Wherein Our Prayers Are Answered

 

The captains were approaching.

“Dickey, what is the gist of it?” I asked. “And speak quickly, because we are not long alone.” I smiled to soften the last.

He glanced over his shoulder at the other men and gave a short huffing sigh. When he spoke, it was a prolonged rush. “Tom feels I betrayed him. And truly, it was as if he had an agenda. Our quarrel was nonsensical, such that I did not feel anger so much as confusion. He even blamed Francis for seducing me into corruption. Then he said some nastiness about how he had always known I lusted for him, him being Tom that is. But it seemed to be all a show for his fellows who were gathered about. One of them translated the lot of it and they were quite amused. They goaded him on. I have seen similar things. But Tom... he did not look so very brave, or rather he looked as I have always known him to look when he was trying to be brave. But… I could say nothing under the circumstances to mitigate the matter. So, I expressed my outrage at his accusations, and he asked if we should settle the matter as gentlemen, and… I said aye.”

As he spoke, I glanced at Gaston. My matelot seemed composed, but I could tell he was still not himself.

I turned my attention back to Dickey, who was also eyeing Gaston with concern. “We are all a trifle unsettled.” I shrugged. “And, well, we knew someone has to kill Tom. I am sorry it is you, though.” I was especially sorry as I felt he lacked the conviction necessary. He did not truly view Tom as his enemy.

He chewed his lip. “I do not know if I can.”

“We will address that before all else in my instruction. Weapons?”

“Pistols,” he said glumly.

“I assume the place is the beach. When?” I asked.

“Dawn. On the morrow.”

I nodded. “We have the rest of the day to instruct you, then. I feel confident in what I can teach you.”

Then others were upon us and I could not finish all I wished to say.

Striker gave me a smile that said much of his sense of irony concerning events, and I returned it. Here we had made all our plans and Tom had gone off and challenged Dickey.

I looked over the assemblage: in addition to Striker there were Pete, of course; Pierrot; the Belle Mer’s captain, Savant; Julio and Davey; and three men I did not know but assumed were French. Savant, who I had not met before, was a smallish man, with square shoulders and head, and a somewhat squat and bulbous nose, yet he was not ugly: there was a pleasing plainness to his countenance. At the moment, he appeared anything but pleased.

“Nice shooting,” Pierrot said in English with a grin.

I snorted. “And you have not seen the bull carcass yet. Pete will be pleased to hear I managed a second shot.”

Pete chuckled. “BullsDrunkOrScared.”

I grinned. “The bull proved to be sufficient motivation. I do not remember powdering the pan.”

This brought amusement for all except Dickey, who was distraught, and Savant and the other Frenchmen, as apparently they did not speak English. Savant did not appear to be in a fine enough humor to find amusement even if he had understood my jest. He was glaring at Gaston, who was looking at none of them. This was not missed by Pierrot and Striker, who appeared concerned, as always. I sighed.

“What occurred?” Savant asked in French.

“They were his men,” Striker said quietly.

I spoke French. “We thought we might be pursued. Gaston heard someone in the woods behind us. We went into the field to avoid them. We came upon a bull. When we had taken the bull, we found ourselves surrounded by five men. One of them, a man my matelot recognized as Le Croix, said that they only wanted Gaston and that I could go. That was unacceptable, so we defended ourselves.”

Savant turned to glare back at where the corpses lay in the field. Pierrot was smiling at the sky and worrying his lip with his thumb to disguise it. I took the opportunity to translate for the Englishmen in the audience. They found amusement in my account much as Pierrot did.

“There were five of them, and good men,” Savant said accusingly.

“How do you mean that, sir?” I asked in French. “Do you mean they were good men, and therefore should have been allowed to take my matelot’s life over a misunderstanding of past events, or do you mean they were superior combatants we should not have been able to fell?”

His gaze, and the flicked glance he spared Gaston, said he meant both; but he said, “They were experienced fighters, and you were only two.”

I awarded him a grim smile. “They were not so experienced they did not make mistakes.”

“How so?” he asked.

“They forgot they were not hunting cattle or befuddled Spaniards. Muskets are weapons of range: they came too close with them. They did not have other weapons drawn. They allowed themselves to become distracted by one of their number translating my words…”

“Why?” Savant snapped. “You speak French very well.”

I awarded him a grim smile. “Oui. They allowed themselves to become distracted…”

This time he understood and gave a small hiss of annoyance.

“And,” I added, “they should have brought more men. They should have learned from Doucette. No one takes my matelot from me. Not five. Not an army.”

Some of the anger left him and he gave a prolonged sigh. He spoke with his gaze on the trees around us. “They were wrong to seek justice as they did.”

“Especially when there was no justice in what they sought,” I said firmly.

He looked at me sharply. “Your matelot is mad.”

“That does not make him responsible for what occurred with Doucette,” I said.

He snorted. “I’ll allow that, but my men won’t sail with him.”

“I cannot address that,” I sighed. “I can speak of events on Île de la Tortue, but I cannot change who or what my man is. Now if you will excuse me, I wish for my captain to know what has been said.”

Savant turned away and led the other Frenchmen back to the bodies. Pierrot gave me a reassuring smile before following them. In their wake, Liam and Otter slipped over to join us.

I relayed all to our cabal. For the sake of the French, who would still have been in hearing of hearty laughter, our friends tried to suppress their amusement at my explanation of our attackers’ failure.

Throughout this, Gaston had been sitting with his knees hugged to his chest. When I finished, he touched Dickey’s arm and said earnestly, “Will shot a man behind him, a man with a musket aimed at me, before the man could fire. He will teach you, and you will win.”

“Well,” I added quickly, “it was aided greatly in that Gaston moved when I told him to.”

“I believe you,” Dickey told Gaston. “I merely hope that I am up to the task of benefiting from Will’s instruction.”

“Well,” I said with a grin, “if I harbor any doubt as to your ability, we will enact a time-honored solution. One of us will challenge Tom to a duel set for this evening at sunset.”

This brought great amusement from all but Gaston and Dickey.

Pete raised his hand. “ISaw’ImFlirtin’ WithStriker.”

I laughed quietly. “We might have to do a bit better than that, but you understand the method.”

At further mention of matelots, I remembered that Dickey had one. “Where is the Bard? Does he know of this?” I asked.

Dickey gave a guilty shake of his head. “Francis is on the Queen still, as always. I hope word has not spread to him yet. I wished... I was going to go straight out and tell him, and then the French returned with word of where you were and I thought it prudent to secure your aid first.”

“You need not explain it to me,” I said kindly and clapped his shoulder. “I feel that was indeed the prudent course of action, as I do not know that we intended to return to the ships. I am sure the Bard will find it wise once you explain it to him.”

“You should stay with Will and Gaston and practice,” Striker said. “Would you have me tell him of it, so that he hears of it, and your reasons for not being the one to tell him, from a friend instead of through gossip?”

“Would you please?” Dickey said gratefully.

“Aye. And you two,” Striker addressed me, “should come in with him tonight.”

“Aye, I agree,” I said with a smile, “we need be there on the morrow to watch the duel. Then we can slip away again, not that we were so very successful this time.”

“That is what concerns me.” Striker shook his head. “Spend tonight on the ship. Then slip away after the duel if you must, but Will, only if you must. I feel you will be safer amongst us.”

I nodded sadly. “It is that bad?”

He shrugged. “This,” he indicated the bodies in the field, “won’t make it better. I don’t know if he speaks the truth for his men. We’ll need time to discover that.”

“I know,” I sighed. “We will see where we are once we sail to join the others. If necessary, we might welcome being left in Port Royal.”

“I would rather lose Savant and his men than the two of you, but that’s a bit of foolishness,” Striker said sadly.

“Thank you,” I said, “at the least, it is a sentiment that will not be shared by Morgan.”

“The Devil with Morgan,” he sighed. He looked to Gaston and bit his lip. “How is he?”

Gaston had been scratching about in the dirt with a stick. He surprised me by meeting Striker’s gaze and saying quietly, “This did not make things better.”

Striker sucked air and gave a small grimace of embarrassment. “I did not mean…”

My matelot waved the words away and spoke irritably. “I cannot know if I am in my right mind from one minute to the next; why should I expect you to?” Then his tone softened, and his gaze returned to the dirt. “I am sorry. You are a good friend. I am grateful for your concern. I do not know how I will be on the morrow. Much will depend on what occurs. If for some reason Dickey is wounded, I shall be very busy, and though it may seem odd to some, very sane.”

This evinced a quiet gasp from Dickey, and he whispered, “Thank you.”

Gaston sighed and looked at Dickey. “I doubt that will occur. Thus much will depend on… how much I feel of their hate and fear.”

All were quiet and thoughtful.

“We can stay on the ship,” I offered.

“Nay,” Liam said. “We’ll stay with ya iffn’ ya need to come out here.”

Behind him, Otter nodded.

“As will we,” Julio added. “You shall not be alone.”

Gaston took a ragged breath and muttered, “thank you,” before standing and walking away.

I looked at the ring of thoughtful faces. “Aye, thank you all. I do not know what we have done to deserve all of you, but I am grateful, and I hope we might repay you all someday.”

Pete snorted disparagingly. “FriendsAin’tOnAccount.”

I grinned. “I believe it would only be on account if repayment were expected. I would not sully any of you by saying that you would expect such a thing in exchange for your kindness. I am merely hoping I have the opportunity to enhance the esteem of my soul by offering what aid I can to my fellows.”

The Golden One frowned and then awarded me a crooked smile and looked away with mischief. “IffnItBeFur YurOwnGood ThenSoBeIt.”

Striker snorted. “Knowing Pete’s and my luck, when we need you, you’ll have all the chance you could ask to enhance your soul.”

He looked the others over. “Liam? Otter?”

“We ain’t leavin’ ’im,” Liam assured him, and then as if in opposition to his words, he and Otter returned to tending the meat at the fire.

Striker nodded and walked away to join the captains and their men, who were digging holes to bury the dead where they lay. “Will, make sure Dickey will win,” he said over his shoulder.

“Aye, aye, captain,” I called after him.

Pete cackled and followed his matelot, as did Julio after giving me a smile.

Davey lingered, though. He met my questioning gaze and surprised me greatly by saying, “I already owe ya more than I can repay. We’ll stand by ya.”

“Thank you,” I managed to say.

He nodded curtly and went to join his matelot.

Still surprised, I looked to Dickey and found him frowning at Davey’s retreating back.

“I did not expect that,” Dickey said.

“Nor I.” I chuckled, then sobered as I looked to Gaston. He was leaning on a tree nearby, with his back to us and his arms crossed. “Before we begin your lessons…”

Dickey nodded and smiled and went to join Liam and Otter.

I found another tree to lean on a short distance away, so that I could regard Gaston in profile.

“Did you hear Davey?” I asked. “I might not have to shoot him. I have harbored a suspicion for some time that I might have to deal with him as we are dealing with Tom at some future date.”

Gaston turned to gaze upon me with amused regard.

I grinned. “As I have oft said, I am by no means a man destined for sainthood. I perform good deeds, such as they are, to balance the atrocities I have committed.”

“Balance,” Gaston said thoughtfully. “That is it. I feel as if your Gods seek balance.”

“My Gods?”

He smiled. “I have found I have more belief in your Gods than the idea of the one true God.”

“I do not know how much actual faith I have in Them,” I said thoughtfully.

He snorted. “You have great faith in Them.”

“I suppose I do, though I know not precisely what I feel They are.”

“Is it necessary?” he asked. “Is it not enough to feel Their effect?”

“Many would say the same for the one true God.”

He shrugged. “I feel there is order to all that is. I do not care what provides it at the moment. I am only concerned with the end effect upon our lives.”

“And you feel there is balance? Justice, perhaps?”

He grinned at me. “Perhaps.” Then he sobered and spoke with increasing agitation. “I feel that I have never known love before as I have this last year, and I feel that is balanced by the amount of hate I now find directed at my person. And this has been true of every other time I have felt love, there has always been someone who hates me, as if the balance must be maintained, as if there is some giant scale where such things are weighed, and the more love I receive, the more hate I must receive in equal measure.”

I sighed. “I have felt the same on occasion; however, what of the times we have experienced hatred with no love in sight?”

He frowned and shrugged. “I know not. You are correct. Perhaps hatred need not be balanced if it stands alone, or perhaps… it is balanced by indifference when it occurs without love.”

He shrugged that thought away, and turned to me with an earnest mien. “All I know now is that I feel I must surely be hated by all the men on Île de la Tortue in order to balance the scales against the love I receive from you and our friends.”

I smiled. “Well, my love, then gird yourself well, because you will surely gain the enmity of all who live, as I see no end in sight of my adoration of you.”

He looked away and leaned his head against the tree. A smile played about his lips until it finally claimed his mouth. “Damn you.”

I chuckled. “And the same to you, as you place me in the same situation.” I went to kiss him, and he accepted it hungrily, his arms stealing about me to hold me fast.

When at last I felt I must leave his mouth before we delayed the duties of the day, I asked, “Do you feel you can assist with Dickey?”

His response was not immediate. “Oui,” he said after careful thought. Then he sighed. “At least we are spared worrying about my sanity to duel with the man. Though I would…”

I put a finger to his lips. “Dickey will do well.”

“See there, you have faith.”

“Non.” I shrugged. “Perhaps. Oui. I have faith in my ability to teach him. I have faith in my experience and skills. I have faith in my judgment of his character and talents. As for the Gods… They have smiled upon Dickey by placing him in the path of myself, a person who can impart the skills necessary to give him success. Now, of course, they might choose to frown upon him at dawn, and his pistol will misfire or some other misfortune may befall him; which, I suppose, is why I sometimes tell the Gods what I wish to hear and see of events. If you do not tell Them, how are they to know?”

“You do not fully trust Their omniscience?” he asked with both curiosity and amusement.

I frowned and thought of how I did perceive the matter. “Oui and non. I trust that They are like all thinking men, in that They possess Their own motivations. I feel I must make Them aware of mine. And then, even if events should not occur as I would wish, at least I will have pleaded my case; whereas, if I say nothing at all, then I only have myself to blame for not speaking up. If I do not have the conviction to wish for a thing, then why should the Gods grant it?”

He smiled. “But you did not ask for Dickey to do well: you stated it with conviction.”

“Ah.” I grinned sheepishly. “Perhaps that is hubris on my part and I would do better to ask.” I looked to the heavens. “I wish for Dickey to win the duel with Tom. Please.”

Gaston chuckled. “You pray poorly.”

“My methods have succeeded in swaying them in some fashion so far,” I chided. “I have you.”

“You delude yourself and see that which you wish. You have the love and trouble of a madman. Perhaps if you had begged with reverence I would be sane,” he teased

“Perhaps,” I said with amusement. “That is more in keeping with your concept of balance than with any deficiency of prayer on my part. You are so wonderful that you had to be flawed in some fashion or else this would be Heaven and not mortal life.”

I kissed his nose and pulled away from him with a grin.

He was deep in thought. He finally nodded soberly and said, “Ah, then that is why you are a fool,” as if it were some profundity.

I laughed. “If that is my only flaw in your eyes, we can surely add either blindness or a lack of judgment to the list of yours.”

He gave no answer, and merely smiled at me such that my heart ached. I knew if I returned to his embrace, we would do poorly by dear Dickey; and so I led him back to the others, and we supped on our hard-earned roast beef, and I began to explain the finer points of dueling.

“The primary component in winning a duel of this type is speed,” I told Dickey. “All other matters are secondary or related to speed. You must strive to fire first. You must strive to increase the likelihood of your opponent firing last. Duels are on occasion lost to misfires and other misfortune, but they are primarily lost due to hesitation.”

“That is what I fear,” Dickey said. “I am afraid I will see Tom there and I will not be able to fire.”

“That too is my fear. As in all things, the mind is the first place that must be prepared for an endeavor. If you are to do this, you must not fight Tom tomorrow.”

Everyone frowned at me.

I smiled. “You will be fighting a man who will kill you. When the order is given to turn, it does not matter who your opponent is. It could be anyone. The only matter of import at that moment is that there is a man with a pistol who will kill you if you do not kill him first. If you do not fire first, his shot will rip into your heart and end all of your dreams and leave the Bard alone and cold and the rest of us missing you terribly. You will discover whether you are destined for Heaven or Hell far before you will feel ready to do so. Or, if you do not die, you will most likely be maimed. And you know damn well how much a wound hurts. I daresay you do not wish to experience another. So, you must be of the mind that you will not even be facing a man tomorrow, but a bull, or boar, or some beast that is a force of nature and devoid of all reason and has but one intent: your demise. Thus, Tom must be dead to you, or at least a memory, perhaps a pleasant one, perhaps not. That is between you, and your heart and soul, and God. Tom must have died when the match was made.”

Dickey awarded this sober contemplation. He picked at the hunk of beef in his hand and studied anything but me. Beyond him, Otter, Liam, and Gaston nodded their agreement at my words but remained silent.

“Have you ever had to duel with a friend?” Dickey asked.

“Nay,” I said with conviction. “I have had to duel with former friends and acquaintances, and once with a former lover. But once the match was made, they were not my friends, if indeed they ever were. Because truly, why would events transpire such that you must duel for your honor with a friend? That is the antithesis of friendship, is it not?”

“Ah,” he said. “It is just that I have known Tom so very long, it is more that we are brothers than friends. I have sometimes felt that we were not in one another’s lives by choice, so much as by fate. If I weigh the reasons I have for hating him against the reasons I have for loving him, the hate is far stronger.”

I was amused someone else spoke of it in terms of scales and balance. I looked to Gaston and he smiled sadly.

“Yet, I love him,” Dickey continued, “and I still have hope that things could be mended.”

I sighed. “I understand how you feel. I truly do. There was one in my past who I loved beyond reason and he betrayed me in the foulest way, and I could not kill him because of the hope that he would change. But he did not. And I know someday I will face him and it will either be very hard, because I will be battling all of those memories, or it will be easy, in that I am so familiar with his being a ghost in my mind that I will not see him as the man he is now. He will be as I am telling you Tom must be, simply an opponent, and all the battles I need fight with him will have been won in my heart prior to our facing one another. If it is hard, in that I do not have my heart in order before we meet, then it is likely he will kill me and it will be my own damn fault.”

Dickey flinched at this last.

I patted his shoulder. “Dickey, I can give you the skills to stand against any man, but I cannot solve this for you, and it must be solved. He is either dead to you, or you must withdraw from the duel, or die.” I snorted with amusement and shrugged. “Or Pete must accuse him of flirting with Striker. Or… I will challenge him on the grounds of cowardice and betrayal for what he did on Tortuga, as I have intended to do since that day. Or Gaston will challenge him. Truly, until you decide that you can face Tom with a clear conscience, it is not yet a matter of life and death, or even dishonor, in this instance. So, while I am making these dire pronouncements, you are actually in the enviable position of being able to escape this duel if you so choose. Or if I so choose, because as I said before, if I harbor any doubt as to your conviction in the matter, I will not see you face him.”

I looked to Gaston and grinned. “And that is another thing I am telling the Gods.”

He chuckled.

Dickey frowned at us.

I shrugged. “I was praying for you earlier in my own inimitable fashion. Gaston chided me on my technique. But truly my heart was behind the matter. I do not wish any harm to come to you, and I know this is not an easy thing and you did not choose it.”

“I have been viewing it wrongly,” Dickey said with a thoughtful frown. “Tom has never been my friend, not such as I find myself blessed with now. I have merely long held to the fantasy that he was my friend because I knew no better. The irony is that… When Tom got the young lady pregnant, he was alone in the matter and solely accused and blamed. He implicated Harry as his accomplice and then suggested that I somehow prompted the entire matter, and thus we were banished with him. He told us he did not wish to go alone; and I am sure that was true, and that he had tangled us in the matter because this was our chance to leave there and seek adventure together. Harry and I believed that. And now Harry is dead. And… I am happier than I have ever been; and Tom’s betrayal on that day in England has brought me to a place where I have true friends, and am able to understand… that I was in truth betrayed by one I called friend.”

I chuckled. “Irony is truly the staff of life… or perhaps the chaff.” I sobered. “I am pleased that you are our friend and hold us in such esteem.”

“Tom is dead to me,” Dickey said sadly. “I should mourn, but I do not believe we have the time today.”

I saw the resolve I hoped for in his eyes. “Nay, not if you are to duel with your opponent at dawn,” I said gently.

As I had expected, Dickey proved to be an apt pupil; and the next few hours were spent drilling him on how to turn and obtain the best stance with the least amount of wasted time or movement: much as the others had once instructed me on reloading my musket. Then I enlisted Gaston, Liam, and Otter to aid Dickey in practicing walking, turning, and locating his opponent. Only when I was satisfied with his progress to that point did we advance to his actually firing the pistol. And then I used a kerchief as a target and moved it from tree to tree so that it was always in a different location when he turned. He became quite proficient at not being where his opponent might expect and hitting his target wherever it might be in the shortest time possible.

