I said gently.
She nodded sadly, but then her gaze was fierce. “But I think onlyyoucantrulysolve the problem.”
I resented her attempt to manipulate me with guilt, but in the name of diplomacy I resolved to keep it from my face. Apparently I am not as capable of tact as I once was: she saw somethinginmymienthat made her stiffenand turnaway.
“I willdo what I can, whenI can,”I said flatly.
She nodded and released her renewed tension with a sigh. “I am sorry. I have chased it round and round my head. You are correct: he is not worth a life. I even thought of James and Pete going, but then I had nightmares about their being captured and drawn and quartered and a thousand other horrors ofwhichI canthankfullynot recallthe details.”
I wished to explain to her the value of frolicking in the face of certain doom and horrid memories, but I knew I could not. She would not understand, especially not fromone who had allowed himself—in her estimation—to be tortured for a