Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (63 page)

storm.”He sighed. “On one hand, I agree: we are not in a hurry;

but on the other hand, I wish to reach Île de la Vache as soon as possible. I keep thinking it will be safe there and I can rest; but I suppose that is an illusion. We know not what we will face

there.”I held him tighter. “I wish we could find a safe place to

 

rest here, onthis island, but I do not feelthat is possible.”

There was movement from the boat, and we turned to see Chris crawling out into the dimlight. He was naked save for the bandages around his breasts, and they had obviously been dislodged. He saw us and flushed crimson.

“We are all wet and naked,” I assured him kindly. “There is no shame.”
He shook his head and sighed before approaching with his wet clothes bundled before his chest so that they hung down and hid his crotch. His gaze flicked downthe lengthofour chaste embrace and quicklyawayagain.
“I ama wantontrollop,”he muttered.
I chuckled. “Non. You would have been a wanton trollop if you had spread your thighs and invited us
all
to dip our wicks. Last night we were all just men finding their pleasure in the companyofother men.”
“I did not do that evenfor Pete,”he snapped. Thenhe sighed and studied the sand and then the horizon with a troubled frown. “And what are we this morning?”
“Men trying to stay warm before the sun rises,” I said withamusement. “Gastonis stillfeverish.”
“Oh.”Chris regarded mymatelot withalarm.
“We would don our clothes, but they are wet and will merely make things worse. You might wish to dress and rouse the others so that we cansail.”
“I need to rebind my breasts,” he sighed. “I was hoping youcould assist me.”
“Ask your matelot.”
He met my gaze levelly and sighed with annoyance. “He willnot be ofanyuse inhidingthemawayagain.”
I chuckled. “Well, as it is not likelywe willencounter any we must hide you from for weeks yet, you might as well leave themout.”
He snorted and muttered, “You do not walk about with your cock bouncing with every step you take,” before retreating into the brush.
“My cock does not bounce quite so much as your bosom, I think,”I called after him.
Gaston was chuckling very quietly into my shoulder. “Days go by when I do not consider
him
to be anything other than what we wish to present him as,” he whispered, “and then, there will be a moment when I regard him and think, but wait, that is my…
cousin
.”
I looked betweenus and found himas flaccid as I.
He snorted disparagingly. “Recalling he is my cousin is not enoughto make me rise,”he teased.
“What about his naked breasts bobbing with every step, or Pete fondlingthem?”
He frowned with thought. “Now that…” He grinned and pressed a kiss to mylips.
“Me too,”I whispered.
We laughed.
We roused the others and sent Pete to assist his matelot; which, while amusing in concept, proved to slow our departure considerably when they did not return from the brush for some time. We used the delay to build a small fire and heat some of the remaining goat so that Gaston received warmfood. We also discussed our daily regimen in light of the storms, and Cudro heartilyagreed to comingashore everyafternoon.
Chris’ breasts were safely hidden when at last he and Pete emerged. The Golden One awarded us a fox’s grin when we complained ofthe delay.
“It should not happen again,” Chris explained as we pushed the boat into the surf. “We came upon a new way to wrap them so that they need not be unwrapped in order to…” He looked to Cudro and Ash who were regarding him with consternationand flushed furiously. “Never mind.”
We set sailto Pete’s gleefulcackling.
While waiting, we had also discussed our course. As we had food and water, and thought we could make good time with the morning winds, Cudro aimed us across the bay toward the other peninsula to the southeast. We prayed we were past the

Spanish, and hoped our destination would show us a less jagged

 

Spanish, and hoped our destination would show us a less jagged coastline to the south.

We laid our clothes out to dry, exercised, and talked of nothing of import—or carnal—and Chris calmed even though most of us were lounging about naked. Gaston sprawled in the bow and drank up the sun. As he baked, his cough abated and his fever cooled. Finallywarmenough, he wrapped himselfinour mostly-dry blanket and came to join the rest of us toward the stern.

I had noticed Chris watching my matelot during the morning; now, he possessed a serious mien and scooted closer whenGastonsat next to me.

“I have a question,”Chris told myman.
Gastonshrugged.
“How did you come by those scars?” Chris asked; only

to quickly add. “I do not mean to intrude, but seeing themagain today, I was reminded ofthings I heard at your father’s house. If you do not wish to discuss it, I understand. Pete says he will not tellme. I do not know how manypeople here know. I…”

“I will tell you,” Gaston said simply, surprising me and everyone else.
I could not even recall who knew what; though I doubted Pete truly knew everything, or that Cudro and Ash knew muchofanything.
Gaston told Chris about the night of his sister’s death, only omitting the act of incest—a thing we had somehow decided would never be mentioned to others, though I could not recallmakinganypact about the matter.