It was late afternoon when I called a stop to it. I was sure he could defeat anyone inexperienced with dueling, and even have a very good chance with a veteran such as myself. We ate a little more beef and walked back through the hazy evening to the ships.

When we reached the camp, I became acutely aware of the eyes upon us. I wanted to pay them little heed, but I knew it would behoove me to gauge them, and so I met them as we passed. Some were merely curious, but many others were hostile. I could not know if this was because our tale had not had time to disseminate fully, or because of the morning’s events. I hoped news of the reaction to that could soon be brought to me, so that I might concoct some remedy for it if necessary.

Gaston was, of course, as aware as I of all who stared. He was withdrawn on the boat ride out to the Queen, and threw himself into rowing. As my aching body precluded my rowing in anything short of an emergency, I sat behind him and rubbed his back reassuringly. I wondered what the morrow would bring. I thought the night would not be as I would have liked, which is to say it would not be a repeat of the prior night’s antics: we would have little privacy, and I was sure that would be a deciding factor in Gaston’s expressions of ardor.

The Bard was not apoplectic as I had feared. I was sure this was due to Striker telling him the news hours before. Whatever storm might have raged had passed, and now our Master of Sail seemed content to embrace Dickey and badger me regarding his matelot’s ability to duel.

“He will do well,” I assured him. “He possesses talent in matters of combat, and I am now assured he possesses the necessary skills as well. Of course, more days to drill would be better; but as that is not available, I will at least wish to drill him a little here on the ship before the sun rises. Tonight, he needs to sleep, and that will most likely be difficult for him, as you may well imagine. So distract and exhaust him.”

Dickey flushed a little and sighed. “I am sure we will do our best.”

“I will do my best,” the Bard said. “There is a thing we have not done as of yet.” He smiled at me. “So I would have us alone in the cabin.”

I bowed and grinned. I had wondered how they had progressed on matters since the Bard told me his concerns a fortnight ago; now I knew either the Bard was making a great sacrifice in the name of love, or Dickey had taken to being trained on other matters as well as he took to dueling drills. I hoped it was the latter and not the former. Though whichever way it was, it would serve our purposes this night.

Dickey was frowning at his matelot; and then understanding apparently dawned, and he flushed a brilliant crimson. His mouth opened and closed several times, and he followed an amused Bard into the cabin like a puppy on the scent of a bone. I was sure he would not have known who Tom was had I mentioned the name at that moment.

The ship was, thankfully, nearly empty, and Gaston and I were able to retreat to the relative privacy of the aft of the quarterdeck with a half bottle of Madeira. The sea was peaceful, and there was a pleasant breeze. I shed my weapons and lay on the deck, and at last the tension drained from my body. Gaston sat and pulled my head into the v of his crossed legs. I peered up at him curiously. He appeared calm and in control, his shoulders heavy with reason. We watched the sun finish setting in companionable silence.

“How are we now?” I asked in the grey twilight that followed.

He smiled. “You ride well. I have not thrown you yet.”

“I am a tick, remember?”

“Non, I was mistaken. Ticks are ugly. You are not.” He caressed my cheek and scratched the stubble of my jaw.

I hooked my arms around his knees to run my hands up his thighs on either side of my head. He caught my wrists.

“Non,” he whispered. “Sleep. I will watch over us.”

I sighed. “You know, you need but ask…?”

He placed a gentle fingertip on my lips. “What would you tell the Gods you wish of this night?”

“A repeat of last night or…”

He shook his head regretfully. “I would tell them not yet.”

“May I ask why?”

He sighed. “I am tired, and I do not feel safe here. It is not as I want it to be.”

I stifled my disappointment, as it truly was foolishness. I too was exhausted: last night’s exertions, this morning’s battle, and then hours of showing Dickey how to move had left me almost in as much pain as I had experienced after the beating over a week before. I nodded. “I love you.”

“Sleep.”

I kissed his finger and gingerly rolled onto my side, so that my head was still in his lap. He pushed my kerchief off, and I fell asleep to his caressing my scalp and shoulders.

I woke from a very pleasant dream to the same sensation, but now it was not soothing, but rather playful and possessed of purpose. He was lying behind me, and my head was upon his arm and my knee cocked beneath me. His free hand roved along the contours of my body. I had dreamed we were coupling.

“Will,” he was whispering. “Wake now. There is no cause for alarm. I wish to speak with you.”

I thought it likely he had been repeating the same message and caressing my body for a time as I rose from the depths of slumber. I discovered my manhood had risen before me, and not with piss. That knowledge roused me literally more than his words, but I still felt as if I dreamt.

“I am awake,” I murmured. “Somewhat.”

“Good. Someone has lit a lamp, and the Moon has risen. I would see more of you.” His tone was seductive and he tugged at my tunic.

With a chuckle, I moved only so much as I needed to shed my clothing, first tunic and then breeches. Then I lay partially beneath him, both torpid and turgid, and reveled in the feel of him and his touch. He was likewise naked. His kisses were gentle upon my shoulder and neck, and his jaw rough. The combination was somewhat like being licked by a cat, and I stretched languorously.

“This is much as I dreamt,” I sighed. “Am I still dreaming?”

“Perhaps. I have been thinking,” he murmured in my ear. “The first time I take you I will not last long. I feel the pleasure of it will be so intense I will spend myself immediately. So I thought that perhaps it is a thing we should do as a necessity, so that we cross that threshold, so that I can pleasure you at length the second time and it will be beautiful. There is much that we both must become inured to, is there not, in order for us to truly enjoy it?”

His words tumbled through my sleep-mired thoughts and slowly took on meaning. I reached behind me to touch the one part of his body he was not pressing against me. He was resplendently hard beneath my fingers, and well-greased.

I want you,” he whispered, and pulled me closer so that his manhood nestled between my buttocks. His hand stole to my member and he rocked against me.

I did not feel I had ever experienced such pleasure, of the body as well as the soul. It was as I had always fantasized it should be, and my heart swelled so that it leaked from my eyes.

“I am yours,” I gasped. “I could deny you nothing. I have dreamed of this… so many times. I want you.” I grasped his wrist. “But do not concern yourself with that. I would feel your hand elsewhere. I think that I will not find my pleasure this first time, due to that intensity of sensation you speak of, and I will not have you troubled over it.”

“Oui.”

His greased fingers left my member and crossed the precipice of my hip to dip in my opening. I let the tension drain from my body. There was only the gentle rock of the ship, the dim flicker of lamplight, the warmth and weight of his body, and his touch as I opened for him. And then there was a greater pressure, and he slid within, and I found myself pierced to my very core with warmth and light and a discomfort that minded me of the swelling of my heart with love. Our mutual groans of pleasure and relief became a single harmonious note, small but resonant in the night. Then we were still and silent.

I felt we were two separate entities, connected only where he penetrated me. I knew he was far from me as he grappled his demons. I, in turn, found myself in the place where I had often battled the ghost of Shane. This time his shade did not mock me, though: it cowered in shame and regret. I felt no need to even kill him as I had once thought I would on this day. Instead, he merely faded away and I laughed and cried with the joy of it all.

Gaston moved to hold me tighter, and in doing so shifted within me. I returned to him and he came to me. With a hoarse cry he spent himself with little thrusts.

Then we were still again as he slowly shrank until at last he could not remain. I felt as if I had run leagues. I could not see for the tears in my eyes, and I heard his ragged breathing. I rolled beneath him and we held one another. I listened to the lap of the waves and the calls of night birds. The stars glistened eternally. All of my emotions ebbed until I was left with only peace, and I was not sure if it was an emotion, so much as a state of grace.

I remembered another night when I had held him and stared at the stars, that first night when he had told me he was impotent. I had sworn we would heal him, and we had. It was a great portent of things to come.

I woke to his tickling me.

“Wake up,” he whispered with amusement. “It is near dawn.”

I cursed lightly and pushed to my knees. I could barely see him in the dim grey light. The world looked as it had when I went to sleep. I was stiff… and a little sore.

I grinned and murmured. “I had the most delightful dream.”

“Hmmm,” he nodded sagely. “Did it involve bulls chasing you? Or perhaps dueling?”

“Non, I said delightful.”

“Tell me of it,” he whispered.

Even in the dim light, I could see his eyes sparkled with mischief and amusement.

I kissed his nose. “It is a dream I have cherished since I first discovered my member. In it, I wake from slumber to find the man I love is in great need of me, and he gently rouses me in both body and soul, and then fills me with his love until I explode in happiness.”

He grinned. “That does sound pleasant. I am sorry I woke you.”

I tickled him, and we rolled about giggling and wrestling like boys until we at last collapsed in a tangle of limbs and fine spirits.

“I would dream it again,” I sighed.

“Perhaps when you sleep tonight,” he teased.

“Non, I would have it in the light of day.”

He sighed contentedly. “Perhaps after Dickey wins his duel.”

“Oh damn,” I groaned. “I suppose that should be counted as holding more import.”

“I did not say that,” Gaston said with a grin. “I can think of few things that would hold more import, but the duel is a thing that must be attended to.”

“Oui.” I kissed his nose.

He snaked an arm around my neck to pull me close and claim my mouth until warmth coiled in my groin. Then he pushed me away. “Go wake them.”

“Damn you,” I muttered with amusement as I stood and relieved myself over the rail. “And I think it likely we did with our rolling about.”

Dickey opened the cabin door immediately after I knocked, so either we had woken them, or they had been awake prior to our play. Judging by how awake they were, I thought the latter likely. I studied Dickey’s eyes for signs of fatigue or other impairment and found them clear and anxious. It was with relief I noted he did not appear as anxious as the Bard.

“You will be fine,” I told Dickey solemnly.

“I will do everything we practiced, and… I am clear of heart,” he said with equal gravity.

The Bard did not appear confident. His gaze stayed on me as Dickey gathered his weapons. “I don’t know if I can watch,” he said quietly. “I’ve never had to watch before. I’ve never dueled. My old matelot never dueled.”

When Dickey turned to regard him, I saw doubt in the young man’s eyes.

“You must watch,” I told the Bard, “because surely you will not wish to wait here until someone tells you the results of the shots you will hear; but, you must stand so that Dickey cannot see you.”

The Bard nodded, and Dickey appeared relieved.

“Will,” Dickey said, “will you do me the honor of being my second? Francis and I discussed it and he thought it best if…”

I bowed. “I am at your service.”

Both men appeared even more relieved, and so was I.

We found Gaston hanging over the side of the ship with his legs over the rail; he was slowly curling his body up until his elbows met his knees. We left him at it. I proceeded to drill Dickey while the Bard lit the cook fire and prepared some hot chocolate and warm beef for us. To my relief, Dickey moved exactly as he had when practicing the day before. Reassured by this, we ate and shaved and in all ways prepared ourselves; Gaston even applied his mask about all our eyes. Dickey appeared quite the savage with the black paint on, and I thought that an improvement. We donned weapons, and the Bard assigned someone to watch the ship. The eastern horizon was glowing gold when the four of us climbed into a canoe and headed for shore.

Liam and Otter were waiting for us as we landed on a beach dotted by lumps. As usual, when there are a large number of buccaneers and sufficient rum, men were strewn upon the sand as if tossed there. Most were sleeping still, and thus the beach reverberated with snoring that drowned out the insects and early birds.

“Reminds me of seals,” the Bard snorted as we pushed the canoe ashore.

“I have never seen seals,” I said.

“Now you don’t have to,” he said.

“Nay,” Liam scoffed. “Seals be fat.”

The Bard awarded him a level stare and drawled, “Can you think of any other difference?”

Liam looked about and chuckled. “Nay. This lot all barks when they be awake, too.”

He led us to the rest of our cabal. Julio was checking his weapons, Davey looked angry to be awake, Striker appeared tired but thankfully sober, and Pete was a boneless sleeping lump beside him. I spied Cudro a little way up the beach, talking to two men. Another group of men stood a short distance beyond. I could not discern them; but I thought it likely one was Tom.

“Cudro is parleying with the other quartermasters,” Striker said slowly. “Tom sailed on the Belle Mer.”

“And yet another reason for Savant to dislike us,” I sighed.

“We made it damn clear this has nothing to do with you two,” Striker said. “But aye, he doesn’t like you.”

I shrugged. “Well, at least I can be thankful we make better friends than enemies.”

He regarded me quizzically. “I think you make one Hell of an enemy.”

I grinned. “I meant better for us, not others.”

He chuckled and then eyed Dickey seriously. “Is he ready?”

“Aye. I have great faith in him.”

This appeared to relieve Striker.

A man separated from the far cluster and started toward the quartermasters. It was not Tom; I supposed it was his second. I looked to Gaston and found him still calm and relaxed. I gave him a light kiss on the cheek and went to join the parley.

“Ah, here is Will,” Cudro said happily in French as I approached him and the other quartermasters. “Are you his second?”

“Oui. I have been so honored,” I replied.

“This is Rizzo, quartermaster of the Josephine. He will preside, as neither man sailed with them,” Cudro said.

I shook hands with Rizzo, a lanky Frenchman who seemed to share the Bard’s sardonic mien and Pierrot’s good nature. His sharp-boned and weathered face was well-creased with lines from laughter about his eyes and mouth. He looked me over with interest and no disdain.

“And this is Chat Noir, the Belle Mer’s quartermaster,” Cudro said.

Chat Noir was lithe and swarthy with hooded black eyes, such that I thought his name well-chosen, at least in likeness. His demeanor toward me was in opposition to Rizzo’s. He did not take my proffered hand, preferring instead to make a great show of nodding greeting to the man arriving from Tom’s party. In that, I thought he was aptly named as well.

The arriving man was a thing of beauty to rival even Pete. His eyes were azure, and he wore a huge mane of mahogany ringlets, a dusting of reddish stubble on a well-sculpted jaw, an ornate sword belt with a fine rapier, a pair of breeches slung low on his narrow hips, and nothing else. He appeared to be a well-sculpted piece dipped in copper, with not a scar upon him. I found my gaze traveling down his muscular chest, rippled belly, and the little line of hair escaping up to his navel from his breeches. Pete had the same feature, and I always thought of it as beckoning fingers enticing one to peek beneath his waistband.

“I am called Dieppe,” the gorgeous young man announced.

I grinned. I could not resist. “I have seen that fine port, and you do not resemble it in the least.”

Rizzo and Cudro snorted with amusement.

Dieppe’s mouth tiled with an arrogant smile. “And you must be Lord Marsdale.”

All three of the men about us winced and hissed a little at that.

“Not here, I am not,” I said coldly. “You may call me Will, as that is my name among the Brethren.”

“That is not a thing that is done,” Chat Noir told Dieppe quietly.

Dieppe seemed annoyed at the reprimand.

“You are new the West Indies?” I asked, though there was little question in it.

“Oui, what of it?” Dieppe asked. “I am well-traveled, I would say as much as you from what my friend has told me.”

“Ah, so you have been about in the world since you were…what, eight or perhaps nine years of age?” I teased.

This elicited a chuckle from Rizzo and Cudro, and even Chat Noir smirked.

I almost said that I was pleased I had not come to the New World when I was as young, arrogant and unwise as he; but then I realized I had never truly been as he was now. Shane had robbed me of that.

Instead I said, “Do not believe everything Tom tells you; or do, if you are so inclined, but remember that others will not always hold his version of any event to be truth. And though others have surely told you this, you will feel much less of the heat if you shave your head; though it saddens me, as your hair is truly a gorgeous thing to behold.”

“You are truly such the sodomite,” Dieppe scoffed. “And yet I hear that the man you have chosen is so very flawed.”

I was actually more amused than angry. Chat Noir was cursing quietly, Rizzo’s mouth was agape, and Cudro was a mountain of anger at my side, but I chuckled.

“Dieppe, my boy, do you wish to die?” I asked with a grin. “Or is your mental ability truly of such deficiency? If you wish to duel with me, say so; do not waste words attempting to disparage my judgment or my matelot’s vanity. Do as the three men I killed yesterday morning did, and threaten my man’s life.”

This gave him pause, and set Rizzo and Cudro to snickering again.

“Come now,” I goaded further. “We can easily have two duels this morn. The Brethren will already be assembled. We can bury the both of you in the same shallow grave. And I would be on with it quickly. I would like to break the fast, as I do not know what the day will bring and who might attempt to kill us, much of which is due to your … friend, I might add.”

“You are a liar, and he is not my matelot.” He spat the word.

“That is a shame, as you have so very much in common,” I sighed. “You are both arrogant fools. And now, as you are a well-traveled man, purportedly experienced with the ways of men in the world, and thus surely know that calling another man a liar has been the start of many a duel, what say you? Will you grant me satisfaction, or will you gracefully apologize and allow good Rizzo here to preside over what we must discuss?”

Dieppe glared at him, and then back at me. “Though I do not doubt my ability to best you, I do not wish to duel with you at this time,” he said with a less than humble tilt of his head.

“He’s not jesting about the apology,” Cudro rumbled before I could speak.

I smiled. “Non, I am not. I will have satisfaction one way or the other.”

His gaze did not leave mine. “I am sorry I named you a liar, my Lord.”

A number of men had risen near the place where we stood, and we now had an audience. I weighed the matter in my mind. I did not think I would gain much by killing him this morning, but I was not satisfied.

“Are you sorry for naming me one, or were you in error in doing so?” I asked.

Dieppe hissed very quietly, but his voice was level when he spoke. “I only know that what we hear of your version of events varies from what my friend says occurred on Île de la Tortue.”

I spoke with vigor, so that our audience missed none of it. “I will accept your apology then, as you are merely speaking from loyalty to your friend. I would caution you, though. I was once his friend, and he betrayed me on Île de la Tortue. And we stand here now to discuss the terms of his dueling with a friend of his since boyhood, a man he goaded into a duel yesterday by casting aspersions against the man’s matelot, much as you just attempted with me. So I will add this: if you do not approve of matelotage, perhaps you should return to Christendom.”

As I expected, a number of our growing audience cheered at this. Dieppe looked about as if just realizing how many listened.

I smiled and returned my attention to Rizzo. “The terms I have heard are pistols.”

“First blood?” Rizzo asked.

“In a manner of speaking.” I shrugged. “I am not aware of either party stipulating the matter go until death, though death will most likely result.”

Dieppe shrugged. “First blood is acceptable.”

“If both men should wound the other and still be standing?” Rizzo asked.

“As they are former friends,” I said, “I would not want them constrained by decisions we might make if that were to occur. Let us agree to parlay if there is no clear winner after the first round.”

“I agree: as there will not be a second.” Dieppe shrugged.

“As for form,” I said, “we have thought it will be back-to-back, ten paces, and then turn upon a signal to fire.”

‘That is our thought on the matter,” Dieppe concurred.

Rizzo shrugged. “I care not. Get your men. We will have the duel here.” He indicated a corridor of level sand running so that neither man would have the sun behind him. “Bring their pieces to me before you load them.”

“That is acceptable,” I said.

Dieppe nodded his assent and picked his way through the assembling men toward Tom.

I was about to turn away when I saw Chat Noir regarding me. I raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged and gave me a respectful nod before he too turned away. I knew not what to make of it, but at least his gaze was no longer disdainful.

Cudro and I returned to our friends. Discussion of my words with Dieppe leaped from one clump of men to the next before us, until by the time we reached our cabal, they were all listening to Liam’s version of events.

Gaston confronted me with folded arms and a teasing smile. “I cannot let you out of my sight.”

I grinned. “You could see me well enough; it is your hearing you must keep me within.”

“Why did you not duel with him?” Striker joined us to ask.

“I did not think killing two men would be in our favor this day.” I shrugged. “And he provided me a better forum by his refusal. Though, we shall see what comes of it. I will give you the details after this matter is resolved.”

I looked about and spied Dickey with the Bard, well down the beach and in the surf. I was thankful he had not heard any of it. I went to join them.

“It is time,” I told Dickey. “All is as we planned.”

Dickey sighed with relief, but I noticed he was not as calm as he had been before. Fear lurked in his eyes.

I looked at the Bard. “You know I would never hurt him?”

The Bard nodded.

I slapped Dickey so that his head rocked around and I was sure he tasted blood. There was fire in his eyes when they met mine.

“What the Devil did you do that for?” he roared.

“That is better,” I said.

The Bard was chuckling.

Dickey gave his matelot one last kiss on the cheek and allowed me to tow him away. Our cabal and many of the men from the Virgin Queen had gone to stand at the side of the dueling corridor. The Bard went to join them. Cudro and Gaston followed Dickey and me. They stopped at the edge of the audience, while Dickey and I walked into the center of the dueling space to meet Rizzo.

