Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (48 page)

death?”His expression was neutral. “That it is a great tragedy his

friend, lost in a moment of madness, fell down the stairs during the storm.”
“Byhimself?”
“Nay, this bout of madness precipitated his claiming his wife was having an affair, and in the ensuing argument he began to runabout wildlyattemptingto attack people, and he fellonthe rain-soaked balconyand downthe stairs.”
“Thank you,”I said withgreat sincerity.
He shrugged as if he did not understand my intent. “It is what we allsaw.”
“AmI allowed to display guilt that I was unable to catch himbefore he fell?”
“Absolutely.”
His gaze held mine for a time. I waited.
“Is she pregnant?”he asked.
I sighed. “Theybothare.”
His eyebrow climbed high.
I explained about syringes and what the women claimed to have done.
He spent a few moments pounding his head lightly on the doorframe whilst I patted his back insympathy.
He finally stopped. “Well, it is best we are leaving. No one has told the Strikers yet. We have been waiting to hear the one has told the Strikers yet. We have been waiting to hear the results of the letter. Where did you put…” He sighed. “The Comtess Montren.”
I snorted. “
Chris
is at our property. I hope…” I could not stop myself from adding the last. At his questioning look, I added, “Unless she decided to runback to France.”
“Well, let us hope she has not. Gaston should marry her properly—ina dress—no matter how she decides to live.”
“I cannot imagine Gaston being well received in the churchina dress.”
He awarded me a witheringglare. “Come downsoon.”
“I will,” I assured him. I retrieved the letter on my return to the hammock.
Gaston was awake. He smiled below bleary eyes. “I will not wear a dress.”
“Good.”
“We willhave five children.”
“Do not remind me,” I sighed heavily as I flopped onto the hammock—happyI had made himbounce.
He chuckled. “Are youtrulyangry?”
“I amtruly surprised. Beyond that, I do not wish to think about it.” But I could not stop. “It is very good we are leaving here. Wherever else we go, she can claim it was her husband’s before he died in an accident. Here, everyone would know it a bastard.”
He shrugged. “She said she planned to tell anyone who asked that it was Dominic’s: because you have similar coloring.

Had.” “I suppose. And perhaps by the time the child is old

enough to have distinguishable features people will have forgottenthat Doucette did not look like me?”
“Oui. Now read that,”he said lightly.
I smoothed the crumpled pages and read. I was soon glad we had not finished the missive yesterday. There was good news: the child was fine, and in light of Gaston’s
admission
about the marriage and her parentage, she had been christened again as the Marquis’ granddaughter. With or without proper Church records, Gaston and Christine were to be considered married by all concerned—even the Church—and little Athena would forever be a Sable—for whatever that was now worth. The bad news was that the name Sable and his title were now all her father would ever have, and might possibly become all her grandfather could claimas well. Gaston had been judged unfit to inherit the family lands based upon his unwillingness to return to France and the continued evidence ofhis madness. I thought that evidence was likely Gaston’s relationship with me, but the Marquis made no mention of that directly. In conclusion, despite the lack of an heir and the possible loss of his holdings, the Marquis wished to assure his sonthat he loved him. He was very proud of him, and he felt Gaston had acted with the principles and forethought ofa gentleman.
My matelot was watching me with teary eyes and a weak smile when I finished. “We are forever steeped in irony,” he said softly.
“Oui, we should be accustomed to it now,” I said with a smile. “I wonder if the matter of your inheritance is the reason Father Pierre wishes to see us.”
“I need to write my father tonight,” Gaston said thoughtfullyas he sat.
“And tell him of Chris. However that has turned out.” There had beenno mentionofChristine inthe letter.
Gaston regarded me curiously and I told him of my conversationwithChristine and her wishfor death.
He was saddened. “Let us see to the priest and go to the hut as soonas possible, then,”he sighed.
I watched himdress and thought about allthe frayed and tattered ends we must mend on the fine tapestry we had been weaving these last months. Tangled webs, my arse: we had not been practicing to deceive—we had been practicing truth—and look what a mess we had beendelivered with.
“I am sorry about your lands,” I said as Gaston tossed me mysword belt.
He shrugged and began attaching his weapons to his belt —the one he had stripped for our aborted attempt at play. I nearlyflushed anew as I thought onthat.
He stopped and regarded me. “I must confess that I have hoped the matter would end this way.”
I smiled and nodded my understanding. “I hope we can find another pleasant place where we can live as we choose and youcanpractice medicine and our gaggle ofchildrencanplay—I suppose. I cannot believe theydid that. Damnthem.”
He chuckled. “The Gods receive what they wish. You are to have two children as I did: twins by different mothers; though Agnes will deliver her child at least a month before Yvette. She was withchild whenRachel’s died.”
I sighed: that explained much of her behavior that night. “I suppose there was no helping it on my part. It is on Their heads—the Gods, not the girls.”
My heart was relatively light at we left our room—even as we descended the fatefulstairs. Theodore and the good father sat at a table in the shade. The rest of our family was spread about doing chores—though everyone was wearing black and Agnes and Yvette were absent. Apollo and Jamaica were with Hannah. I supposed the girls were holed up in one of the rooms. I supposed I needed to speak withthem.
I met Father Pierre’s gaze as we approached, and my empty stomach roiled. There was such sorrow in his eyes upon seeingus.
“What is wrong?” I asked without sitting—or other pleasantries.
Theodore stood to leave, but Father Pierre touched his arm. “Ifit is acceptable to them, I feelyoushould stay.”
“Oui,”I said. Gastonnodded.
“Please sit,”the father said.
“You are looking at us as if we are condemned men,” I said. “I would rather not sit untilI know ifwe should run.”
“Not this minute, and not from me,” he said with sincerity.
“But we should run?” I queried as I pulled a chair from