“What did you hear at my father’s?” Gaston asked when

“What did you hear at my father’s?” Gaston asked when he finished.
Chris was very serious, and huddled in on himself with his arms about his knees. “No details, but the servants all whispered about the madness.” She grimaced. “They saw… the girl’s red hair and… Well, I had to do much to entice my chambermaid to tell me the truth of what was being said. They assumed the girl would be mad because she had red hair and green eyes. But they—in the manner of the uneducated and overly-pious—do not understand madness as an ailment: they perceive it as a thing of evil. Even before she was born I kept finding crosses in my things, and little charms and other tokens. The superstitious fools believe your mother was possessed, and you… and your sister; and that your father is cursed because he married your mother.”
He looked to Gaston. “They do say you killed your sister, and that your father sent you away for it; but they mentioned nothing of the flogging or… They all seem to feel sorry for him. They adore him, but they feel he is cursed. They saythat is whyyour half-brothers died.”
Gaston had remained quite stoic throughout his recounting and Chris’ words. He sighed and shrugged. “It is no wonder the Churchhas made suchclaims, then.”
Chris shook his head. “It is odd. The local priest made no intimation of anything of that nature. He spoke of your poor mother’s madness, and even disparaged the servants’ superstitions. I think, based upon what I heard from my uncle, that the problems with the Church are all political. Not that it

matters now.” He met Gaston’s gaze and nodded tightly. “Thank

 

matters now.” He met Gaston’s gaze and nodded tightly. “Thank youfor tellingme.”

Gaston sighed and nodded. “My father is a good man. Please do not ever think poorly of him for what he did to me. He… is a creature of strong emotions, as I am. And he… puts love before allelse.”

Chris buried his face in his hands. “I did not understand. I just did not understand.”
I did not know ifhis words were explanationor apology; and ifeither, for what.
Awkward silence descended upon us. There was no weeping—fromanyone—just a vast sense of tragedy. I took my man’s hand and he squeezed it tightly. Pete rubbed his new matelot’s shoulders. Cudro and Ash appeared thoughtful and withdrawn.
We sailed on. There was a Spanish presence at the end of the eastern peninsula. They apparently maintained a lighthouse there. Thankfully, it was easy enough for us to see at a good distance, and we were able to go ashore for the afternoon storm and then round the point in the night: with the Spanish light to help us navigate.
South of the point, the land thankfully turned south and west. We took to sailing even closer to the shore than we had been, inorder to be able to put our craft onthe beachand hide it should we see signofa Spanishvessel. It rained everyafternoon, and we spent every afternoon and evening ashore. Thankfully, the moon was with us, and we were able to set sail every night once the sky cleared—and thus cover a little more distance than we would have beenable to ifwe had onlysailed inthe mornings we would have beenable to ifwe had onlysailed inthe mornings whenit was bright and clear; but the moonwould not last.
I did not feel that any of us were unduly worried about going slower, though. Gaston was on the mend again. Everyone was sated carnally and thus spirits were good. All seemed right with the world, and it was only the end of July. We thought the buccaneers would gather on Cow Island throughout the fall, and not sailuntilafter the stormseason; and iftheywere not there, so be it: we would find another way to England. Our only concern was victuals, but even that was being seen to by fishing as we sailed inshallow water.
Two days after roundingthe easternpoint, the damnland turned due west. We sailed along the rocky shore for an hour or so with the sun overhead and clouds chasing in fromthe east. As far as we could see ahead of us, a mountain rose to starboard and opensea spread to the south.
I asked, “So, was that the south-easternmost point ofthe island? Do we now need to worry about sailing at sea to avoid the Spanishheart ofthis annoyinglump ofland?”
Cudro, who had been very quiet after our turn west, snorted disparagingly. “Nay, it cannot be. The southeasternpoint is low and rolling, with heavy forests and plantations. And there is an island off the shore—a large one—the size of Tortuga— that we should have been able to see by now. We should be deciding whether to risk sailing between it and Hispaniola, or sailingaround it.”
“Well,” I said, “I do not know whether I should hate this place or love it.”
“Why is that?” Chris asked with a heavy sigh. “I surely
“Why is that?” Chris asked with a heavy sigh. “I surely hate it.”
“Do you?” I teased. “Think, if we had been able to quickly sail to Cow Island, would you have resolved things with Pete as youhave?”
Pete snorted. “Naw.”
“And… Well, Gaston and I do not know what we will face inEngland, so perhaps this time together is a blessing.”
My matelot stiffened and frowned, and I regretted my choice ofwords.
“I do not meanto imply that we shalldie,”I said quickly. “I only meant that perhaps this has been a pleasant respite betweenstorms inour lives.”
Gaston sighed. “Then the longer the Gods offer us respite here, the worse we should expect England to be?” he asked witha modicumofhumor.
I smiled grimly. “Well, I was merely trying to find some good inour odyssey.”
“Nay,” Chris said. “It is likely we have angered some

God.”“Aye, we should consult anaugury,”I said.