“Do not seek your opponent,” I whispered to Dickey as we approached. “Nor should you look for the Bard. I want you to calmly watch birds wheeling overhead and think of how your body will move.”

I presented Rizzo with Dickey’s choice of pistol – one of mine – and he inspected it. Dieppe did the same, and then we watched one another load the weapons. Dieppe declined an exchange of them; and, satisfied, we handed the pieces to our respective combatants.

Only then did I spare a look at Dickey and Tom. Dickey was following my orders, his eyes on the distant horizon. Tom was glaring at me. He had taken to wearing a thin beard and a hat, but he was as handsome as ever.

“Are you satisfied?” he spat, loudly enough that I could not ignore him; though exchanging words in front of Dickey was not a thing I wanted.

“I feel I will be,” I said calmly. “I am sorry it came to this.”

“Aye,” he said with vigor and volume, “that you should divide two friends so that I should have to kill poor Dickey.”

I snorted and spoke to be heard as he had. “Tom, if Dickey does not kill you for his own reasons, you will have me to face on another morn for the injury you have done me and mine. I very much want you dead for your betrayal; it caused no end of hardship to others that might have been avoided. If you had not sided with Doucette against us, and left us at his mercy when we were injured, even Doucette’s suffering might have been avoided. But nay, you turned your back on your Brethren.”

Tom had no ready answer for that, and I did not wait for him to concoct one. There was a great deal of noise from the audience now, as unlike my exchange with Dieppe, any who wished to hear this exchange needed a translation: Tom and I had spoken in English. It was either playing well for us, or against us. I vowed not to worry on it at the moment.

I stepped in front of Dickey to whisper, “You did not start this.”

Dickey nodded with a sad smile. “I will not leave Francis alone, not for him.”

“Good.” I said with conviction, even though his words were not precisely what I wished to hear. They would have to do.

I went to join my matelot, and found him somber and trying very hard to ignore the men about him. I turned to watch the duel and stepped back so that my left shoulder pressed against his chest. I was relieved when he leaned into me, his arm stealing about my waist.

Rizzo put the two of them back to back. Tom appeared confident. Dickey appeared to be deep in thought. If I did not know the two of them as I did, I would have been concerned. The count began and they walked ten paces. Tom walked with precision, concentrating on maintaining a straight line in the sand. Dickey wavered on a few steps and ended up standing a good foot to the right of where he should have if he had gone straight. It appeared such an honest mistake I could not say if he had done so out of nervousness as it appeared, or whether he had actually been following my instructions. I smiled.

Rizzo shouted, “Fire!”

My eyes were on Tom. It all happened very fast, so fast it would be difficult to follow unless one had watched as many duels as I have. Tom turned smartly on his feet so that he was side on to the target as he raised his pistol. His eyes widened when Dickey was not where he expected. There was a long moment in which he had to locate and aim at Dickey. The retort from Dickey’s pistol surprised him ever so slightly, and then the ball hit under his right arm and he was knocked back on his heels. His pistol discharged, not wildly, but while the muzzle was rising. Then the piece tumbled from his grasp as he crumpled to the ground.

Only then did I look at Dickey. My smile broadened. He was nearly in a fencing stance. He had dropped his right foot back and pivoted low as we had drilled. His pistol was tautly held at the end of its arm, where it had swung like a weight. I was sure he had stopped the swing and depressed the trigger the exact moment the muzzle crossed Tom. His opponent’s shot had gone well over his head, while Dickey’s had most probably been mortal.

Dickey’s face was very sad to behold, though. It was frozen somewhere between triumph and guilt. I knew that look well, as I had felt it on my own face many times before.

Tom was not dead yet, but the ball was well up in his chest. Dieppe was already with him, and I was heartened that the man did appear to care for Tom. Rizzo declared the match, and two of the surgeons rushed to Tom as well.

The Bard and the rest of our cabal toppled Dickey with their elation. And then they were occluded from our view by other men surging into the area. To my dismay, some of those men were more interested in Gaston and me than the fate of the combatants. We were soon surrounded by angry Frenchmen, and I silently cursed our stupidity. I felt Gaston behind me at my left hip. I remembered Cudro being on my other side, and I was relieved when a glance over my right shoulder found him looming over us protectively.

The mood was angry all about us, and we were too tightly hemmed to draw swords. It was with great effort I did not pull my pistols. Though instinct dictated we must defend ourselves, I knew the act would merely provide them an excuse to bear us down, and we could not battle so many. I envisioned the scene from the tavern in Port Royal, only this time the fists and feet would not stop until the blackness took us both.

I prayed. I did not know what I could offer the Gods for Their beneficence, and so first I prayed They were not on account. Then I prayed that They would deliver us from this mob. That Their love required no balance: that last night’s glory and wonder did not have to be paid for with our blood. Had we not paid enough already in our lives? If They were truly beneficial beings worthy of worship, could They not simply save us? Or barring that, deliver unto us the means to save ourselves?

And then there was no more time for it. We were being jostled all about, as if we were foxes in a cage before a pack of hounds. If I was afraid of the anger of the men about us, I was terrified of the mood of the one behind me. If he lost his temper now, we were done for. I extended a hand behind me and found Gaston’s belly. To my relief, his hand was quickly in mine, squeezing tightly. It was the only gauge I had of his demeanor: I could not spare him a glance.

A blond man with a livid scar over one eye stepped before me.

“Doucette is a fine man,” he snarled in French.

“I do not argue that,” I growled back. “Yet he tried to take my matelot from me. I care not if he was Saint Paul.”

“Your matelot is mad! He cannot be trusted!” the man before me raged.

Gaston’s right hand had stolen around my right side again, and now he clung to me, his breath fast on my back, his forehead pressed into my shoulder.

“I’ve got his back,” Cudro rumbled.

I heard Pete coming for us from off to my left. There was equal noise off to the right.

Somewhere in all the sound, I heard the tinkle of laughter, somewhat like Teresina’s only infinitely more sublime. The Gods were laughing at me – again. They had already delivered unto me love and friendship; what more could I ask? What else should I have faith in?

I felt infused with power born of hope and faith.

I smiled and yelled back at the blond man. “My matelot is mad! But at this moment he is sane enough to know he cannot take you all on as a madman would! I know many of you have seen him at his worst! He is better now that he is with me! Let us be! Let us see what the future holds!”

I saw gazes dart to Gaston, and there was still reason behind them. A man on my left spread his arms and then elbowed another man, who jostled him toward us. The blond man who had confronted me was frowning at Gaston, but more from curiosity and disapproval than the anger that had gripped him before.

“The boy said Doucette was trying to heal him,” someone called out. It was echoed through the crowd.

“Doucette was torturing him!” Pierrot roared from somewhere to our right. “I saw it! I beat the bastard for it! If you have issue with him being stupid, you talk to me!”

“Is it true Doucette coveted him?” a voice asked to our right and somewhat behind us.

I looked, but could not see any who would meet my gaze and own the speaking of it. “My matelot brings out the best and the worst in many men,” I told them all sincerely. “Doucette was angry my matelot arrived there with me.”

There was muttering throughout the crowd now, but it was not the ugly and dangerous snarling it had been a minute before. Pete arrived at the vanguard of men from the Queen; Pierrot was coming closer, and I heard Savant‘s voice calling for all to back down.

“Gaston?” I hissed.

I felt his head rise, and then the blond man before me recoiled, along with several others. Even Pete frowned at what he saw in Gaston’s eyes. I turned in my matelot’s arms to see what they did and found his gaze glittering with danger and hatred such as I had rarely seen from him. As my stomach already contained a cannon ball, and my heart already thudded such that it felt ready to burst, there was little else I could do other than cup Gaston’s chin and bring those horrible eyes to my own. His gaze softened when it met mine, and I felt as relieved as I had when his hand had crept into mine a minute ago. I had the reins. He was nearly running wild, but I was in control.

“Stay with me, my love,” I breathed.

“Will…” It was more a pained moan than a word.

“I will get us out of here,” I promised.

He nodded mutely. His gaze stayed on me and calmed somewhat.

“Pete, Cudro, please, we must get out of this mob,” I said calmly in English. “The sea or land, it matters not.”

Cudro’s hand was on my shoulder, pushing me toward Pete. I went, hauling Gaston with me.

“Close your eyes,” I whispered to Gaston.

He did as I bade, and we were pulled into the wedge in the crowd that was the Virgin Queen’s crew, and thus ushered off of the beach and into the edge of the woods. Once there, I sank to the ground and pulled Gaston with me. He crawled into my lap as best he could; and I ignored the entire world, and murmured soothing things and caressed his back and shoulders. In time he stopped trembling.

When I at last felt I could spare my attention elsewhere, I looked up and found the captains and their quartermasters speaking nearby in hushed tones. Striker felt my gaze and turned to me. His smile was reassuring. Beside him, Pierrot appeared relieved. Then I found myself under Savant’s scrutiny.

He approached and squatted a short distance away. His coming down to my level was polite, but I was not sure if the distance he chose to maintain was also borne of politeness or whether he thought it put him safely beyond my matelot’s reach.

“You can control him,” Savant said quietly.

“Most of the time,” I whispered.

“Some of my men were in that tavern,” he said.

I sighed. “He went in there unarmed and expecting to lose, as that is what he wished. If he had wanted them dead, many would be in their graves.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I see that.” He sighed and smiled grimly. “Doucette always was arrogant: thought he knew best for everyone.”

“Oui. Though,” I said carefully, “there was much between him and my matelot that is no one’s business but theirs. It should not be judged by a crowd of men who know nothing of it.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he said sincerely.

“Thank you. That is all we can ask,” I said. “We wish to rove. It is truly best that we rove, and that he spends the violence that plagues him against our enemies.”

“I know no man can guarantee another’s actions…” he said slowly.

“I can assure you I will do everything in my power to prevent him from spending himself against our allies,” I said.

This was apparently what he had sought, and he nodded with conviction. “I’ll let your friends know if I have any I can’t reason with.”

I thanked him, and he left us alone again. Only we were not so very alone. We had one another and that far outweighed all else that could be stacked against us. And we had our friends. And in all ways, we seemed to have the support and guidance of the Gods.

 

 

Thirty-Seven

Wherein We Put the Cart Before the Horse

 

We continued to sit there after Savant left. Gaston was curled about me so that I could not see his face. I ran a tentative fingertip over his features and found his eyes tightly closed. That hand was then captured in one of his, as if he had snatched up a spider crawling across his skin.

“I am sorry,” I whispered. “I was trying to determine if you were awake or…”

“I am here.” His hushed tone was sad.

“I am proud of you. And… relieved. I felt fear there for a moment; and I prayed, properly after a fashion, perhaps. I do not know. I felt the Gods laughed at me: much like the matter with Dickey, all we needed had already been delivered unto us. You possessed the control and trust to hand me the reins, and we have our friends.”

He kissed my captured fingers. “I prayed, too,” he said huskily, “as you do. I told the Gods I would have the control, because I knew if I lashed out they would hurt you too. It was the only way I could protect you. And you did as you always do. You stood there and held the cart steady while I slipped and fell; but this time I clung to you and made you support even that.”

Concerned, I prodded him about until I could gaze down upon his face. He appeared angry and tired. His mask was smudged all about his eyes like bruises, and reminded me uncomfortably of what Doucette had done to him.

He put a finger to my lips before I could speak.

“You need not comfort me further,” he said with a rueful smile. “I have been… examining the cart. I have found it well constructed. Such that I know I can rely on it, as long as I do nothing to wreck it. I have also decided I am not evil; if I were, you would not love me so. I am merely… ungraceful. I slip on… everything. Rocky ground… blood… battles, lust… And I shy at all manner of things: whips, loud noises, angry gazes… You are very sure-footed, though. You never fall.”

I felt he was granting himself some form of absolution in this, and I was very pleased to hear it, yet… I pulled his fingers away.

“I can fall,” I whispered, “Or rather, if melancholy grips me, I will want to lie down and not rise… for a time… I am not so prone to it with you in my life, though.”

He nodded. “I will stand and hold the cart when you cannot. We might not move for a time, though. Unlike you, I do not believe I can haul the cart and you. That too, will cause me to lose my footing.”

“As long as the cart does not roll away and smash somewhere at those times, I do not care if we move or not,” I said.

I saw the love I felt in his eyes.

“Thank you for saying that,” I whispered. “I needed to hear it. And, if I am the stolid member of the team, which is a thing I would have scarce believed of myself in any pairing a year ago…”

He chuckled. “When you teamed with those more sure-footed than yourself, without a cart.”

“Oui.” I chuckled. At Gaston’s curious frown, I said, “I can envision Alonso as a wolf, sitting in the traces before some ramshackle vehicle that would have rattled apart if we attempted to move it, as indeed it did. And he is holding the bridge of his snout in consternation with one paw. It is a thing he did when he was displeased with me.” I demonstrated Alonso’s gesture and expression and Gaston grinned. “And I am standing there arguing with him, a centaur with a wolf pelt draped over my back, as if that will disguise me. And we argue about some matter such as our not being able to move until he appreciates the sunset.” I sighed.

Gaston shared my amusement, and then he caressed my cheek. “I no longer feel jealous of the Damn Spaniard.”

“Good,” I said. “We are a team, a well-matched team. And, as I was saying, if I am the stolid one, then you are the one who leads and sets our pace.”

Tears welled in his eyes and he clutched at me and looked away. “I am sorry. I am… It is as it always is when I am thus. Everything is so loud and bright, and I feel things so intensely.”

“You need not apologize,” I murmured. “You are still caught in the storm that overtook you in Port Royal, are you not?”

“Oui. If I concentrate on you, I am well, but it is as if we stand in a blizzard, pressed shoulder to shoulder. I do not feel I can walk for fear of falling again.”

I grinned. “I wish I could toss you in the cart and haul you along.”

He sighed. “I feel that is what occurred as we sailed here.”

“Do you wish to use the manacles again?” I asked carefully.

He shook his head. “I am reluctant.”

“Then what can I do to offer you comfort? You have done well, alone with me.” I chuckled. “I would say we have done very well indeed while alone.”

He gave a shuddering sigh, but he smiled. “Oui.”

“Should we slip away again? I feel we have won much this day, Savant at least. And though there was danger of it, they did not rip us apart like a pack of hounds. Let us take our things and go for a few days as we planned.”

“Oui,” he at last sighed with relief. His gaze met mine. “Let us hide away somewhere and make love. That is an intensity of emotion and sensation I will gladly feel again.”

My breath caught. “Thank the Gods,” I sighed happily.

He grinned.

We gathered our weapons and bags and went to find the others and tell them of our intentions. Gaston transferred his musket to his left hand, and his right stole into mine. I knew I would not be releasing it until we were well away from the sounds and sights of other men.

A cannon was being hoisted over the side of the Belle Mer, and I assumed she would be careened first. Up the beach, where the meadow intercepted the sand, men were working on boucan pits. A number of men had apparently left to hunt after the morning’s events, as there were fewer on the beach than before. Still, there were some men clumped about, not engaged in any useful activity.

We spied Striker and Pete talking with Cudro and some of the men from the Queen. I wondered where the rest of our cabal were.

Striker eyed us speculatively, and Pete and he came to meet us as we approached.

“Young Tom died,” Striker said quietly. “Dickey and the Bard would speak with you. The Bard feels you walk on water.”

“Well, assure him I do not,” I chided. “I do not even splash about on its surface.”

“Cudro wishes to start schooling men. Are you available?” Striker looked at Gaston curiously.

“Nay,” I said quickly. “Our time to… run about... was curtailed, and we have decided we are still in need of it.”

Striker did not appear to like that idea. “There are hunting parties all through the woods now.”

“Then we will stay on the beaches,” I said. “And avoid cattle.”

“AvoidLookin’LikeACow,” Pete said.

“Can you not stay on the ship?” Striker asked quietly.

I looked to Gaston. He was looking at the sky, but his hand squeezed mine painfully.

“Nay,” I sighed. “We must take our chances in the wilds.”

“I would rather you didn’t,” Striker said.

“Is that an order?” I asked.

He snorted. “Could I give you one?”

I winced, and we immediately looked about to see if anyone else had witnessed that unfortunate exchange. I was damned if I would be seen as challenging Striker’s leadership. Thankfully, there were only the four of us. No one else seemed to be paying us much heed, or close enough to overhear if they were looking our way. As for us, Gaston was not pleased; Pete was not either. They were staring at the horizon as if it annoyed them. Striker’s gaze met mine again.

“You are captain,” I said quietly.

He swore as quietly and looked away.

“Though I would rather not test that on this matter,” I added.

He nodded with a snort of amusement. “Nor would I.” He met my gaze again. “You truly cannot?”

“We will be very careful,” I assured him. “Just for a few days. Please.”

“Do not beg him for me,” Gaston spat, and then he addressed Striker earnestly. “I am not well. I am more of a threat to us, you included, here, now, than anyone else on this island will be a threat to us out there unless they are as many as they are on this beach. Out there, we take them if necessary. Here, there will just be trouble.”

“HeBeRight,” Pete said quietly. “HeBeNoGoodHere. WillBeCarin’ Fur’ImAnNothin’Else. WeAllBeWatchin’ AnWorryin’’Bout TheBothO’’Em. ThenYaGotThe FrenchiesTalkin’’Bout That. Let’EmGo.”

Striker swore and glared at Gaston and me. “I don’t want to lose either of you. I won’t forgive the damn bastards if something were to happen. And I don’t know what I would do then.”

I wanted to embrace him, but I had a musket in one hand and Gaston in the other. With a sigh, I thrust the musket at Pete, who thankfully had the good sense to take it. Then I embraced Striker with my free arm. He returned it.

“You are quite the mother hen,” I whispered. “And I love you as a brother for it.”

“I wouldn’t cluck so much if I didn’t have such unruly chicks,” he chided as he released me. “Now get out of here.”

“We will return in two days,” Gaston said.

Striker sighed. “Can you guarantee that you will be able to in two days?”

Gaston studied the ground. “If the storm gripping me now has not passed, Will can chain me to a tree when we return.”

“ThatAin’t GonnaHappen,” Pete said.

Striker met my gaze and we smiled.

“Nay, it’s not,” Striker said.

I shook my head. “We will return and let you know we are well, in two days at the latest.”

“I will hold you to that,” Striker said. “Now leave.”

Pete handed me my musket and embraced me warmly. He looked to do the same to Gaston and thought better of it.

We slipped away among the wind-blown trees along the shore. We made our way around the northern side of the island for a few hours, until Gaston at last found a cove sheltered by a little thrust of land. It was a lovely place. Due to the sand banks, there was a lagoon, and the water by the beach was quite tame and devoid of surf.

We had not heard the musket fire of hunters for a while. Still, we sat in the shadows of the trees in silence, and listened until the birds became accustomed to our presence, and the ones we had passed earlier had forgotten us and heralded no one else.

“Now what shall we do?” I teased when at last he seemed to relax.

He grinned. “I shall teach you to swim.”

I stood and eyed the clear waters of the lagoon with trepidation. I could see fish swimming about. “I do not suppose we could find a body of water with nothing living in it?”

“I cannot teach you to swim in a cistern.” He grinned.

He was shedding his weapons and arranging them carefully along the shore. I understood his reasoning and did likewise. When we finished, we could leave the lagoon from any side and find a loaded piece and a blade.

Then we doffed our clothing. He smeared his pale shoulders with fat.

“The sun is very bright upon the water, and I am not brown as you are,” he explained. “I burned my skin when first I learned to swim.”

“Will the fat help?”

“It will not hurt,” he said flatly.

“Who taught you to swim?” I asked.

“I taught myself.”

“Here?”

He snorted. “Will, the water in much of France is not much warmer than England’s. It is why no one in Christendom learns to swim unless they know the waters of the Mediterranean.”

He waded into the water. I followed. It felt luxurious on my tired body. Gaston took my hand and led me out until we were chest deep.

“Beyond bathing – which some have said I have an unhealthy fascination with – and our occasional splashing about in the surf, I have been fully immersed in water only twice,” I said. “Both times it was cold and decidedly unpleasant. This is not, but still…”

Gaston beckoned me closer and gently commanded, “Hold your nose and kneel down so that you are completely immersed.”

I did as he bade. It was no colder on my head than it had been elsewhere. I surfaced and found him grinning when I opened my eyes.

“Now, do it again with your eyes open,” he said.

I reluctantly complied, and was surprised to be able to see things. And my eyes did not sting as I had expected.

He began to teach me how to exhale under water, so that I need not hold my nose; and how to move about.

“I thought swimming involved staying above the water,” I said the fourth time I came to the surface.

“People who only wish to stay on top of the water are afraid of it. I will teach you how to cover distance on top of it, but first you need to lose your fear.”