the table.Gaston was looking about; as was I. Liam and Bones

 

were viewingour evident alarmwithconcern.

“Non, non,” Father Pierre said quickly. “I do not feel there willbe armed menarriving… today.”
“MyLord,”Theodore breathed. “What is this about?” “Doucette’s deathwas anaccident,”I said levelly. “Non, oui. I have no doubt,”Father Pierre said evenas I

saw doubt blossom in his eyes. “Even if it was not, that is the least ofyour concerns.”
I sat heavilyinthe chair I had chosen. “Speak.”
“I have… um. Where to begin?”he muttered.
“Withthe worst part,”I said doggedly.
He nodded reluctantlyand looked to Gaston. “I received word on the ship that arrived yesterday that you are not to be allowed to inherit. I amsorry.”
“I amrelieved,”Gastonsaid.
Father Pierre sighed. “You will not be. I was ordered to tell you to report to Petit-Goave, or France, in order for your madness to be assessed by individuals judged more...
reliable
thanmyself.”
“His madness?” I asked. “Assessed by who, the Church? Why?”
“To determine if it is the result of demonic possession,” Father Pierre said witha grimace.
“Father Mark?”I asked, as I was too stunned to wish to think farther thana likelyscapegoat for mygrowingwrath.
“Non,” Father Pierre said quickly. “He does not dislike Gaston. He hates you. Non, Gaston’s mother was mentioned in these papers. This is a bigger and older matter. I honestlybelieve it might be anattempt to discredit the Marquis de Tervent.”
“God help us,”Theodore said.

I could not evenlaughat the ironyofhis plea.

I could not evenlaughat the ironyofhis plea. “How long do we have?” I asked. “I will tell you now we were only awaiting word from the Marquis before leaving. We have received that word.”
Father Pierre nodded. “Good. The orders I received said a ship would come fromPetit-Goave to take Gaston to the Bishop who recently arrived there. The ship that brought my letter left for Petit-Goave this morning: they should reach it in three days at the most. I do not know if that ship contained orders for the Governor and the parish there, or whether they received their orders onone ofthe other ships fromFrance these last weeks. They could be on their way now, or next week. You are probablyquite fortunate theyhave not alreadyarrived.
“IfGastonsurrenders to them, he willbe questioned, and if he exhibits signs of madness, it is likely he will be exorcised, and depending on how the inquiring bishop feels about that outcome, he willeither be sent to anasylum, or… burned.”
“This is not Spain!”Theodore protested.
Father Pierre shrugged. “It is not
The
Inquisition, but an inquisition.”
I was looking at Gaston: he was in tears. He shook his head sadlyat me and stood to wander awayfromthe table.
Everyone in the atriumwas quiet and watching us now. I stood. “Pack! We have word from the Marquis, and now we have learned the Church seeks to detain Gaston. Let us not waste time discussing it now. The best place to speak willbe the deck of the
Magdalene
. Gaston and I will alert the Strikers and the ship.”

There was cursing, but everyone dove into motion. We

There was cursing, but everyone dove into motion. We had planned for this. Much of what we would take was actually alreadyloaded aboard the ship alongwithprovisions.

“As we planned,” Liam shouted in French. “Find the ladies. Samuel, Bones, Rucker, Agnes, take Mistress Theodore, the cart, the dogs, and the children to the ship. Theodore, Madame Doucette, and I will pack the final things. Hannah, see to the hospitalsupplies.”

I returned my attention to Father Pierre and bowed. “It has beena pleasure knowingyou.”
“I will pray for you,” he said solemnly and stood to embrace me inparting.
Then I went upstairs and gathered our things. I unstrung the hammock and packed it in a crate that would go on the cart Samuel would take to the ship with the mule. I went and collected Pomme, trying not to dwell on this being our last ride together. I trulyhoped he would do well. He was not so fat now; and ifsomeone did claimhim, I hoped theymight see muchvalue inhimand not be tempted to eat him.
I found Gaston in the surgery writing a lengthy note for the still-drugged Schoen. This was part of our plan. We would send any remaining patients who needed care to Petit-Goave. We would leave them with notes and enough silver to secure passage there and care fromthe Governor’s physician once they arrived.
“He willnot live withor without me,”Gastonsaid.
“I amsorry.”
He shrugged.

“About… politics, and France.”

 

“About… politics, and France.”

He sighed and smiled before giving the note to Hannah. “We will return as soon as possible. Finish packing as we discussed,”he told her.