“It is a shame you are not blessed with prophetic dreams,”Gastonteased.
“Aye, some holymanI am,”I sighed.
“LearnTaReadFishEntrails,”Pete said witha grin.
That evening, the stormwas brief and more thunder than rain. We slept beneath the hull of our overturned craft anyway. I dreamed of the skirl of pipes; and when I woke, I was haunted by them:little snatches of melodic sound floating on the breeze. I crawled into the open air and stood straining to hear more. The sound echoed off the mountain, and I felt called to pursue it; but the forest was dark and forbidding, and I knew not ifI wished to come uponplayfulsatyrs entertainingmermaids insome cove.
“YaHearThat?” Pete asked from the shadows, and I nearlyjumped frommyskin.
“Aye,” I hissed. “Pipes?” I regarded him with a heady mixofhope and skepticism.
“Aye,”he said. “AndAFiddle.”
I had been mired in thoughts of a fantastical nature, and not imagined a fiddle, but I supposed some of the notes I had heard could have beenproduced byone.
“Youthink it real?”I asked.
He regarded me as if I were daft. “ItSoundsLikeShip’sMusic.”
We roused the others without further discussion. With the sound ofus breathing, grumbling, and huffing to turn our craft upright, none ofus could hear the lonesome notes, but thankfully, our companions did not argue. We eased our craft onto the moonlit waves and began to glide west with all eyes peering into the darkness.
The wind was coming in fitful gusts from the east, but there was the occasional riff of breeze from the land. We had been on the water for less than half an hour when I heard the notes again. I was not the only one: six heads turned toward the

sound.We continued to sailwest, since that was easiest, but we

 

could not be sure if we were sailing toward the music or away fromit, as it stillseemed to echo offthe mountain.

“Whoever it is, they’re on shore,” Cudro said. “And that’s anold Frenchpiece.”
“It could stillbe Spaniards,”Gastonsaid quietly.
“Aye, aye,”Cudro agreed. “But I’ve a hunchit’s not.”
Thankfully as we sailed west, the music became louder and we heard longer sections. There was definitely a fiddle and a pipe—and singing; though we could not make out the words and thus the language. And then we saw the glimmer of fire upon the shore. It was there for a moment, and then it was gone. Then there was only surf crashing on rocks as we neared an outcropping. We sailed around it, and were delighted to see the wink offire and hear the callofmusic once we were to the lee of it. We quickly struck our sail so that it did not give away our position by reflecting the moonlight. Then we rowed into the cove far enoughto not be battered bythe surf.
There were indeed men upon the beach; and they were playing and dancing in the firelight; and they were singing English songs. They were at the back of a nice cove. There was no vessel upon the water, but there was a dark hulk on the wide beachnear the fire.
“They’re careening,”Cudro said.
“On this side of Hispaniola?” Gaston asked with incredulity. “That is not verysafe.”
“There’s rocks all about. The Spanish couldn’t get a big craft in here,”Cudro said. “And they wouldn’t be sailing at night. Maybe theyneeded repairs. I don’t know.”
I could hear hope in his voice. I knew there would be concernand fear inmine.
“So, what do we do?”Chris asked.
We looked to one another inthe moonlight.
“I say we hail them and find out who they are,” Cudro said. “Iftheyaren’t friendly, we cansailout before theycaneven see us. They can’t see us in the dark, and their ship is beached. And eveniftheytryto chase us incanoes, we canfire onthem.”
“WeGotDryPowderAgin,” Pete muttered and began loadinghis musket.
Gastonwas loadingour pistols.
I sighed. “I feela great lack oftrust.”
“ThereDon’tSeemTaBeAlotOfThem,” Pete said with a guarded tone. Then I could hear him smile. “WeBeMoreDangerous.”
“We might as well discover who they are and why they are here,” Gaston said with a hopeful tone. “At the very least, theymight allow us to look at their charts.”
“Aye,”Cudro said firmly.
“Allright, then,”I said.
Cudro waited until the current tune ended and then he called out, “Ahoythere!”withhis magnificent boomingvoice.
There was a great deal of scrambling and surprised yelling on the beach as they dove away fromtheir fire and found their weapons.
“We are Brethren of the Coast,” Cudro boomed. “Who