“I feel I am conquering that fear,” I said.

He was grinning at me. “Do you think you will sink?”

I nodded. “If the water is deep enough.”

He shook his head and beckoned. “Do you trust me?”

“In all ways,” I said solemnly.

“You must trust me about water. You will not sink. The body floats.”

I snorted. “I know they float when dead.”

He kicked up from the bottom and spread himself atop the water for a moment, and then as I expected, he began to sink – but to my surprise, only so far; and then it was obvious he was floating with no conscious effort.

“All right, you can indeed float,” I said. “You even make it look quite relaxing.”

He bent at the waist and put his feet back under him. “Your turn. And it is relaxing, but it is like another thing you must relax to enjoy.” He grinned.

It took several tries, all of which failed because I panicked when I thought I sank too deep, or because I stiffened my body and somehow drove myself under. Gaston was patient, and when at last I floated there, staring up at the sky with the lightest reassuring touch of his fingers on my back, I wondered at how his madness truly worked upon him, in that he could be so calm here and now and so distraught only hours before. Did it have a thing to do with how relaxed he felt with his Horse? Was he a man trying to keep himself above water?

“Are you afraid of your madness?” I asked the sky, as I was still somewhat unsure of turning my head toward him while floating.

He moved closer to peer down at me with a frown. “Oui.”

“Perhaps you need to float on it.”

His frown deepened in thought and then slowly transmuted to a smile. “There are times when I am comfortably immersed in it.”

“As you were when we sailed here,” I said.

“Oui. And other times I hold myself above it, as when I wear the mask of reason.” He sighed. “Thank you for giving me another way to interpret it.”

“We will find the perfect metaphor yet, my love.”

He shook his head. “Non, Will, they are all excellent. They all provide perspective. They all… Before you, I had no one to discuss my madness with. It was a thing, an indescribable thing that overtook me. Now that I have someone to speak with about it, I must contain it within words and ideas that can be conveyed. It has given me power over it.”

I closed my eyes and floated, thinking on words and power. There was something just beyond my ken on the matter, some half-remembered myth or memory.

Gaston’s hand covered my member.

I looked at him with alarm. “I do not feel so steady…”

He grinned. “I am not playing. When first I learned to float I burned there. I would save you that.”

I winced and laughed. “Please do.”

“Though…” His grin widened. “I might as well.” His fingers began to move upon me. “Float, Will. Relax all except this.”

I knew I would not drown if I rolled away from him and got my feet under me; still, I felt defenseless. I squinted up at his shadowed face as my member rose to his challenge. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and though not hard and dangerous, there was a glint of something more sinister than mischief to them. Whatever that look might be named, my Horse found interest in it, and rose to that challenge as well.

“You enjoy my being helpless, do you not?” I murmured.

“You enjoy being helpless, do you not?” he asked huskily.

“Only at your hand.”

“My hand?” He grinned anew. “And ought else?”

“I surrender to every part of you.”

His gaze sobered, and he appeared almost pained; and then he was upon me. His mouth covered mine as he drove me under with his weight. I struggled not to panic, and to determine how to hold my breath while he plundered my mouth. I thought I would drown. Then there was only him. I realized I might drown in him, as he was far more encompassing than the water. When he released me, I did not move; I hung in some place near the darkness of unconsciousness, bereft of my senses, feeling everything and nothing.

He pulled me to the surface and my body gasped air of its own accord. I clung to him. He was very somber and conciliatory, not in words, but in his touch, as he led me to shore. He would not allow me to collapse in the sand, however; choosing instead to haul me farther into the shade, pausing only to take up a pistol as he went. When finally he leaned me against a palm next to our clothes and bags, I had stopped coughing and gasping, and I had discovered his cock was quite erect.

“I am sorry…” he started to say.

I stopped him with my mouth. I did not want words.

He returned my kiss hungrily, and my manhood rose to match his in the ferocity of its tumescence.

“I thought to wait until the sunset,” he whispered as his teeth explored my neck.

“Non,” I said emphatically. I did not wish to explain how he would not deny me at this moment. It seemed a waste of precious breath.

We were as frantic and awkward as two lads. I turned and hugged the tree with one arm, sparing my manhood from the bark with the other. His greased fingers were soon upon me, and I squatted into them, willing myself to open and convince him I could take them all, or his whole damn hand if necessary, just to speed the process along.

He did not make me wait. He impaled me smoothly, in a long vertical thrust that pushed me up the trunk. My knees weakened at the feel of it, and the tree felt as if it groaned inaudibly against my chest. The world spun and I closed my eyes. Partly to take him deeper, and partly because I was unsteady on my feet, I settled onto him and he pushed back, until we reached some balance of position. Then he held still. He was huge inside me, but I did not feel rent asunder so much as held from within and without, embraced in warmth that saturated my soul. I felt as I had under the water with his mouth upon me. I could not breathe. There was only Gaston. Somehow I needed to come up for air.

I gasped, little meaningless sounds. Words would not come, until finally, “fuck,” escaped my lips in a short bark.

Thankfully he understood and began to move. He thrust upward, lifting me with every stroke. Though my chest was oblivious to the tree’s rough caress, I was still somewhat mindful of my cock. Yet, I cared not if it felt pleasure. In fact, it did not. It nestled full but weak in my hand, and allowed all sensation to radiate from my arse. He seemed larger with every stroke, and I felt I was being pushed open by degrees, until at last he might crawl inside me, and I could hold him there forever and never be without him.

And then he came, with a growl and one last shove. I could feel him throb within me. I clenched; both to wring him dry and keep him. But alas, he eventually slid free despite my efforts.

We stood panting for a time: him holding me, and I the tree. And then he covered my shoulders with light kisses and licks.

“Are you well?” he murmured.

“Very,” I said, wondering at his concern. “I could only be better if you were inside me once again.”

He chuckled on my neck. “I suppose we need not wait until sunset. It is only a little after midday.”

“Far too many hours to go without doing this again,” I whispered. “I do not think I could bear it.”

“Oui,” he breathed.

“Please do that as many times as you are able.” I remembered his impressive libido from the night before last, and laughed. I would not be able to walk in two days.

He gently urged me to turn until his mouth could cover mine.

“I was concerned,” he whispered, when he released me.

“Why?”

“I did not plan to take you standing. I thought it was too near the angle the Damn Cousin used…” he trailed off with guilt.

I frowned, and then amusement suffused me; and greater than that, relief, a profound relief. “I did not think of the Damn Cousin even once. Not at all.” I grinned.

He grinned in return. “Then we have truly conquered him.”

“Oui, I believe so. Gods, how I love you.”

We held each other and laughed. And the afternoon spun into evening in a slow tapestry of trysting and cuddling. When the sunset finally came, it found us on our knees with him deeply inside me once again. This time, his hand was about my member and it sang along with his. I watched the pink and purple majesty of the sinking sun and wondered if the sky in Heaven was as beautiful as a sunset all of the time, as I had surely found its counterpart on earth.

Two days later, we sat in the shade while I rubbed salve onto his burned back. The time had passed much as the first day had, with swimming lessons and trysting. We had been naked the entirety of it, and thus his reddened hide. I, thankfully, was already browned over most of my body; unfortunately, the places where I had been pale had been exposed and in use of late. My buttocks were now as sore from the sun as my opening was from all of the unaccustomed activity. I could walk, but I could not do so without thinking heartily of him.

“You should allow yourself to brown,” I said as I worked.

“Why?” he asked sleepily.

“Then you would be striped in color as well as texture.”

He smiled lazily and turned so that he could gaze at me. “Would that please you?”

I thought of how he would appear with the pale scars outlined in strips of nutmeg. “It would make them more evident, but I feel it would be aesthetically interesting.”

“Anything to please you,” he murmured.

I grinned. “Non, I am pleased beyond all reckoning already.”

He was thoughtful. “As am I. Truly. I am happy. I cannot recall feeling thus. With you before, there was always the feeling of incompleteness, but now that is gone. I am content.”

I knew how he felt. I shared it in full measure. Yet there were ugly and disquieting thoughts lurking about my head. I had been able to push them away, thinking so little of them I could not name them, but I knew I would lose the bliss of ignorance once we returned to the others.

“Let us stay here,” I whispered.

“Could we?” It was challenge and not request, yet his tone was resigned and devoid of mockery.

I sighed. “Men being inconstant creatures such as we are… I will never tire of you, but I can well imagine even this growing tiresome. It is a miserable thing: that we cannot be content to wallow in contentment.”

“Let us escape as we are able,” he said solemnly. “Not because… I require it, but because we do.”

“Oui,” I sighed. “I feel we should do this again while we are all still here. They will surely frown on us for fucking continuously on the beach there.”

“They should not risk my wrath,” he said.

We were smiling, and though the thing we had not spoken of for two days had drifted in to cover our thoughts, it was not dark or menacing.

“Do you feel you are ready to return?” I asked. “Or will I need to chain you to a tree?”

He grinned. “The fucking calms the Horse.”

“Well then, they will just have to frown upon us for ministering to it often,” I said with glee.

We finally packed our things and made our way back to the ships and the beach full of men. Striker greeted us with a hearty embrace and relieved eyes. He regarded Gaston speculatively; as much to my amazement as Striker’s, my matelot grinned at him.

“We are well,” I assured him. “I feel we will slip away again, but for now we will pull our weight. What would you have of us? And how welcome will we be among the French?”

“There are some who would still see you hang,” Striker said, “but most have taken well to the tale we have spun. I do not fear for your safety as I did before. You need not do much among the French, though. We have a score of fine fools for you to help train. Cudro and Pete have them up yonder on the beach.”

We went to deposit our things at the camp Striker and our cabal had made, high up the beach around a fire pit.

Striker called out in our wake. “I would say don’t fence in front of them, but a few of them think they know a great deal, and perhaps you should knock the wind from their sails – but you’ll just scare the rest.”

“We will be judicious in displaying our prowess,” I assured him.

We found Pete, Cudro, Julio, Davey, Liam, and Otter with the new men. Our friends were pleased to see us. As was his wont, Pete embraced us so that our ribs creaked. To my amusement, Cudro did likewise.

Liam appeared ready to do the same, but after seeing me grunt in Cudro’s arms, he stopped and grinned. “Ya be worn out now. I’ll leave ya be. Na’ that I could be ’armin’ ya much.”

I embraced him anyway.

I looked over the assembled men. They were standing about in loose clumps, among which Pete and Julio had been circulating. Whatever training they had been about had stopped at our appearance, as the trainees seemed disinclined to continue when our friends came to greet us. They all looked much as the bondsmen had on the King’s Hope: a mix of boys and men, some browned by the sun, some pale, some in buccaneer garb or canvas, others still in wool. There were twenty-six of them.

I spoke to Cudro quietly. “I believe you mentioned twenty-nine in need of training when we sailed here.”

He grunted. “Not seasoned. One died, one’s sick. And the third found a matelot.” He shrugged at this last.

“Oh, well, good for him. So what do we have here? Striker said some feel they know a thing or two.”

Cudro snorted and then chuckled. “Aye, we’ll give you two that lot. They fancy themselves to be gentle-born.”

He gestured without actually pointing, and I let my gaze drift to the men in question. They stood somewhat apart from the others. There were five of them, and they appeared rather better dressed than the rest of the lot, and young. All were armed. They minded me of Tom, Dickey and Harry when first I saw them; though, none of these boys radiated Harry’s good-natured innocence, or Dickey’s effeminacy. In the way a few of them stood and spoke to one another, I saw Tom’s arrogance, though.

“Non,” I told Cudro. “They must learn they are no different than the others. Sending them off with us will just reinforce their assumption of superiority.”

“Ah,” he said, and scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I had not viewed it so, but I see your point. I was just thinking to afflict you with the troublemakers.”

“They be right full o’ themselves,” Liam added quietly. “But ya be right. Some ’ave heard ya be a Lord.”

I swore.

Liam shrugged. “Na’ from me. An’,” he stepped closer and lowered his voice, “they been curious ’bout yur matelot, an’ not in a nice way.”

“All the more reason to keep them from us, then,” I sighed.

Gaston shrugged.

“What were you all about before we arrived?” I asked.

“Fightin’InTheMornin’. MusketsAfterNoon,” Pete said around a piece of fruit.

I looked to the sky. “Is it not noon?”

“Fightin’Not…” Pete trailed off in an indecipherable grumble, and gestured angrily with the fruit.

“The fighting instruction is not going well,” Julio said.

“Some are military men, and some are tavern fighters,” Cudro sighed. “But most have never killed a man. And we can’t give them weapons to practice with; they would kill each other by accident. So we’re trying to teach them to fight each other with their fists. Gaston could show them a thing or two, but… well, he may not be the best teacher for them. And they don’t think they need to learn to fight. They think they just need to learn to shoot a musket. The army ones know nothing else. We tell them that in taking a ship or a town, they’ll be fighting hand to hand, but it means nothing to them. Or they think they know how well enough. So they play at this and learn nothing.”

I thought of Striker’s words on men in battle. “They are not desperate.” And then I thought of all the boys I had seen in practice yards. “They have no need at the moment. There is no danger, and they do not wish to hurt their opponents.”

“Aye,” Cudro rumbled. “So we have been having them wrestle one another. We thought they might at least be competitive. And some are, and they possess a talent for it; but then there are those who aren’t, and they just let the other man run them down.”

Gaston nudged me, and I looked around and found we had been approached by the group of supposed gentlemen. When my eye fell upon them, a sallow youth with a beak for a nose stepped forward from their number and removed his feathered hat with a flourish.

“Excuse me, good sir,” he addressed me. “I have heard it said that you are a Lord.”

“People say the damndest things,” I drawled loudly enough to be heard by the others. “I have heard that Pete here is a Greek God of old. And there are some who claim that my matelot is sane.”

Gaston laughed and Pete spit his fruit.

Liam regarded Gaston with surprise. “Do tell?”

“Aye,” I added. “And I have even heard some say that Liam here is a man of quiet discretion.”

“Ya been listenin’ ta fools,” Liam grinned, but there was something in his eyes that made me regret my jest.

I decided I should speak with him later.

I turned back to the sallow and beaked young man. He was smiling with feigned good nature.

“So you say it is not true?” he asked.

“I can do little about the circumstances of my birth,” I said with a shrug, “but here I am no different than any other. I am one of the Brethren of the Coast, as presumably you have also chosen to become.”

“I am here to kill Spaniards for gold, sir,” the youth said proudly.

All that we had discussed while sailing here was encompassed in those words. He felt no kinship to the men around him. If all of the newcomers thought as he did, the Brethren would cease to exist inside a few years.

“Nay, you are here,” I pointed at the sand between us, “to learn how to kill Spaniards as a member of the Brethren of the Coast; because the Brethren are the ones who will sail against the Main this spring. And unless our quartermaster feels you are competent, you will not sail on the Virgin Queen with us.”

His smile did not desert him. “I am well-versed in combat, sir, I assure you. I do not see where any here, except perhaps another gentleman, might be able to judge my competence with a blade.”

I drew my rapier. He stepped back in surprise. I grinned and tossed my weapon hilt-first to Pete. The Golden One caught it and grinned around another bite of fruit.

Pete stepped forward, only to pause and consider the juicy object of his repast. He glared at the youth. “YaGetSandOnIt YaDie.”

The sallow youth looked at me questioningly. “What did he say?”

“Oh, you probably will not die.” I shrugged.

The trainees and our cabal formed a loose circle around the combatants. Pete dropped into en garde, holding his fruit high in his left hand. The sallow youth drew his blade with annoyance.

Pete removed the boy’s feathered hat on the first rush, slashed his brocade jerkin on the second, and marked him on his cheek on the third. Sadly, the boy seemed to possess good form; he simply was no match for the Golden One in speed or aggression.

The youth threw his weapon down and backed away. “You are… an excellent combatant, sir,” he stammered.

“ThankYa.” Pete shrugged and took the last bite of his fruit. He tossed the pit away and then my blade back to me. “NowWeSee Iffn’YaCanFight. ’CauseYaNa’Be Duelin’Spaniards.”

At which point Pete chased the lad down and trounced him soundly, so that many winced in sympathy. The boy had no knack or training for pugilism, apparently. Not that it would have mattered a great deal: Pete had longer and stronger arms, and a determination to achieve his goal that few could match. He left the youth bloodied, and Gaston was moved to go and set the lad’s beak straight.

“HeCanna’FightGood EnoughTaTakeAShip,” Pete roared at the rest of them. “YaNeedLearnin’.”

The rest of the trainees appeared somewhat cowed. The sallow youth’s friends appeared to want to slink away into the forest. I did not blame them.

“Perhaps I should let Pete trounce the lot of them,” Cudro said. “That might make them want to fight.”

“It might make them wish to desert,” I said. “And I feel, though I know not how it will be achieved, that we must endeavor to bring them together as a fighting force, rather than pit them against one another.”

He gave an agreeable grunt and a nod.

“Perhaps we should move on to musket practice,” I said.

“Aye,” Liam sighed.

I went to join my matelot and the youth. The poor boy was as battered as I had been after the tavern. I grimaced in sympathy. Much of the wind was out of his sails, as he was allowing Gaston to tend him readily enough.

“How are you called?” I asked.

He regarded me and considered his words. Perhaps there was hope for him.

“Ash,” he finally muttered.

“Among the Brethren, one does not often inquire of another’s origins: it is considered rude. So if you do not wish to answer, tell me so. But I am driven to inquire how you came to be here. And your age.”

“May I ask the same of you?” he asked with a trace of challenge.

I shrugged acquiescence.

“I have eighteen years,” Ash said. “My father is a planter on Barbados. We came to that island when I was ten years of age. I am the third son. I am to go to England and study the law. It is not a thing I wish to do.”

I smiled. “Well, perhaps you are far more sensible than I first thought. It takes a certain type of man to apply himself to law, and in general I find that type of man disagreeable; though, I thankfully have been surprised to find one who did not meet my expectations of a solicitor in the least. But he is only one man among many of that profession. The rest I have met I would gladly run through.”

“As for me,” I continued, “I am twenty-seven years old. I first left my father’s home at sixteen; I then traveled most of Christendom. When I returned to my father’s house, he knew not what to make of me, and sent me here to establish a plantation in order to be rid of me for a time.”

“Are you as good as they say?” he asked.

“Well, that would depend upon the endeavor in question.” I grinned.

Gaston chuckled.

Ash’s gaze darted between us, and he appeared uncomfortable.

“Dueling,” he said quickly.

“Ah, well, that would depend on how good they say I am, but I will own that I am very well-versed indeed.”

I wished to spar with you,” he said sadly. “And make your acquaintance on the voyage here, but…” His gaze went to Gaston and he colored a little with embarrassment.

Gaston ignored him.

“But I was otherwise engaged caring for my matelot. I understand,” I said. “Well, I might be able to defeat Pete. I trained him, but he is a genius at all forms of combat, and he possesses an uncanny talent for blades. You should not feel unduly inadequate. Pete could truly take any man I have ever fought.”

“I did not think that he could be so talented at such a pursuit,” Ash said with a frown.

“Why, because he is not a gentleman by birth?” I chided.

“Nay, because he is the captain’s paramour; and in my experience, men of that nature never handle blades well.”

Gaston and I exchanged a look and a grin which quickly devolved to laughter.

I finally addressed the boy’s confusion. “Ash, you must never use that term here to describe… Let us say, your interpretation of it in this instance is inaccurate to say the least, from several angles. And to clarify, exactly what type of man are we discussing?”

“Sodomites,” he said solemnly. “The buccaneers seem rife with them, and they are odd in my experience.”

He had indeed led quite the sheltered life. “Did you spend your youth with other planters’ sons practicing with swords and pistols and chasing the eligible young ladies? And did you avoid spending time with your father’s servants and bondsmen? “

“Aye,” he said, as if he wondered what else he could have possibly done.

I settled more comfortably into the sand and explained what a matelot was and why buccaneers had them. I finished with, “So you see, Pete is not a paramour, in that he is not something as trivial as a lover, he is Striker’s partner.”

Ash’s eyes were very wide. “So all here are…? Nay,… all here practice sodomy, whether they favor men or not?”

“They are not forced to, but aye, that is generally the way of it.”

“Will I be expected to…?” he asked with grave concern.

“Nay,” I sighed with a reassuring smile, “but if you are to do well amongst the Brethren, it would behoove you to acquire a matelot, at least for the security of having a man to watch your back in battle, or even in taverns.”

“Many live without one,” Gaston said quietly. “But it is a hard and lonely life.”

Something stirred in my thoughts in the wake of my pronouncement and his. I needed to mull on it, and speak with Liam, and I supposed the Bard and Dickey, as we had not seen them since the duel. But first, I thought we should assist in the training. So we left young Ash to contemplating his future and went to make ourselves useful.