“Be careful,”she said.
“Theyare not here yet,”I said witha reassuringsmile. She shook her head and gave a chiding sound. “You felt

it, too. That was a bad wind that blew yesterday. The woman and Doucette maynot be allofit.”
I nodded reluctantly. “We willbe careful.”
We mounted Pomme and rode out of town. “We will head to the grove first,” I said, “Unless you feel I should leave you at the road to the Strikers’ so that you can warn them quickly.”
“I do not feelwe are inthat muchofa hurry, and I would rather remainwithyou.”
“Pierre’s news upset youverymuch.”I noted.
“That has always been a fear of mine, to be questioned and exorcised for my madness. Do not let them take me, Will. Shoot me inthe head ifyouhave to.”
My heart thudded painfully for a few beats. I was surprised, but I understood. I vividlyrecalled a dreamI had once had in which he had been begging me to kill himfroman asylum

cell. “They will never have you,” I said somberly. “And

 

likewise, if it comes to that, I would rather not suffer some damn fooltrialand burn, either.”

 

He embraced me with fervent passion and I tried to hold myfear at bay.

 

myfear at bay.

“I will kill Father Mark before we go,” I said in order to make conversation. We had beensilent for a time.
“Good,” he sighed into my shoulder. “He will only cause others trouble withhis misguided piety.”
“So, thinking on your father’s words, and now this, do youfeelit is safe to send our people to himinFrance?”
Gaston sighed. “I believe he would try to take care of them, but perhaps we should not burden himwith themjust now. I vote that they should go elsewhere, to the Dutch, and send him word of their location so that he can instruct themon what to do while we go about our business.”
I agreed. “That willbe best, I amsure. And it willgive us a port fromwhichto sailto England.”
“Oui,” he sighed. “I wish the women and babies did not have to cross the oceanagain.”
“Theywillbe strongand wellfed,”I said.
“Oui, but it is still dangerous. I suppose Agnes and Yvette should go now, though; before theyget fat withchild.
“Whenwilltheydeliver?”
“Agnes might deliver as early as January,” he said thoughtfully. “Yvette willbe a monthor so later.”
“So bythis time next year I willbe a father twice over.”
He chuckled.
I snorted. I thought onour growingfamilyand sighed.
“What of Chris?” I asked. “What in the name of the Gods willwe do withher?”
“Last night, you decided it was her life to live, or not. Is not the same true today?”
not the same true today?”
“Oui,” I sighed. “If she has decided to live, I am more concerned about how she will leave with us, or if she should. If we are to help her, she must. But I do not wish to face Agnes’ wrathacross the entire ocean. She was veryangry.”
“There is nothing else for it. We will have to keep them onopposite ends ofthe ship.”
I thought of such a voyage and sighed. It might be best if she had reached some epiphany in the night and we could send her…
somewhere
on another vessel. I found myself thinking on carts and ships and the contents thereof.
“Theyare not allinthe cart, are they?”I asked.
“Non,”he said withsurety.
“Who is inthe cart?”
“Our children, and their mothers.”
“But we have beenlivingas one bigfamilyat the house.”
“I see,”he said.
“Do we view the cart as containing those we love, or those we are responsible for? We surelydo not love Chris.”
He sighed. “I feel that the women have tied themselves to us through the babies. They are in the cart—for better or worse. Everyone else is… Well, it willbe sad to lose theminour lives, but I willleave thembetween one beat of my heart and the next to save you, the children, or myself. They are in the cart— for now, but they may be jettisoned at any time if the situation warrants it.
“It is alchemy. It is the distillation of our souls,” he said. “Each time the Gods place us over heat we boil away impurities that are oflittle importance—like Henrietta and Muri.”
I chuckled. “Oui, but I find the implication of your analogyconcerningthe meaningofothers inour lives disturbing.”
“Non, theyare important,”he said.
“But if the Gods keep insisting on boiling them away, whyshould we continue to add them?”
“Ah,” he said. “Well, if there is not enough extraneous liquid inadditionto the solutionsought, the verythingyouwishto distill can boil away. And, the things that are truly important we combine with, and they become part of us and they do not boil away. We added one another, and then we added the children, and the Gods, and so on. So, no matter what boils away here, we will always add more things and see what stays the next time.”
“I find that profoundly beautiful, my love; yet, I am disturbed by your implication that there will be a next time: that we willalways be put over the fire.”
He laughed. “We are stubborn centaurs, Will: we do not know how to go downhill.”
“So we climb higher and higher into the mountains where the air is clear and the sun bright and the Gods are free to burn awayour impurities?”
He laughed. “Just so.”
“Hmmm, well, my love, there are days when I wish for a parasol.”
He laughed and I joined himinit untilwe heard the crack of musket fire. The retort was unmistakable. It was probably someone hunting, but it had sounded as if it came from our destination. Then there was another. I urged Pomme on a little faster and we reached the edge of our land when we heard another retort. No ball whizzed past our heads, even though we would now be in range if the firer was indeed on our property. We rode out onto the knoll with our pistols drawn