When the sun began to drift to the horizon, all twenty-five men left standing had sore shoulders, my ears rang from the constant din of gunfire, and I had an idea concerning how to train them better. I had added Striker and Cudro to the list of men I needed to speak with. At least all I needed to converse with would presumably be at our cabal’s camp that night.

As we all walked down the beach, I slipped my hand in Gaston’s, and maneuvered us a little away.

“Buccaneers do things in pairs,” I said. “They are all hitched to carts in teams. Though I feel few have a cart as magnificent as ours. We are much like the vast cavalry of an ancient army: teams drawing chariots. Teams of wolves, goats, dogs, sheep, sometimes mismatched, but in pairs. That is how we move through life and fight.”

He studied me with amusement and curiosity in the golden light of the sunset. It burnished the stubble on his jaw a brilliant red and sparkled on his left earring. I pushed off his kerchief to see his hair in that light. Standing every which way, as it was so wont to do, it looked like flames burning all about his head.

I answered the question dancing in his emerald eyes. “Your hair is very red in this light, like flames.”

He pushed my kerchief off, his hand lingering over the stubble of my hair. “A golden halo again,” he murmured.

“As always, I wish I had some talent for painting,” I sighed. “Or that there was some method of capturing an image in time. Memory is such an imperfect thing.”

He was frowning. “I have envisioned our cart as this large cumbersome conveyance, suitable for hauling lumber or hay. You see it as a chariot?”

“Not until now. You first said cart, and I thought of a thing one would haul goods in as well. I did not envision a carriage or anything of the like. But perhaps chariot is…”

“It is a more pleasing image.” He smiled happily. He moved closer, his fingers playing over the wall of my belly and his breath tickling my ear and neck. “It is a sleek thing, with great wheels, and it is adorned with wings of gold and set with gems. And yet it is sturdy. It can weather any battle.”

I was no longer thinking of chariots, or how they had been mentioned in the first place. I let him maneuver me into the edge of the woods.

Our lovemaking was not languorous, but it was as sweet as it was fast. Any cuddling we might have done in the aftermath was rendered impossible by the stinging of insects, and we were quickly driven back into the ocean breezes of the beach. We hurried toward the camp, threading our way among clumps of men. I was relieved to find all our friends around a single fire, including the Bard and Dickey: they leapt to their feet at our arrival, and we were soon embraced in welcome.

The four of us walked a short way from the others to speak. The Bard whispered a hearty thank you in my ear before giving Gaston an inquisitive glance. Though he initially appeared pleased to greet us, Dickey seemed increasingly uncomfortable in our presence. However, he was not looking askance at my matelot, but at me.

“I am sorry I was unable to congratulate you properly,” I told him.

“I am likewise sorry I was unable to thank you properly,” he replied with a slight frown.

I took his shoulders gently, and he met my gaze. His eyes searched mine, and I knew what he sought: absolution.

“You are troubled?” I asked kindly.

He nodded with relief. “I am on occasion overcome with guilt.”

“I do not know if I can relieve you of it.”

“I do not know if you should,” he sighed.

“Good,” I said.

His frown deepened. “Is it always so?”

“Nay, but I feel it should be,” I sighed. “You have taken the life of a man you once called friend; whether he truly was or not is of no consequence in the aftermath. What kind of man would you be, if you felt nothing over such a thing? A heartless man may kill without remorse, but he would never kill a former friend, because a heartless man would never make one.”

“It is said that the deeper we love, the deeper we hate,” Dickey said. “But Will, I did not hate him, even when… I beheld him bleeding in the sand. I did as you advised prior to that, and did not think of him as Tom at all. I let no happy memory stay my hand. And yet, after… all I could remember was the good…”

I shook my head sadly. I knew well how he felt. Just as I knew only time would heal it. Still, there were some things I could say.

“I do not give argument to pardon what you feel,” I said, “but… did Tom not kill the good between you first?”

“Aye,” he sighed. “Or perhaps it was never there. But nay, that would be a lie. There was much good between us once, when we were young. We merely grew into very different men than those boys we once were.”

His words mirrored my own oft-harbored thoughts about Shane, and I was struck silent.

Dickey was nodding his head emphatically. “I am glad I won, though. There is no doubt in my mind about that. I do not regret winning, only his losing, or rather it being him I fought at all. Rest assured, that if another such matter rises, I will attempt to handle it with the same faith and adherence to your teaching.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” I said solemnly. “I would hope that this incident would not so rattle you as to put another’s life before your own.”

“Amen,” the Bard said quietly.

“Nay, nay,” Dickey said with a small smile. “And even if I were to do so, I would still place Francis’ life above theirs. I will always intend to prevail in combat of any type.”

I smiled. “Good man. I am proud of you.”

They returned to the fire, and I paused before following them into the warm circle of light. I still thought of Dickey’s words. “We merely grew into very different men than those boys we once were.” But ascribing all of my troubles with Shane to that would be as much of a lie as saying there was never any good between us. I do not think we changed much between youth and man. He was always as he became: ill-tempered, angry, prone to abuse another to lighten his mood; I had merely been blind to it in childhood, or if not blind, then innocent of any ill consequence his poor behavior and spirit would ever spawn.

“Do you ever think of the good you once experienced with the Damn Cousin?” Gaston asked curiously in French.

I turned to him. He was a darker patch of night at my side.

“You know me well.” I smiled sadly. “I think of the good even now, on occasion, while he yet lives; but it is the rare glimmer of coin in a fouled fountain. It surprises me, and I think that it must be a trick of the light, or rather memory. I am often prone to seeing that which I desire, even when it does not exist.”

I shrugged and began walking to join the others: Striker was beckoning with a bottle, and I very much wanted a good pull on it. Gaston’s hand clasped my shoulder.

“With me?” he asked.

I turned back to him swiftly. “Non. There is much good, more than I ever could have envisioned.”

His eyes searched mine, and as with Dickey, I knew precisely what he sought: truth.

“When there is bad,” I said, “I see it for what it is. But I choose to focus on the good.”

He frowned thoughtfully, and then kissed my cheek sweetly and took my hand to lead me into the light.

Gaston eschewed the bottle, but I happily took a good swig. We settled into the sand, with Gaston wrapped about my back. I smiled contentedly and remembered what I wished to tell them. I looked at the pairs of men arrayed around the blaze, with Cudro the sad, lone exception, and I grinned.

“Buccaneers fight in pairs,” I pronounced. They all regarded me much as young Ash had when I questioned the way in which he whiled away his youth.

“When they’re able,” Cudro grumbled.

“Aye,” I said, “and I wish you could remedy that for yourself, my friend. But I do not say this to rub salt in a wound. The new men, we must teach them to fight in pairs.”

“They will na’ pair up,” Liam snorted.

“We must show them the value of it,” I said.

“I’m not fucking in front of them,” Striker said with a grin.

I chuckled at the thought of poor Ash turning pale at the sight. “Not that value, though I am sure they would do well by instruction on that as well. Nay, the value of a matelot in combat. And, we must teach them to work with one another in a larger group as well. We must provide them a common enemy.”

“The Spanish?” Striker asked sarcastically.

I laughed. “Before that. Us. I propose a child’s game. Did you ever play king of the hill as a child?”

“It was more captain of the quarterdeck,” Striker said, “but I understand the game.”

“Will you join us tomorrow?” I asked him.

He grinned. “And do what?”

“I propose that Pete and you, Julio and Davey, and Gaston and I, hold a hill while they attempt to take it.”

“All of ’em?” Liam squawked.

“Aye.”

“There be no fairness in that at’all,” he said.

“Well then, Otter and you may join us,” I said.

“That will na’ help the balance o’ it,” he said with even more incredulity.

I laughed. “Join them?”

He swore and grinned. “Sad as I be ta say it, that will na’ do much for the matter, either.”

Most were laughing, but Julio was thoughtful.

“They are not all poor in skill or talent,” he said.

“I would hope not,” I said, “lest we be in quite the pickle when we face Spaniards. Nay, the question is, will the ones with skill or talent band with others of their like?”

Julio shook his head. “They will act alone.”

“Then we will win.” I said.

“We’llWin!” Pete roared. “EvenIfTheLotOf ’EmBeMatelots.”

“Quiet,” Striker snapped. “I would not have an audience in the morning.”

“Why? YaThinkWeLose?” Pete chided.

“Nay!” Striker snapped. “I think it will cow the lot of them to have a beach full of men laughing at them when they lose.”

This mollified Pete.

The bottle was passed around again, and they told us of what little we had missed in two days. As night waxed about us, Gaston and I slipped away into the shadows, warm sand, and steady rumble of waves.

This time, our tryst was slow and thorough. Gaston brought me to begging with teasing prods of his member, and I brought him to groans I was sure would be heard above the surf. I was pleased in this, as I wanted the Gods to hear him.

 

 

Thirty-Eight

Wherein We Explore Matelotage

 

The morning light was harsh, and I swore at the rum on my breath. Gaston greeted the dawn with the enthusiasm of a sober man, and I received my first taste of him pounding away at me while my blood pounded away behind my eyes. I found that, though it was not as pleasant as I might have wanted, it was not without its pleasures, despite my aching head. He felt good inside me, and it was wonderful to know I was desired so. Yet, I vowed not to drink that eve, and wondered how Striker could drink night after night, as he often did when ashore.

We joined the others, and as I had suspected, any enthusiasm Striker might have been said to muster in the night for the morning’s agenda was not in evidence now. Most of our cabal was like-minded. As I wanted nothing more than water and a place to sleep in the shade, I concurred with all of them. Gaston alone was in fine spirits; but he would not have been sufficient to move us to our task had not Pete decided that beating on a few fools might lessen the aching in his own skull. I pitied the fools.

As we walked to the training area we spied his prior victim, Ash, sitting well up the beach watching the other men. Gaston went to check on him and pronounced him unfit to participate this day. The boy seemed quite relieved.

“Gather round,” Striker called to the others.

The twenty-five men who would participate in the exercise complied with curiosity and a seeming eagerness to please him. I was bothered by this, in that I heard one remark to his compatriots, “Come now, the captain is calling,” and another say, “Now we’ll get some trainin’ iffn the Captain is overseein’ it.” I felt as if Striker had been robbed of the admirable aspects of his person, the things that made him a man worth rallying about, because they perceived him as a figurehead, a title, and not a man. But perhaps I was merely indulging in fantasy yet again, spying the worst in things benign, as I am so wont to do with men I dislike. And then I found it very sad that I had already decided to dislike these men.

The thought echoed words from the night before, and I pondered how much of my life I have spent seeing phantoms of my own heart in situations devoid of any meaning save what I ascribed to them, whether it be love from those I was enamored with, or hate from those I found displeasure in. In some ways, I truly might have been as mad as my matelot; I was ever at the mercy of my errant thoughts: they galloped to and fro, and shied like colts at every rustle in a hedge.

Striker was explaining the morning’s training.

“No weapons, sir?” one man asked diffidently.

“No weapons save our fists and feet,” Striker assured him, and then doffed his baldric and belt.

The men chuckled amongst themselves.

“Will there be a flag, or some such thing we must capture?” one of Ash’s purportedly gentle-born young companions asked.

Striker looked to me.

I sighed. I supposed that was a question of merit. I had rarely had opportunity to play the game, as it was a common thing and not one I was welcomed to in my childhood; and later, the noble sons I spent time with in my adolescence engaged in other forms of competition. But I remembered watching the game. The object had always been that one boy stay atop the hill or hay; and if he was dislodged, he tried to claw his way back into position again. This morning there would be eight of us. They could likely dislodge several. In the childhood version, the object had been to prove who was the most tenacious, wily, or strong. Today, we were here to teach them to fight in units, or as a unit. Thus, the prize could not be a thing one could win alone, nor could it be won by disposing of only one opponent. And, the landscape around us was devoid of anything that could be considered a true hill.

“You must dislodge all eight of us from a circle in the sand, and replace us with eight of your own,” I said. “And there must be some limit to the duration, but I leave that to Cudro to call.”

Striker and Cudro nodded.

“It starts and stops at Cudro’s command,” Striker said.

Several men shrugged, and the rest seemed to think even less of the task. Liam and Otter appeared resigned. Pete was grinning like a fiend. Gaston stretched languidly like a cat, his smile surely as feral. I pondered pity yet again.

We shed our weapons and walked out onto the firmer wet sand. The eight of us – Davey, Julio, Liam, Otter, Striker, Pete, Gaston and I – formed a loose ring. I chuckled as I saw how we positioned ourselves without word or signal to one another. Liam and Otter were our weakest pair, so Pete and Gaston, our best pugilists, put the musketeers between them. Striker and I took our places next to our matelots, and Davey and Julio stood between us. Cudro instructed the men to dig a trench in a large and rough circle around us.

As they dug, Gaston looked to me.

I grinned and whispered, “I will let no one behind you.”

He snorted, as if I said an obvious thing. “And watch to see where we are needed. I sometimes become distracted in battle.”

“You must not kill them,” I teased.

He hummed and studied the horizon quite seriously, as if my admonition were a sobering impediment to his plan.

I glanced around, and saw Striker checking all our positions. I grinned at him, and he sighed and shook his head with a lazy smile of his own.

The circle finally became a trench deep enough that over fifty scuffling feet could not easily erase it. Cudro stood a short distance away. As we waited for the signal, I dropped into a fighting stance slightly behind and to Gaston’s left, and eyed the men arrayed before me. Some hunkered down ready to charge, with mischief in their eyes. Others seemed to think it still something of a lark.

Then Cudro bellowed. The new men did not rush us as one solid wave: they trickled in, though they did move a bit faster and more purposefully, as the battle wore on, and tempers flared, and men became desperate. Time did not slow as it oft did when I was in mortal combat; but it did seem to flow a little sluggishly, as the moments became a seemingly endless procession of punches, blocks, trips, kicks, sand flying about, torn clothing, rabid grimaces, grunts, wild eyes, the often dull and occasionally sharp sound of flesh striking flesh, sprayed blood, curses, scrabbling, bellows, and the momentarily stunning sensation of taking a bad blow myself. I had much to focus on: Gaston was a blur of violence. I had not the time to see if the men he felled rose again, as I was often trying not to trip upon them while their fellows attempted to rush in around us. I kept all from Gaston’s rear, and occasionally redirected him toward assisting Liam and Otter or Julio and Davey. The musketeers were often judged to be the best targets by the canniest of our foes; but thankfully, our attackers never mounted a concerted effort against us. I did begin to notice them working in pairs or trios on occasion, though.

We fought intensely, and I was not aware of how much time had passed until the fighting stopped; and then I wondered if Cudro had called a halt and I had not heard him above the blood in my ears. None attacked us any longer. The eight of our cabal were still within the circle, though not all of us were standing. The new men were strewn all about: some in the circle, some without. The closer ones were not moving, and the ones farther away seemed to be in the act of moving farther still. Then I heard the deep rumble of Cudro’s laughter, and realized he had not called it at all. The whole matter had ground to a halt of its own volition. The new men had withdrawn.

Gaston and I were far from unmarred. I knew I would be stiff later, and by the morrow I might feel nearly as bad as I had after taking the beating in the tavern. As my flesh had not yet fully recovered from that debacle, it was not pleased with me in the least. Thankfully, I had only taken a few blows to the face, and none severe. Gaston now had a split lip and a blackened eye, though. He smiled at me happily as we checked one another over; then judging me not in imminent danger of expiring, he turned to the others.

Julio and Otter had been harmed so that they either could not stand, or were not willing to. Pete was crowing in victory. Striker was leaning over with his hands on his knees, panting, with a wry smile twisting his battered lips.

“Well, that was exhilarating,” I told him.

He swore, but his smile widened. “If you have any other stupid ideas, we must discuss them while sober. By God, I hope they learned something.”

I laughed and threw an arm around his shoulders. “They had best, or we will be repeating the lesson.”

“Na’ all o’ us,” Liam snapped from behind me.

We turned, and found Gaston tending to a gash on Otter’s head. The Dutchman was also cradling his arm to his chest.

“How is he?” Striker asked.

“I will live,” Otter said.

Gaston awarded us a compressed smile. “He is correct. His wrist is wrenched and I must sew this cut. I have not examined Julio, but he says his ankle is likewise wrenched.”

We looked to Julio and found him giving a thin grin and terse nod in agreement. He sat with his right leg carefully extended. Davey and he looked as bad as Gaston and I.

“How are the rest of us?” Striker asked.

Pete walked up and popped one of his fingers into proper alignment with the rest. I winced more than he at the sight of it. He pulled his kerchief off and wrapped it about the wounded digit and its neighbors. His nose looked bloodied and askew, and I thought it likely his golden skin would soon be purple in many a place.

“IBeFine,” Pete said. He squatted next to Otter. “BastardTha’HitYa BeLyin’OverThar.”

We looked. The man he pointed to was one of six I saw who were not rousing themselves from the sand with groans and curses, as so many of their compatriots were. Gaston went to him and examined him gently, before pronouncing him alive and realigning his head into a more comfortable position before moving on to the next man. Thankfully, none of the six who did not rise were dead; though Gaston expressed concern over two of them and wanted them carried carefully to the camps on the beach. The others he assigned men to watch.

The new men not engaged in helping the wounded were coming back toward us, slowly. They were all quite serious now.

Cudro had sobered sufficiently to join us. He looked about, and his excellent voice boomed across the beach. “What happened to the lot of ya?” he harangued the men.

“They be good,” one man yelled back. “Damn good. We can’t fight like that.”

“Bullocks!” Striker countered loudly, surprising the men. “We’re not all that good. Two of our number are excellent at this form of combat; the rest of us aren’t.”

“Aye,” Cudro boomed. He turned on me. “Will, what were you doing?”

“Watching my matelot’s back, and seeing where we might be needed,” I said for all to hear.

“And you?” Cudro asked of Striker.

“The same,” Striker said.

“And you?” the Dutchman asked of Liam.

“Tryin’ ta help me matelot, an’ not get in the way o’ the others,” the Scotsman said with some frustration.

Cudro continued to call on each of us in the circle in turn.

“Helpin’ Julio,” Davey said indignantly.

“Trying to keep Liam and me from being dragged away,” Otter said. “So that we did not lose because of us.”

“Disabling as many opponents as I could reach,” Gaston said, and sighed as he examined another injured man. “And preventing any of our number from being dragged away.”

“What’ESaid,” Pete bellowed. “SoThereBeLess O’ThemTaFightAnWe Win.”

“You?” Cudro bellowed at a hapless man beyond the circle. “What were you doing?”

“I w-w-were t-t-tryin’ ta grab one o’ ’em,” the man said.

Cudro pointed at another man, one of Ash’s young gentleman associates.

The boy pointed at a downed older man at his feet. “This man thought the thin blond man was a good target,” he said defiantly. “I agreed. So I was attempting to assist him. And then the large blond man stopped us.”

“Good!” Cudro boomed. “You did well. You were working with another.”

The youth blinked. “Oh.”

“That’s right!” Striker yelled at them. “Buccaneers fight in pairs. We work together. You saw that today. Eight men working together can defeat three times their number.”

“Sir? Can we try it again?” someone asked.

This was greeted by a great many curses from his comrades and laughter from Striker.

“Not bloody likely,” Striker said. “I will not be willing to face you boys again if you learned anything from this day.”

This seemed to amuse them.

“I want the lot of you to pair up,” Striker said. “You need not lie with one another, but you must find a man to stand at your side in battle. Nor need it be a man among your own number. There are men amongst the Brethren who have lost their matelots and seek another. Find someone to stand with. Now, help get the wounded back to the camps. We’ve all had enough for today.”

The men eyed one another with a new intent. I would have felt victorious, if I had not spent the remainder of the day steeped in guilt as I assisted Gaston in caring for the injured. They had learned, but at the price of many a wrenched joint, broken bone, and blackened eye. But of course, that was better than their not learning, which would have had a higher cost indeed.

That evening, we ended our seeing to Gaston’s patients where we had begun, with Liam and Otter, as they were at our fire. Otter appeared to be sleeping contentedly, but Liam did not look as if he would rest anytime soon. He was frowning at the waves and jabbing a knife repeatedly into the sand. In another, I would have attributed this behavior to agitation, but I had not seen Liam exhibit its like before. Belatedly, I recalled his reaction to other events and words, and that I had wished to speak with him.

I motioned Gaston away and, as he too was frowning at Liam’s sand-stabbing. He gave a curt nod and went to sit where we would sleep.

“Are you well?” I asked Liam quietly.

He seemed surprised to be addressed. “I be fine.”

I was heartened when he stopped stabbing the sand and seemed surprised he had been doing so. I sat next to him and pitched my voice for his ears alone.

“I am sorry Otter was so badly injured,” I said. “I feel I should not have asked you to participate. You are musketeers, after all, and valued for your ability to shoot; which poor Otter cannot now do with his wrist as it is. I wish there had been another way to teach them, and perhaps there was and I was too stupid to see it. I feel guilt over the number of injured this night, especially when one is a friend and carries more value than the rest of them put together. I only hope the sacrifice of his well-being will save some of their lives.”

Liam took a long breath and spoke sadly. “It na’ be your fault. Ya’ did well. Ya’ be right, on all counts. They’ll learn now, and live.” Then he added vehemently, “And by God, Otter be ten times the man o’ any o’ ’em. It should ’ave been me. I’m worthless. The only things I be valued for is firin’’ somethin’, whether it be me musket or me mouth.”

“And you are valued highly for those things,” I said lightly.

“Aye, am I now? Well the one, surely but the other? All know me as a gossip, and ’tis not a thing valued. I can keep a secret, though. I keep many secrets.”

“Liam, at no point have I wished to impugn your honor. I daresay you are especially good at keeping secrets, mainly because few will expect that you hold any, as they feel you tell all. Your propensity for gossip could be considered a distraction for holding that which is most true far from prying eyes.”

He frowned and sighed. “No man trusts me, even Otter at times… I said a thing too many once an’ he has never forgiven me. He don’t believe in tellin’ no one nothin’. Not even…” He trailed off and shook his head with annoyance. “There I go again. ’Tis as if I canna’ shut me mouth. The words just want ta be tumblin’ out.”

I endeavored to find the words to assuage his guilt. I did not feel he was a bad man for doing as he did. I had known others like him, men driven to confess all, to share all perhaps, with anyone who would listen. I was sometimes such a man.

“I often feel as you do,” I said carefully. “I feel I cannot hold back the words. I find myself frustrated that others will not address things that must be spoken of. I feel compelled perhaps, to insure that all know whatever they might need to know of a situation, even, and sometimes especially, if another party does not wish it to be known for reasons which might be injurious to the party I tell. I do not believe secrets should be kept unless they have great import… and then, well, those secrets are my own: the ones so dark I cannot find the words to speak of them to any except…” I sighed.

I was not sure if that was what he needed to hear, and I felt that it was not a thing I wished to dwell on. He was frowning at the waves. I needed to take another tack.

“I trust you, Liam,” I said. “I trust you not to betray a confidence for the sake of doing so. I feel that your curiosity about the business of others is motivated by a sincere interest in their well-being, and I feel your garrulity is motivated by love and friendship, a wish to share knowledge. And I believe mankind has always needed men who are willing to tell the tales and spread the news. In this latest matter with my matelot, you spread a lie for the sake of a friend. We trusted you to do so. You could have as easily spread the truth, which was that we wanted a lie spread. If I had thought for one second that you would do such a thing, I would not have involved you at all.”

He turned to me with thoughtful surprise. “Aye, I suppose that be true. I had na’ seen it as such. You all make jest of me, and I be thinkin’… Aye, I just didna’ see it so.”

I smiled with relief. I had found the words after all.

“Liam, you are an excellent shot, and I do not fear you will shoot a comrade, as long as you know where the man stands.”

He grinned. “That be so. But iffn’ a man don’t tell me a thing be a secret…” he looked to his sleeping matelot and sighed.

“I hope you can resolve the matter with Otter someday.”

“That wouldna’ be the only thing we tussle o’er, but that be the way o’ it,” he said sadly.

“I believe so.”

I left him smiling at the sea.

The next day, the men who could move were more amenable to training, but as all were bruised and sore, we did not seek to exert either them or ourselves. That evening, our cabal was followed back to our camp by a gaggle of seven of the new men, some still seeking instruction, but others seeking something else entirely. As we dropped into the places we had claimed in a rough circle in the smoke of our cook fire, they clustered awkwardly nearby. Striker invited them to sit with us, and soon he and Liam were telling tales; and roast beef and a bottle of wine were passed about.

Sallow-faced Ash was among them, and he had been followed by another young gentleman who went by the name of Nickel. This planter’s son was pretty, with delicate features and fine blond hair that rivaled Liam’s in its paleness. I had noticed him before, both because he was particularly beautiful, though not in a way I had ever favored, and also because Liam had taken a liking to him, as the boy had proven to be quite the marksman.

Another of the men who had shown promise in that area was also among our guests. He was a tall, thin, lanky man everyone called Bones. This was due to there seeming to be little betwixt his skin and skeleton. Despite its crags, his bony face was amiable enough: he had a wide toothy grin that went from ear to ear. He appeared well-seasoned to either the tropics or the sea. His hide was tanned brown and weathered, and he kept his dark hair shorter than his well-trimmed beard. I had not heard if he learned to shoot in the navy or army, but there was a manner about him that made me suspect a stint in the military; yet he did not bow or scrape or treat any of us like officers.

He stood in contrast to another of our guests, Burroughs. He had obviously spent a number of years in the army, and he was having great difficulty freeing himself from those habits. He was a big, burly man: not fat, but wide across the shoulder, with arms nearly as big as my thighs. He was balding early, so that he appeared older than he probably was; and he had a nasty scar across his right eye and cheekbone, though the eye beneath was miraculously intact. He had not proven to have much of a gift for muskets; but he had taken to the cutlass well, and was one of the few who had given us a bit of trouble in the game the day before. Cudro thought he would be a fine boarder.

All the new men with us were enthralled by Liam’s and Striker’s tales in their own ways: some listened with quiet amusement, and others asked questions here and there.

When Striker finished telling of our gold-laden galleon sinking in the storm, Ash asked, “I understand how that gold is lost, but I do not understand how you are all so poor if you have been at this for so long. I was told there were riches to be plundered from the Spanish.”

This elicited laughter all around.

“You’ll not get rich at this,” Striker said.

“An’ who says we be poor?” Liam added.

“Aye,” Cudro rumbled, “some of us have land, six of us own that ship, and several of us have money hidden away.”

“You do not live like rich men,” Ash said.

I shook my head. “While it is probably true that none here possesses the money your father has, or mine – well, actually, one among us does, and I still might inherit – but we are well enough for men who hardly work and spend many of our days lazing about in paradise with no one to give us orders.”

All of our cabal cheered. As I looked about I realized another aspect of the matter.

“And,” I continued, “I cannot speak for all, but I do not believe any of us came to the Brethren to seek our fortunes. I came for adventure and romance, and to escape my father’s plans.”

“I was exiled,” Gaston added.

“Pete and I were shipped here as slaves,” Striker said.

“Otter and I got conscripted inta the roundhead army,” Liam said.

“I escaped slavery,” Julio said.

“So did I, but on a ship,” Davey said.

“I came here looking for work as a pilot,” the Bard said.

“I was exiled somewhat, and then conscripted,” Dickey said after some consideration.

This brought amusement to all who knew him, as Dickey was the only one among us who had been forced – though kindly – to join the Brethren and had not sought them as a means of escape.

At this, the new men began to speak.

“I’m escapin’ my old life,” Bones said with a lethargic mien. “An’ even if I must be poor here, it’s a helluva a lot better than where I was.”

“Amen,” Burroughs said with a grin.

“My father wanted me to join the clergy,” Nickel said quietly.

I looked to Ash. “You must decide if you seek adventure or gold. If you truly seek gold, go and study the law.”

Ash sighed heavily. “I just heard so many tales.”

“And what would you do if you became rich beyond imaging?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Not study the law, and lie around on beaches drinking.”

“I’mStartin’TaLike’Im,” Pete said with a loud guffaw.

“I had another question,” Nickel said when the laughter ebbed. “How is it that you all came to choose the matelots you did? I wish to understand the criteria for making such a decision.”

This was initially met with quiet amusement until Liam addressed it.

“We na’ be askin’ ya ta choose a matelot, we be askin’ ya ta pair up for fightin’. A matelot be different. Matelotage be a matter of great import amongst the Brethren. A matelot be a man’s partner. Matelots share everything they ’ave. If a man canna’ speak for ’isself, ’is matelot can speak for ’im. They need na be buggerin’ one another, but more often than na’ it comes ta that in the end. “

“It is akin to marriage,” I added, and Liam nodded agreement.

“Aye,” Striker said. “You may pair with a man for fighting and then decide to become matelots later if it is amenable to both of you, and that is often the way of it; but we are not asking you to choose a man to make that sort of commitment with.”

This led to a good deal of thoughtful nodding by our guests.

“Then I will rephrase my question,” Nickel said. “How is it you came to pair with the men you did who you later became matelots with?”

This led to more chuckling and laughter among our cabal.

“Well,” Striker sighed, “Davey and Julio were the only ones of us who started in that fashion. Davey was new to us and needed a man to board with. Julio had no matelot. They agreed to pair.” He shrugged. “They became matelots within the week. The rest of us… Pete and I met in Newgate and we were chained together for the voyage here, sold as bondsmen together, and escaped together. After all of that, we just stayed together.”

“Aye, that often be the way o’ it,” Liam said. “Otter an’ me both came by accident ta join Cromwell’s forces. As we were both good with a musket, we ended up in the same unit on the march to take Saint Jago. Most of the men died, but we were lucky and lived ta come ta Jamaica. By then we ‘ad gotten ta know one another, an’ since men be dyin’ on Jamaica, Otter wanted ta go to try ’is luck with the Brethren, though we knew little o’ ’em. I decided ta go with ’im. We been together since.”

“What of you, L… Will?” Ash asked.

This brought even more amusement from our friends.

“There was little practical consideration and a great deal of assumption in our partnering,” I said. “We met on a street in Port Royal one day; by that night we were committing piracy together; by the next day we decided to sail on the North Wind; the morning after that, I entered into a discussion concerning matelotage during the articles, and someone,” I pointed at Cudro, “asked if I had a matelot, and thus grounds to have the position I did on that matter – and a chorus of fools on the quarterdeck,” I flung the empty bottle at Striker, who ducked with a laugh, “confirmed for all that, aye, indeed I did.”

“It’s not our fault you two were so bloody in love with each other you were blind to the circumstances,” Striker countered.

As Gaston was sitting behind me and I was leaning on him, I could not well see his face to gauge his response, but he hugged me reassuringly and kissed my ear.

“So ya did na know the other could even fight?” Burroughs asked.

“Nay,” I said quickly. “I knew he was a swordsman the moment we met, by his stance and the weapons he carried. I did not know how good of a swordsman, but when he said he had lived here ten years, I thought it likely he was competent.”

“So none of you chose your partners, or matelots, so much for reasons of fighting,” Nickel said.

“Nay, we did not,” I said. “You have that option now, though fate and chance have limited the men you might choose to the ones on this ship.”

“Sure as the Devil not be the French,” Burroughs said, and then glanced at Gaston and added, “I mean no offense. I just… fought the French in the war.”

Gaston shrugged, and I noted another old habit of which Burroughs need be broken.

“Choose a man with skills like your own,” Liam was saying. “Some men be boarders, and some men be musketeers, an’ even though we be raidin’ towns this spring, an’ it not matter quite the same, it be best if ya pair with a man as if it would, that way there be less ta sort out later if we do be rovin’. ’Cause it na be good iffn one man be a boarder an’ the other a musketeer who don’t board, ’cause then ya get ta worryin’ about the other and neither of ya be much good.”

There was an underlying assumption in Liam’s suggestion that they would care about the man they chose.

“Unless you already have a man you do care about,” Striker added quickly, “either a lover or a fine friend that you would rather be partnered with. If that’s the case, and you have differing skills, we’ll decide which team to assign the both of you to.”

And it was also in Striker’s words. We all knew the real strength of matelotage in battle was not that we were simply pairs of men strewn about a battle field, but that we were pairs of men who would die for one another and cared more for our partners than ourselves. I realized that this was not the thing we had imparted to these men as of yet, though. In telling them they need only pair for fighting, and not for sex or love, we were denying them the real strength of matelotage. Yet, judging from the history of the rest of our cabal, I thought it likely they simply assumed that the love would follow. Perhaps, in their experience, it always did. I wished to be alone with my friends to ask of it but we still had seven interlopers to contend with.

And those seven were appearing greatly confused.

“First,” I said, “determine if there is a man among you who you care enough for that you wish to be at their side in any battle to insure no harm comes to them. If no such man exists here for you, then choose a man you get on well with who possesses skills like your own.”

“Aye, what Will said,” Striker said with a grin.

This seemed to help them: I received thoughtful nods and not confused stares.

They began to eye one another. It was likely we should be thankful love was not involved in this undertaking: if they were making decisions with their heads, and not their heart or pricks, there would not be any dueling or other battles.

The next fortnight passed in healing bodies, training, and frolicking. Gaston and I assisted in teaching better fighting methods during the days, and discovered new ways to amuse one another during the nights. The new men applied themselves diligently to pairing up, though not to everyone’s satisfaction, and sometimes the fledgling pairs changed daily, if not hourly. There were no duels; however, Liam and Cudro almost came to blows one afternoon over something. I felt compelled to go and discover what the matter was; but Gaston convinced me not to meddle, and that someone would come to me if they were injured in spirit.

One fine afternoon, Gaston and I swam out to a sand bar at the mouth of the bay with Pete and Striker, who I had been delighted to learn also knew how to swim. The hours were whiled away in idle chatter and horseplay. Striker was relieved to be free of his duties for a time. Pete was obsessed with wrestling a shark if he could catch one. Thankfully, the few small specimens we saw were apparently scared of Pete’s gangly presence in their home, and could swim far faster than he could ever dream to.

Gaston had been as sane as I could remember for the past week. He had even taken to doffing his tunic when we were about our friends, and I was beginning to grow accustomed to seeing him cavorting with Pete while naked. I say accustomed, in that it no longer gave me immediate rise. All was very well with my world.

“I would spend my days like this if I could,” I remarked to Striker as we lay in the surf with small waves lapping across our chests. We were watching what we could see of Gaston and Pete chasing sharks.

“Would you? This, and nothing else?” He sounded curious and not at all sarcastic.

“There is more?” I teased. “What else would you have of life?”

He shook his head sadly; and though I regarded him curiously, he would not turn to face me.

“Things I cannot have here,” he said quietly.

I felt the fool, as I always do when I have been floating in a cloud of happiness with little thought for others. There was a pall of melancholy about him. It was subtle, as compared to my bouts of sorrow. As I thought on it, I realized Striker had been in the grips of it for days. I wondered what had brought it on.

“Children?” I asked gently, as it was the only thing I could think of that he could not have here that I had heard he might want.

“Aye,” he sighed. “And… sometimes I think I would want a home that does not float. But it is mere foolishness,” he added quickly. “I would become bored.”

“I imagine Pete would,” I said carefully.

He sighed again, and though Striker said nothing, I sensed Pete to be at the heart of the matter.

“Is there anything you would have that you can’t have with Gaston?” Striker asked before I could pose a question.

“A consistency of sanity, perhaps.”

He chuckled. “Well, I can see that. He seems to be doing well.”

I accepted his change of the subject. “Aye.”

“You two have been quite… amorous of late.”

“Aye.” I grinned.

“In ways you have not been before,” he teased without looking at me.

“Aye…” I laughed. “As you know, Gaston does not favor men, but his cock has at last found great favor with me of late.”

“Well God bless it,” he crowed. “But could you do me a fine favor, and be more discreet? Pete has become a bit competitive of late.”

I grinned. “And you take issue with that?”

“Four times a day. I’m captain, Will. I have duties.”

His words were light, but he would still not meet my gaze.

We laughed, but I wondered a thing or two, and I did not know how to ask for the answers I sought.

The four of us returned to camp as the sun sank low. Cudro met us. I was surprised when he professed to want to speak to me and not Striker. Then he intimated he wished to speak to me alone. Gaston would have none of it, and so Cudro reluctantly strolled up the beach with the two of us.

“I have a matter I would seek your advice on,” Cudro finally said in French when the three of us were relatively alone. He glanced at Gaston and sighed.

“A matter?” I queried.

“A matter involving matelotage,” he said gruffly.

“I am flattered that men seem to feel I know much of the matter.”

“Do they?” he asked.

I frowned. “Well, you are the second to approach me on such matters. And you did approach me, for some reason.”

He ignored my comment and glanced about. “Who was the first?”

“Well, Dickey, and that was before we sailed here.”

“So none here?” he asked.

“Non.”

He appeared relieved. Gaston and I exchanged a quizzical look.

“I have been approached concerning the matter,” Cudro said quietly.

“For advice?” I asked.

“Non, for… I have been asked to become a man’s partner,” he sighed.

“Ah! Well then… Who?” I asked.

“There have been two,” he grumbled.

“Do tell. Famine or feast then,” I teased.

He sighed irritably. “I wish for neither… of the men, boys… damn it.”

I sobered. “Let me guess, the candidates are among the new men.”

“Oui. Burroughs and that boy Ash.”

“And you find favor with neither of them.” I was not asking. Cudro had tastes in the matter as refined as mine, and if he had merely wished to have a partner it would have been easy for him to obtain one. Cudro was also as much of a romantic as I, in his own fashion.

“And furthermore,” I added, “they did not seek you because they find favor in you, but because they are seeking a strategic partner as we instructed; and they felt the lone and experienced quartermaster would be an excellent choice.”

“Precisely,” he snorted.

I shrugged. “So… refuse them. Tell them you wish to pair for love.”

He swore vehemently in Dutch at the sky. “I did refuse them, politely even, but not for that reason. I told Burroughs and Ash they lacked the experience to partner with a quartermaster; that my matelot might need to stand in my stead.”

I shrugged again. “That is true, and probably left few hard feelings. So why then are we talking?”

He swore again. “There is a third. One I wish to approach.”

“But you cannot because of the other two?” I guessed.

“Precisely,” he snorted. “The third is young Nickel.”

I laughed. I should have realized. Nickel of the fine features and build would have captured Cudro’s eye.

“Oui, laugh,” Cudro sighed.

I tried to contain myself. “I am sorry, my friend. So is that what you quarreled with Liam over?”

“Oui. I wished to have the boy as a boarder.” He shook his head. “He is, of course, best suited to be a musketeer.”

“And you cannot approach him now, anyway,” I said, “as you rejected the other two for lack of experience, and the same would apply to him. You have fenced yourself into quite the corner. You should not have lied.”

“Oui, I know that now. Thus we are talking,” he said glumly. “I have made a tragedy of it, or perhaps a comedy. I always do. I am nearly never attracted to men who would do well as my equal partner among the Brethren, just as I am ever attracted to those who…” He gave a guilty glance toward Gaston.

“You prefer younger, handsome men,” I said kindly, “such as Tom, or Dieppe, or even Gaston.”

“Oui,” he said quickly.

“Cudro, might I ask, how long has it been?”

“Years,” he sighed. “There have been men, but not men I would want as matelots, or… not men I could take as matelot for battle. There have been men I wanted to lie with, and men I wanted to fight beside, but the two have not been the same. It’s been… Damn it, Will, it’s been so long that if I thought Burroughs was the least bit interested in me, I would take him on and close my eyes at night. But he is not; he said as much.”

“Would Nickel find favor with you?” Gaston asked.

“Non,” Cudro growled in anger, at himself, not my matelot. I was surprised he had managed such a sound with a word with no r’s.

“I know well I am not your kind of man,” Cudro added.

Gaston turned to look at him. “I did not wish to be anyone’s boy.”

Cudro nodded sadly. “That is the crux of it. No man worth having as a matelot in these West Indies would want to be someone’s boy. And I want a boy. I want someone to take care of. It is a thing I do not understand, but the possibility of it is a thing that often drives me concerning love and lust.”

I patted the big man’s shoulder. “I have met young men who would find great favor with both you and being cared for, but you are correct, they would make poor matelots. I see why you are alone, and I am sorry.”

He shrugged. “It is the way of it. Or rather, it is my way.”

“I know not what advice I might offer,” I said.

“Non, neither do I. Perhaps I merely needed to speak of it,” he sighed.

“Find a man who favors men as you do, and fights well, and make the best of it,” Gaston said. His tone was not cold, but it was not kind either.

Cudro snorted. “You make it sound so easy.”

“You make is sound impossible,” Gaston replied. “If you can no longer tolerate being alone, you will find someone, and you will learn to love them.” With that, he left us.

“Though his point is sharp and a bit harsh, it does pierce the truth, perhaps,” I said.

“Oui,” Cudro sighed. “I always wish to have what I cannot, and I never seem to take what I could have and enjoy it.”

“Do you feel some great need to treat yourself so?”

He smiled sadly. “Perhaps I do. I will think on it.”

“You are worthy of love,” I hazarded.

He regarded me sharply. “How would you know?”

I sighed. “I do you no singular favor. No matter what sins they have committed, I feel all men are worthy of love by someone. I might not be the one to grant them that respect or devotion, but there is always someone who will, and if there is someone, then they can be loved. Yet, I know well it is a notion we find great difficulty placing faith in when it concerns ourselves.”

Cudro smiled. “I will ponder it.”

“Then I leave you to that.”

I jogged down the beach until I caught up with Gaston. “I agree that he sets hurdles he cannot jump,” I said as I fell into stride beside him. “And tell me: are you making the best of it?”

He sighed. “I feared you would interpret it in that manner.”

I chuckled. “I say things I fear you will take poorly all the time.”

“I am not making the best of it,” he said. “This is the pinnacle. There is nothing for me to fabricate to convince myself it is such a thing. It is simply the best.”

“But when we started?” I chided, and poked him in the ribs.

He turned to face me, his eyes earnest. “You were of enough interest, and I was lonely enough, that oui, I decided to make the best of it.”

“Then it is not a bad thing at all,” I said gently.

He showed me once again how little of a bad thing it was.

I was pleased we were well down the beach, so as not to arouse Pete yet again by our antics. Still, I noted that the Golden One eyed us curiously as we returned. Our friends were passing a bottle of Madeira, and Striker seemed to have had more than his share, though he was not drunk. When Pete reached for him he did a surprising thing, and stood with a roar of annoyance. All about the fire regarded him with wonderment: most of all, Pete. It was the first time I had seen Striker at a loss for how to behave when he had all eyes upon him. He stalked off into the night. Then all attention turned to Pete.

To my further amazement, Pete did not follow his matelot. Instead, he looked to me and said, “SomeoneShould WatchAfter’Im.”

The ancient Godlike mien had descended into Pete’s eyes once again, but this time it was quite dark in character. Whatever was afoot, he knew the nature of it.

Gaston shrugged when I looked to him, and I turned and hurried in the direction Striker had gone. I found him standing in the surf. I joined him, studying what I could of his profile in the moonlight. His eyes were tightly closed.

“Do you wish for company?” I asked over the waves.

“What did Cudro want?” he asked without turning to me.

I decided responding to his ploy would not be a true breach of Cudro’s confidence. “He wishes for a matelot, but he wants more than a partner in battle, and he does not want the men who want him, and the men he wants are not suitable as matelots.”

Striker swore. “At least he…” The growl that followed was unintelligible, but I did not think it was meant to contain the words to finish his sentence.

“What is the matter?” I asked. “I would aid you if I could.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if you would understand.” He finally turned to me. “You want what you have.”

“This concerns Pete,” I said.

“Aye, it concerns Pete!”

He was furious, but I did not feel it was directed at my person.

“You once told me that though you do not favor men, you favor Pete a great deal. Has that changed?” I asked.

He looked away to kick at the waves in frustration and rail. “I love him. I cannot conceive of life without him. A man could not ask for a better matelot. There are times when my member finds great favor with him. And most times I enjoy his finding favor with me. But damn it, Will! The talk of marriage and babies set me thinking, and then he feels it is a threat to him, and then you two are going at it day and night. Now he will not leave me alone! I am so…”

He sat in the surf, and I was forced to drop to my knees beside him in order to hear his words.

“I dream of my wife… and other women, some I have known, others I merely fancied in my youth. I wake hard as iron with thoughts of breasts and the curve of a girlish arse. I want to fuck a woman. I want a frail body in my arms. I want to tongue a teat I could suffocate in. I want to smell the scent of her cunt on my fingers. I want to slide my prick deep inside her without the odor of hogs’ fat or shit. I want to feel that when I spill my seed it might take root. I want…”

He shuddered with unshed tears and frustration. I put an arm about his shoulders. That closeness was what allowed me to hear what he said next.

“It makes Pete angry,” he whispered. “He knows, and he feels I’ll leave him, and so he tries to convince me no one will love me as he will, and… He hates them, Will, he truly does. I’ve suggested sharing a wife. I’ve suggested that I visit a whore on occasion. He’ll have none of it. So I’ve slipped away to whores when I feel as I do now. He doesn’t know. It eats me alive that I had to lie to him; that I’ll do it again.”

I truly knew not what to say. For a time I could only rub his back and contemplate the surf as thoughts tumbled through my head. There was a common weave to them, and I struggled to decipher the pattern until finally I thought that divulging them might help.

“You are correct,” I said at last, “I do have that which I desire, but what you do not know is that has been a long and painful struggle to achieve.”

“Will, I didn’t mean…”

I shook my head. “Nay, hold, let me speak of this and ramble a bit about it. The topic might assist you in finding another way of viewing your own predicament, or it may not. At the least, you might find it a distraction.”

He chuckled with little mirth. “Then I’ll listen.”

“Many assume that, as there was Adam and Eve, so there are all men and women; that a man is strong and manly and a woman soft and yielding; and that a man should hold only to women and vice versa, but we all know that is not always the way of it. I have oft been confronted by the notion that a man who favors other men is expected to be womanly in some fashion, that he must be womanly, else he would not favor other men.”

“Aye,” Striker said bitterly.

I thought it good he had been in the West Indies and not England with his predicament, as being branded a sodomite might have driven him mad. But of course, in England, where there were women, he would never have cleaved with Pete such as he had.

“I have met many men who favored men who were not the least bit womanly,” I continued. “And a number of women who favored women who were not the least bit manly. The two things, whether one is masculine or feminine in nature, and who one favors, have little to do with one another. And by the same coin, men who favor other men sometimes favor masculine men, and sometimes feminine men, just as women who favor women sometimes favor masculine women, and sometimes feminine. They are all separate colors that weave the pattern of that individual, and every pattern is different.”

Striker was frowning, but it was thoughtful frown and he turned to face me.

I continued. “I recently met a young woman who wishes to be manly in many ways. She wishes to embrace the role a man can have in this world, in that she would learn to sail, fence, attend a university, and lead men. Yet, this young woman did not wish to be manly per se when it came to matters sexual. She wished to be with a man, not a woman. And I feel this dichotomy is very hard on her.”

In fact, I realized it probably tore at her very soul, and I felt great sympathy for Christine.

“In other examples,” I went on, “we both know a man, Cudro, who favors men, yet does not favor men who are as manly as himself. He is enamored of younger men, softer and more yielding men perhaps, who he can care for in ways that men usually care for women. Yet a man of that nature does not make a good matelot for a buccaneer, and so Cudro exists in a quandary over the matter. Sadly, he would do fine in the courts, where there are often young men of that nature in abundance.”

“Where do you stand on these matters?” Striker asked.

I sighed and smiled grimly. “I favor men; I have done so since my youth. I favor manly men who I can yield to, though only now have I found a man I am willing to yield to. I have spent much of my life as a lover of men, bestowing – because I could not trust another in that way – and yearning to at last be able to receive, to yield. Yet, I do not perceive of myself as being womanly.”

“I do not see you as being womanly,” Striker said. “And Gaston, though he does not favor men, he finds favor with a masculine man?”

“Who yields. Aye, he wishes to bestow.”

“Pete must bestow. And…” He reclined onto the stand to study the stars with a thoughtful mien. “In truth, I do not know if Pete favors men.” He said it as if it were a curiosity to him.

“What?” I asked with surprise.

“Nay,” he said with more conviction. “I feel it is more that he hates women so that he will not lie with one, and so he has only been with men. It was what he learned as a boy from other boys. And I feel that is what rankles me the most, that he wants me to be womanly after a fashion. He takes great pride in caring for me, and in how I care for him. It is… I don’t know if I can explain it. You know he rarely receives me.”

I nodded. “I have noticed, and you have made light of it.”

“Aye, I jest about it, but truly I do not find it a jesting matter. He is ever quick to let me know how much his yielding to me is a gesture of his love. I feel it is a thing he has done with no other. He just…”

He was deep in thought and did not continue, and so I let him lie there and think while I dallied with my own thoughts.

I had met a woman once, a widowed baroness, who had been so abused by men she refused to lie with them. She turned to women instead, though she did not naturally find favor with them. She professed the needs of her body were such that she desired some form of human solace and pleasure, and since she could find no comfort with any man, she chose women. And I had known courtesans over the years who, though they did not eschew men entirely, did not take them as lovers, but only as clients, preferring loving relationships with other women to provide them with companionship and delight, even though they did not prefer their own sex in the matter of sex.

So what Striker implied was conceivable to me: that Pete had simply turned from women out of pain and hatred. He chose men, and not feminine men, as that would probably remind him of women; yet, deep inside, he might long for a woman, or someone who behaved as one.

And Striker did care for him. Striker was always the one seeing that their needs were met: that they were fed, clothed, housed, and had money. Striker seemed to take to the role quite well, he made a good wife after a fashion, or perhaps a good mother in a certain sense. Their partnership worked well, in all but this matter of Striker’s Horse being none too keen about being perceived as a thing it was not.

I returned my attention to Striker and found him still staring at the heavens.

“Would he yield regarding the matter of a woman if the alternative was not to have you?” I asked.

“He would rather kill me,” Striker said dully.

“Truly?”

“Aye, I believe he would kill us both before losing me to a woman.” He sat up and shrugged. “As it stands, he feels I am falling prey to the other captains; but I do not yearn to become a planter, or acceptable, or a gentleman, I just want a woman now and again, and children. Damn me, but I do want children.”

“Has Pete ever expressed any interest in progeny?” I asked. “Gaston took me by surprise with his desire for them. I have never wished for any, but I know I am uncommon among men in that regard.”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “We cannot discuss it. Or rather, he will not discuss it.”

“Not to give myself airs, but do you feel he might be willing to discuss it with another?”

Striker gestured toward the camp. “Please, I wish you success in the endeavor.” Then he sobered. “Actually, he might speak with you.”

“If the opportunity presents itself, I will do what I can, without divulging the specifics of what you have relayed, of course.”

“As devious as you are, I believe that,” he said with a smile.

I was taken aback. “Devious?”

“Clever?” he offered.

“I will take clever over devious, but truly I like neither.”

“I meant no insult, Will.”

“I realize that, I am just troubled to be viewed so.” Though I supposed it was true and I was often viewed so.

“How would you name it?” he asked.

“Diplomatic, perhaps?” I tried.

He awarded me a lopsided grin.

I sighed. “Devious.”

He threw his arm about my shoulder and pulled me close to kiss my cheek. “I love you, Will, like a brother. Thank you. If ever I might repay the favor.”

I embraced him in return. “We are well now, but I am sure I will need to avail myself of your offer at some future date.”

Most of our cabal was sleeping by the time we returned, except for Gaston and Pete, of course; they sat a little beyond the others, talking. Their eyes were expectant as we approached.

Striker leaned over and kissed Pete deeply. In return, Pete made no move to grab him. When their lips parted, their eyes met, and in the flickering firelight I could see the bond between them. It was a thing to be reckoned with, and I felt that Striker misunderstood Pete’s devotion. I thought it likely that Pete would indeed do anything Striker asked, as long as Striker asked for it in a way Pete would hear. But then I am a romantic, and Striker’s revelations as to the flaws of their relationship had been disheartening, and I very much wanted to see some reassurance that all was not as bleak as he said.

Gaston and I moved away to the bowl of sand we had taken as our own. My matelot did not reach for me, either; instead we curled up nose to nose by mutual accord.

“Pete fears he is losing Striker to the forces of civilization,” Gaston said.

“If he is not careful, he will lose Striker to the forces of Striker’s Horse.” I quickly relayed the gist of Striker’s complaints and needs.

“They do not talk,” Gaston said thoughtfully when I finished. “None of them talk: not as we do. That is why they make jest of us for doing so.”

I nodded. “Oui, it is a thing unfamiliar to them.”

“As we have discussed before, it is a thing of centaurs,” he said.

“Oui,” I sighed. “Do you feel Pete would yield on the matter, or do you feel he might actually harm Striker and himself? Is his Horse so very…”

“Will, Pete is his Horse, there is no man,” Gaston said with conviction.

“I suppose that is true.” I chuckled.

“We discussed the sharing of our matelots with women,” he continued somberly. “It is different for each of us, though. You do not favor women, whereas Striker does. And Pete is aware of that. And he fears it, because it is a thing of such a fundamental nature that he knows neither he nor Striker can combat it. It is as if he views his eventual demise in Striker’s life as inevitable because of it: he feels he fights a losing battle, yet, he knows of no other way to exist. He has battled much in his life, Will, as I have.”

I kissed Gaston’s nose. “I am not pleased as to the nature of this kinship, but I am pleased you have found one with Pete.”

He nodded seriously. “I am surprised and pleased also. I feel as if I have made a new friend; though he was friend before, it was not to the degree I feel he is now.”

“I feel the same concerning Striker now. He offered to allow me to unburden my soul upon him…”

Gaston nodded. “Please do not discuss events concerning my sister. All else…” He shrugged.

“Agreed,” I said and kissed his nose. “And I likewise agree to your discussing anything you might need to with Pete.”

“I have already told him of all that occurred with the Brisket, and my desire for children, and that they have a proper dam: one we would want issue from. He understands all of that; yet, he does not feel he could do the same. He cannot conceive of sharing Striker with a woman, because he does not trust that Striker will choose to remain with him under those circumstances. He feels it must be one way or the other.”

“So, it is not so much that he hates women?” I asked hopefully.

“Non, it is. He feels the woman will do much to divide them, and Striker will fall prey to his desires and her wiles.”

I cast about for a path through that thicket. “What if Striker was to marry some mousey thing, like Agnes? Someone who could not be considered an opponent in the least? How do you feel he would react?”

“I feel a situation of that nature could be suitable for both parties,” Gaston said after some thought. “But would Striker find favor in a woman such as Agnes? And she is no woman, merely a girl, and she does not favor men.”

“I did not mean her in specific. But, non, I do not see Striker finding favor in one such as her. What of you? Would your Horse consider one such as Agnes a formidable opponent?”

“Non.” He frowned and considered me carefully. “Could you find favor with her?”

“Someone like her; or her specifically?” I asked.

“Agnes,” he said.

I shrugged. “Perhaps, but I would have her age a little first. Why?”

“She is intelligent and talented,” he said.

“I suppose so, yet…” I sighed. I remembered my interest at envisioning her with charcoal smudges all about, but that had been laudanum–induced fancy. Now I could not evince any interest on the part of my manhood by envisioning her with a womanly figure.

“We will see what the future holds,” I said. “And in the matter of assuaging my father, she would not do at all.”

“Oui. It was merely a thought,” he said.

I thought it interesting that it was a thought he had entertained, but I was distracted from pursuing it. Trying to envision an adult Agnes had led to my envisioning things I could have and not merely fantasize about. I reached for him. I do not know what he had been thinking of, but his response was swift.

As my capacity for rational thought melted beneath his kiss like wax before a flame, I hoped the Gods took pity on the new men, and mitigated the curse we had laid upon them by instructing them to pair.

 

 

Thirty-Nine

Wherein We Are Snared By Civilization

 

We remained on Cow Island throughout January and the beginning of February of 1668, by either calendar. The French decided to sail directly to Morgan’s February rendezvous in the cays south of Cuba. Striker wished to return to Port Royal briefly to determine who else had sailed, and perhaps offload some of our men to another ship in the name of giving all of us a little breathing room. The matter was put to a vote, and though many men did not wish to set foot on Jamaican soil due to debts, the motion was passed. All were assured they did not need to leave the vessel, and we would eat of the provisions aboard her, and thus not have to spend money in port.

Striker did not speak of frustration and women again as he had that night, but I felt he no longer needed to do so as much now that he had drained some of the poison gnawing at his heart. Gaston and I strove to be a bit more discreet; and, either Pete and Striker spoke some of the matter, or Pete had the good sense to back off, as they soon seemed at ease with one another again.

On other fronts, Cudro did not take a matelot. Dickey recovered from his guilt. The French stopped glaring at Gaston. The ships were careened. All three vessels were loaded with salted beef and boucan. Our new men became proficient at both buccaneer battle tactics and the skills necessary to exercise them. And everyone seemed loathe to leave the place.

As for my matelot and I, we could scarcely remember arriving there, chained together, over a month ago. Gaston’s madness of that time now seemed a distant thing, as did my fears of never having anyone as I had him.

Thus we sailed.

I was appalled anew at the size of the cabin, and the vessel for that matter. Spread along a beach, our number had not seemed so great. As we got underway, Gaston and I joined our cabal on the quarterdeck, and found that space crowded more than it had been: but not merely within my perception, but because our cabal had acquired four members over the course of our stay on Cow Island.

Ash, Nickel, Bones, and Burroughs were ever about these days, and though we had not truly accepted them into our cabal per se, we accepted their presence and did not seek to exclude them. And though they were four in number, they were not specifically two couples. Ash and Nickel were childhood friends, and Burroughs and Bones had much in common in history and age, but Ash and Burroughs would be considered boarders, and Bones and Nickel were musketeers. Things were further complicated by the fact that Ash and Burroughs shared a similar demeanor, as did Nickel and Bones, such that if they did pair, the former couple would be ever taking on the world with little to temper them, and the latter would seemingly retire from it. As of yet, no one had seen need to press the matter to see where they would end up, and they seemed reluctant to make any decisions of their own.

Gaston and I settled in, with our backs to the starboard rail, and watched the sails fill and Cow Island slide away behind us. The Virgin Queen raced with the evening wind into the setting sun, our bow aimed at the blazing orb as it sank from the orange sky. It looked as if we were sailing to the edge of the world, as sailors had once believed. My gaze traversed the ceiling of the heavens toward the azure sky of the east, and then down again to the slowly shrinking smudge of green in our wake. I was suddenly gripped by claws of anxiety, and I wondered if we could still swim back to the island.

“What?” Gaston asked.

“We should have stayed,” I whispered.

He was not the only one who sensed my duress.

“Did ya ferget somethin’?” Liam asked from beside us.

“Nay, nay, I am just reluctant to return to Port Royal,” I said.

“Me, too,” Bones said.

“As am I,” Ash said.

“You now enjoy the buccaneer life so much?” I teased. “Or are you poor?”

“Poor,” Ash said quickly.

“Debts,” Bones said the single word with deliberation.

“With taverns?” Striker asked.

Bones nodded slowly.

“Stay on the ship,” Striker said with a grin. “They’ll sell a man to the plantations, you know.”

“I heard o’ that,” Bones said.

“Well, I for one am quite in anticipation of gaining news in Port Royal,” Dickey said. “We shall learn if the stores for the haberdashery arrived.” He paused and grinned. “And Belfry’s bride.”

“You will lose your bet,” his matelot said.

This brought amusement to all who knew Belfry, but I was not party to it. My heart had skipped a beat at Dickey’s last word. As Gaston held me a little tighter, I knew he too remembered what I did. Belfry’s bride might not be the only one arriving from England. How could I have forgotten that?

“We should have stayed,” I whispered again in French.

“Perhaps,” he sighed in my ear. “It does not matter, though. We will endure and conquer, no matter what might arrive.”

We sailed into the Chocolata Hole in the third week of February. Beyond the cay, we could see a great many sails in the harbor; however, there were only two vessels in the Hole: a sloop named the Lilly and the Mayflower. We slipped between them and dropped anchor.

Striker hailed the Mayflower and was told Bradley was not aboard, but they intended to sail in three days. Morgan would be sailing with them. Two sloops with around eighty men had already departed for the cays. As Striker was trying to determine how many men the Mayflower thought she would take, I was wondering if I wanted to wait until he had an answer or desert the crowded ship for a time, as many of our men – those that did not fear debt or the high price of revelry – were already doing.

“I suppose we should visit Theodore and Agnes,” I said with some resignation.

“We need not go far for the one,” Gaston said, and nudged my arm.

I looked to see where he pointed, and spied Theodore on shore. He was speaking with some of our men who had just rowed a canoe ashore. As we watched, he gingerly clambered inside it to kneel and begin the journey out to us.

“This is dire indeed,” I remarked. I could guess at any number of things that would drive Theodore to meet us in the harbor: none of them were pleasant possibilities.

We met him at the rope ladder and helped pull him aboard.

“My dear Theodore, how are you?” I asked as we embraced.

“I am tolerably well, thank you,” he said. “Will…”

“And how is Mistress Theodore?” I asked.

“She is fine and…” He sighed as he saw my smile. “The babe is expected late this spring.”

“And Agnes?” I asked.

“And the dogs?” Gaston added.

He shook his head with a smile. “They are well, I assume. I have had no tragedy reported to me on their behalf. Agnes has ordered a great many things from London, expensive things, such that I am sending some payment in advance and a letter of credit to secure them, but as that is in keeping with your interests and instructions, I felt there was no harm in it. Other than that, she seems to be a dormouse with few needs. The dogs eat a great deal, though.”

“Lenses?” Gaston asked.

“Aye,” Theodore said and opened his mouth to speak again.

“Ah, that is lovely,” I interjected quickly. “And what of…”

He held up his hand; his voice was rich with resigned amusement. “Those on the plantation are as expected. They have planted a garden. I was able to secure a dozen Negroes from a recent ship, including a number of females. Belfry is well, quite well. The haberdashery goods have arrived, along with Belfry’s bride. And yours.” He said the last with determination, but his smile was kind. “Along with several unexpected travelers I feel you will wish to hear of.”

“Truly?” I asked.

His smile was just on the friendly side of smug. I rolled my eyes and motioned for him to continue.

He made us wait a breath more before saying, “Your sister, your uncle, and a man named Rucker, or so they all claim. As they arrived with a letter from your father, and there is a family resemblance, I took them at their word.”

I was understandably surprised. “That is unexpected but welcome news,” I said. “They are the only three people in all of England I will be glad to see. I am quite pleased they accepted my invitation.”

“I do not believe…” he sighed. “They left in haste, and I have the impression that their travel here was not due to invitation as much as necessity.”

My elations dampened. “Shane,” I whispered. “What have they said?”

“Who is Shane?” he asked. When I did not answer immediately, he continued. “They are not forthcoming with the details. Your uncle is a man of determined discretion, your sister does not trust me, and I have not been able to maneuver Mister Rucker away from them. They have been here but a week. They sailed south from Boston, after traversing the sea from England in late autumn. As only your bride arrived with the baggage and servants with which a young lady travels, I am led to believe your sister’s leave-taking was in haste. They have also let it be known that they want no fuss made of their arrival. Your uncle had an emphatic discussion with the governor over the matter. The governor, by the way, has let them use the King’s House for the time being. Your house was deemed unsuitable by your bride, much to young Agnes’ relief.”

“I must see my sister,” I said.

Gaston was already securing places for us on the next boat ashore. Alerted by the urgency of his request, Striker joined us.

“What is amiss?” Striker asked.

“Members of my family have arrived unexpectedly, and…”

Theodore was still watching me curiously.

“Shane was… is my second cousin,” I told him. “There is much bad blood between us. In demeanor, he is the son my father wished he had. Shane wished to marry into my family through my sister, Sarah, and I thwarted it. My father said he would shelter her from Shane’s wrath; and as my father is quite fond of Sarah, I believed him.”

“Perhaps this is how he has chosen to protect her,” Theodore said gently.

“Or she has already been harmed,” Gaston said bitterly.

That was my fear, and I nodded resolutely.

“Oh Lord,” Theodore sighed.

“Is this cousin here?” Striker asked.

“Nay,” I said and prayed it was true. “My sister, my uncle, and a dear friend have arrived. They appear to have departed England abruptly, traveling to the northern colonies during the storm season, and then here.”

“Can we assist?” Striker asked.

I thought of what I faced: a possibly wounded sister, my uncle defending my father, and the damn bride. I sighed. It would be good to have familiar and trustworthy faces about, yet Striker had his own agenda for our time here.

“You have things you must do,” I said.

He shook his head. “Bradley and Morgan are on their plantations. They plan to sail in three days. They will arrive before then but not tonight.”

“Do you plan to sail with them?” Theodore asked.

“Aye, I have poor men on board who dare not go ashore,” Striker said.

Theodore regarded me. “Well, this will be three days then in which hasty but indelible decisions will surely be etched upon your life.” He turned to climb down to the boat.

I looked to Striker. “Please come. I feel we might require all the assistance we can muster.”

Pete joined us, and the five of us took the next boat to shore. Once there, I began to lead us in a hurried march toward the King’s House.

“Hold,” Theodore said. “They are unaccustomed to buccaneers. Perhaps…a change of attire...”

He looked pointedly at Pete, who, as was his wont, was clad only in breeches and weapons.

I swore, and we turned onto Lime Street to go to our house. Once there, we discovered that Agnes had cleverly gated the passage alongside the house so that the animals were fenced in the yard. They had free reign of the exterior and interior, though, and initially seemed determined that we would not, until the older beasts recognized Pete and Gaston and allowed us entry. Once inside, we found that Agnes was not home.

“She is most probably with your sister,” Theodore remarked, as we ran upstairs to find suitable clothing. “Your sister took a liking to her.”

I thought that a fine thing.

“Ask him of the bride?” Gaston asked quietly as we rummaged through my trunks.

I had forgotten her. I cursed and sighed, and called down the stairs. “What of the bride?”

“She appears to like no one,” Theodore said.

“Lovely,” I muttered.

“Excuse me, what was that?” he called.

“Lovely!” I said from the doorway.

“Aye, she is,” Theodore replied.

Striker chuckled from across the hall.

I stuck my head out the doorway and found Theodore peering up at me from the bottom of the stairs.

“It was not a question, but this is,” I snapped. “Who the Bloody Hell am I dealing with?”

He grinned. “Miss Vivian Barclay, daughter to the Earl of Whitlock.”

“Did my father send a letter with her as well?”

He nodded. “In short, you are expected to marry her: he will not suffer any excuse short of your death.”

“How does she seem about the matter?” I asked.

“Extremely displeased to be here. She asked a great many questions about you, and… your living arrangements.” There was warning in his tone.

“And what did you tell her?” I asked in a similar tone.

He sighed. “That like all buccaneers, you have a partner. Will, she knows you favor men; she was quite direct about the subject.”

I wondered who had told her. “How is she with my sister?”

“They like each other not at all.” He shrugged.

My father must have told her, then, or there was gossip about me all over London. I would not know until I spoke to Sarah. I would not know many things until then.

I returned to dressing. As Gaston was a bit shorter than I, though a little wider across the shoulders, my clothing fit him well enough if he did not attempt to duel or anything else that would require waving his arms about. I despaired when I realized we only had one pair of boots between us. I did not wish to don hose and shoes. But thankfully Gaston opened a small chest he had once stored at Massey’s, and produced a pair of soft-soled hide boots. They looked quite comfortable, and I eyed them with envy as he laced them up his calves. I reluctantly crammed my feet into my stiff leather boots, knowing full well they would surely baste my legs in sweat as if my calves were chickens put to broil. When we were at last fully attired in shirts, jackets, proper wool breeches, and boots, I felt odd and he appeared it.

We regarded one another with dismay that turned to amusement. Then we embraced. In my arms, his chest solid against mine, he was the epitome of what I wished for in this life. I wanted dearly to make all the other concerns go away, but they would not. As I rubbed my stubbly cheek on his, I thought we must shave; but I did not wish to take the time to do so before I saw Sarah, or give the appearance of caring so much what the damn bride might think. I sighed and held him tighter.

“I am well… enough,” he murmured. “I will hold the cart.”

“Thank you,” I breathed.

I could see us standing there on a road. The way ahead was dark and shadowed, and somewhere behind us, wolves howled. We stood close together, and I leaned upon him. His four legs were braced firmly: the cart would not slip, though the road was steep.

“If I bolt,” he continued, “I will drag you with me to safety.”

I released him enough to regard his face and found him smiling. I kissed him.

We were interrupted by Striker’s polite rap on the door frame.

Striker was wearing the clothes he had borrowed to attend the party at the Governor’s. They had found a shirt for Pete, and boots. We were all vaguely presentable, and Theodore judged us so when we tromped down the stairs in our unfamiliar foot gear.

“What is your sister like?” Striker asked as we walked up Lime Street.

“She is the only member of my immediate family I care to own,” I said. “She is intelligent, educated, opinionated, and she rides and shoots. However, I have only been in her presence for a mere month, and that a year ago. Prior to my return to England, I have vague memories of her as a quiet little child. She was ever in the nursery, or under the eye of the governess, and we never spoke.”

“So she is a good deal younger than you?” he asked.

“Aye, nine years.”

“NeverMetAMan’s SisterAfore,” Pete said thoughtfully.

“I hope you will like her,” I said. “She has much merit, and I would think she bears little resemblance to other women you have met and disliked in your life.”

Pete frowned. “SheBeYourSister.”

I was not precisely sure what he meant by that, but there was a great deal of traffic and other activity on Thames, and further conversation would have to be shouted. We hurried on in silence to the King’s House.

A wigged and well-liveried older man answered the door. He gave Theodore a grudging nod and a polite, “Good day, sir,” but gazed upon the rest of us with the open and righteous disdain of a servant who knows he never need bow to those beneath him.

Thus, I was mightily amused at the look upon his face when Theodore said, “Mister Coswold, is it? This is Lord Marsdale. Is your mistress in, and Miss Sarah, or Mister Williams or Mister Rucker?”

Coswold pulled his incredulous and appalled gaze from me with difficulty and addressed Theodore. “The ladies are here, sir, but Mister Williams and Mister Rucker are out. My mistress was not expecting… the Lord so soon. She is entertaining.”

“Well,” I said quickly, “we need not disturb her at this juncture. Though there is obviously much your mistress and I must discuss, for the time being, I only wish to speak with my sister. Please inform her we are here.”

“Aye… my Lord.” He did not look at me as he turned and entered the house.

“How many attendants did she bring?” I asked.

“Four,” Theodore sighed, and held up a hand to staunch my protest. “And they can stay here until a suitable dwelling is built; which your father sent additional funds to accomplish. I am having plans drawn up for the lot I procured for you in town…”

Sarah was hurtling through the door and into my arms before he could finish.

“Oh Marsdale, I am so pleased to see you at last,” she said into my chest.

Due to some incomprehensible trick of my memory, I did not remember her as being so small. Perhaps it was because the only other young ladies I had been about in the last year, Miss Vines and Agnes, were fairly tall for their sex.

When Sarah released me, I held her at arm’s length so that I could look upon her. Her grey-blue eyes were bright with happiness. I saw no taint of despair about her. Truly, she looked quite hale for someone who had traveled such an unaccustomed distance so recently. And I was pleased to note she was wearing a sensible, yet intricately stitched, light cotton dress.

“Here, I go by Will,” I said. “And you look well. I am delighted to see you, but confounded and concerned as to the why of it.”

“I know,” she said with a nod. Her eyes flicked to my companions.

“Let me introduce you…” I began to say.

“There is no need. Hello, Gaston,” she said and embraced my matelot as heartily as she had me.

He returned her embrace with sincere warmth, and smiled at me over her head. It struck me that perhaps meeting my sister might have been a disconcerting thing for him; but he showed none of the awe or confusion he had experienced when first meeting Miss Vines, and I was relieved I had not worried about such a thing before, and need not do so now.

She whispered something to him, and he whispered a reply.

“You are not drinking the water, are you?” he asked seriously when he released her.

She shook her head. “Nay, nay, Will explained of the little things swimming in it in his letter. I am quite fascinated. Agnes says she has ordered lenses so that we might observe them.”

“So you received my second letter?” I asked.

“Aye, just before…” She smiled. “That is part of my tale. But first, I assume these are Pete and Striker.” She turned and smiled at them.

The wolves froze in surprise, and I thought the pair of them might hurl themselves off the stoop were she to attempt to embrace them. Thankfully, she did not.

“You wrote of us?” Striker asked incredulously.

“What’JaSay?”

“He said you are two of the finest men he could ever hope to meet,” Sarah said. “He lauded your friendship, loyalty, and expertise at all things buccaneer.”

“Well, Lady, you know your brother suffers from delusions, don’t you?” Striker said with a hesitant smile.

“I think not,” Sarah said with a grin. “I think I shall take him at his word on this matter, and expect great things of you.”

I was not so delusional I did not realize she was being flirtatious. It made me wonder how much she had understood of many things I said in my letter. But then again, Striker was a handsome man, and bore some resemblance in height, build, and face to Sarah’s latest unfortunate love interest, Shane: I had noted the resemblance myself when first I met him.

I was not the only one to interpret her words so. Striker flushed a little, and Pete frowned. I would have to speak with her at length. As it was, putting her before Striker in his recent mood was like waving meat in front of a dog. I silently cursed myself for not thinking of anything but my own concerns.

“And I believe you have met Theodore,” I said, before the pause after her words could become awkward.

She cooled quickly, and gave him a curt nod but did not meet his gaze. “We have met.”

Theodore gave her a compressed smile and nod in return.

He had mentioned she was not trusting of him. I thought it might be due to a perception that he was our father’s man. If true, this spoke much of her current opinion of our father.

“I did not write at length of Theodore in my letters,” I said quietly, lest Coswold or others be listening beyond the door. I stepped over to put an arm around Theodore’s shoulders. “But I feel I am as blessed to have his friendship as any other I have met on Jamaica. I did not write of him because he walks a fine path between the duties of his profession to our father, and his friendship with me, and I was not sure whose hands my letter might fall into.”

Sarah’s eyes widened at this new information and she nodded quickly. “Mister Theodore, I meant you no discourtesy…”

“Nay,” he said quickly. “Your brother is too kind. And Striker is correct; your brother suffers from mental impairment.”

“Aye, it is well known,” Gaston said. “If his reasoning was not impaired, he would not love all of us as he does.” He grinned at me.

I snorted my amusement and addressed Sarah. “I do not feel I am so poor a judge of character. Where should we speak? I believe you have a tale to tell.”

“We cannot go in there,” she said with a rueful grimace and gestured at the door behind her. “And I feel… I would like some wine for the telling of it.”

“Do you wish to tell it before so many?” I asked, “or should we…”

“Nay, I feel I will be fine in the telling of it to others,” she said quickly. “It is the remembering of it I seek fortification for.”

I nodded, still not sure how concerned I should be. “Well, let us retire to our house. We can buy a barrel on the way.”

Sarah’s eyes shot wide and she muttered an unladylike thing under her breath. “I forgot Agnes. I must rescue her. Hold a moment.” She slipped inside.

She returned a moment later with a very relieved girl in tow.

“Mister Will, Mister Gaston, how wonderful it is to see you,” Agnes gushed. Then she quickly stepped very close to ask, “When you marry Miss Barclay, sir, will I have to serve her?”

“Nay,” I assured her quickly. “Do not trouble yourself.”

A great sigh of relief escaped the girl. I thought it likely my bride was an unholy terror.

As we began walking, Sarah muttered apologies for abandoning Agnes in the King’s House; and Agnes looked as if she would forgive my sister anything, including being left alone in a room of plantation wives. I sighed to myself. The poor girl was dooming herself to another disappointment of the heart.

As we continued to the house, Sarah asked Striker of our time on Cow Island. Truly, Sarah’s gaze did not leave him any more than Agnes’ gaze left her. I was glad we would be sailing soon, and I had not even met the damn bride yet. I was seeing enough trouble brewing with the women I liked.

While I bought wine, Striker told the tale of Gaston and me being charged by the bull. As always, he was the consummate storyteller, and this for an event he only witnessed in the aftermath. Sarah was a most attentive listener.

I watched Pete. Thankfully, the Golden One seemed far more concerned with determining the similarities between Sarah’s features and my own than about how her gaze traveled over his matelot. He would look at me, and then her, and then frown and look at me again, and mutter, “TheEyes, WrongColorThough,” and other such comparisons.

As we finished the last leg of our short journey through Port Royal, I pulled Gaston aside. “We must keep a modest distance between Sarah and Striker.”

He sighed. “I was hoping you had seen. Oui, before Pete sees it.”

“I will speak with her as soon as I can get her alone,” I said.

“It may do little good,” he said. “Even I, who have seldom witnessed courtship between men and women, can see they are enamored of one another.”

I sighed. “If Pete were not involved, I would be delighted.”

“You are mad,” Gaston teased.

“Non,” I said, “Striker is no longer the boy he once was. I feel he would do well by any woman he was to marry.”

“Oui, but Will, he is a commoner. Your father would never allow it.”

“Damn that,” I said. It had not occurred to me. “Well,” I added, “it may be that my father’s opinion upon the matter no longer has consequence or meaning.”

“Will,” Gaston said firmly, “your sister is a formidable opponent.”

“I suppose she is.” And I knew Pete’s opinion would carry great consequence.

We were soon all seated around the dining table in the front room, with cups of wine in hand, and young dogs running about our feet. I seated Sarah at the end of the table, with me on one side of her and Agnes on the other.

“Well, would you like the short version or the long version?” Sarah asked.

“I believe I would like the entirety of the tale,” I said, “but perhaps you could start with the most pertinent details. Have you been harmed in any way?”

“Nay, not as you might think,” she said quickly, and patted my arm in reassurance. “Though I would have been, if I had not taken to sleeping with a pistol. I shot him, Will. Yet he is not dead, or at least was not when I left England.”

The air was driven from my lungs without sound. It was simply gone; and I found myself taking a long breath to keep from becoming lightheaded. The implications were staggering.

“Where?” Gaston asked.

Her gaze shifted to him. “Here.” She pointed to her right shoulder. “He was as far from me as you are now. However, my pistol was a piece designed for a lady’s hand. It shoots a small ball, and I had been careful not to use too much powder, though perhaps I did not use enough. He was drunk, though, and it made him drop a lamp and a bottle, and in the resulting chaos I was able to escape him. So it served my purpose.” She looked to me again. “He is now burned as well, along with part of the new London house.”

“We’re talking about this cousin of yours, correct?” Striker asked.

I found my voice. “Aye, our second cousin, Shane.”

Remorse settled over me. I told Sarah, “I should not have left you. I should have killed him. I should…”

A strong arm came around my shoulders and familiar fingers were on my lips. I turned and found myself trapped by intense green eyes.

“Stop,” Gaston whispered in French. “She is here. You are here. And it is selfish of me, but if you had killed him, we would never have met. Thus I am very pleased that you did not.”

His words tore the thickening mantle of melancholy asunder, and I felt caressed by a reassuring breeze. I kissed his fingertips and gently pulled them away. “Thank you.”

“He is correct,” Sarah said in French. “There is no need to have regret over what cannot be changed.”

Gaston stiffened as he realized –as I did – that she spoke French.

“I know,” I said in English. “Yet I fear that one day we will truly rue that he did not die at one of our hands. If he is now wounded and scarred, he is an angry boar and the future a dense thicket we may not see him charge out of until damage is done. What relief will his death bring then, if yet another has fallen to his tusks before he is brought down?”

“That is why he must not know that I am here,” she said. “Father swore he would not tell him…”

“Father swore he would protect you,” I said.

“Aye, I know it,” she sighed. “Sometimes, Will, I fear they are a beast with two heads: what one knows, the other does shortly.”

“What was our father’s response to your having to shoot Shane?” I asked.

She considered the table and toyed with a grease smudge with shaking fingers. “His response was the reason I decided to flee.”

I captured her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You might as well tell it all now.”

She nodded and smiled weakly before taking another gulp of wine and composing herself again. When she spoke, it was directly to me, and I felt she had rehearsed her tale often during her voyage.

“I believe I mentioned in my letter that Shane was none too pleased,” she began. “I do not know what was said betwixt Father and him, but Father decided it was best if Shane remained in London and oversaw the rebuilding of the house there. Father spent a good deal of his time there as well, and all was as it had been in many ways, until Elizabeth’s wedding in June. In the chaos involved in that event, Shane asked to speak with me, alone. I took my friend Mary and my maid, and we went for a walk with him in the garden. Shane was accompanied by an acquaintance of his and his manservant. In due course, Shane maneuvered to get me alone, and the women I was with were too silly to realize they should intervene.”

I frowned.

She shook her head. “Do not regard me so. I was carrying a dagger. So we talked, or rather he did. He pledged his love to me and said Father had abused his intent. He said he was confused and hurt by my lack of faith in him. In return, I told him nothing of my conversations with you. I did not attempt to justify my change of heart in any manner. This frustrated him no small amount. I flatly stated that it was not meant to be and that it would be best if we went on with our lives as friends. At which point, he grabbed my shoulders and attempted to shake me. I put the knife to his ribs and called for Mary and my maid. The knife brought so much hatred to his eyes it verged on madness, and I felt terror to my very core.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“Aye, you alone do. I related the event to Father and he…” She sighed and looked distant. When she spoke again her words snapped with anger. “He interpreted Shane’s actions as lending veracity to Shane’s claims that he had truly loved me. He did not think harshly of Shane at all for the matter and, to my horror, I believe it mended things between them.”

I swore. “How can he be such a fool?”

Some of the tension left her, to be replaced by resignation. “I thought long on that on the voyage here. I have come to believe that Shane represents something to Father. It is not Shane himself, it is some promise or perhaps memory that Shane holds.”

I nodded. “I have always thought that Shane is the son I was to be.”

She shook her head. “I feel that perhaps Shane reminds Father of Shane’s father. They were quite close by all accounts. I have wondered if they were quite close indeed?”

Her eyes flicked to Gaston and then Striker and Pete. Almost as one we caught her meaning.

The idea surprised me. It had never crossed my mind that my father and Shane’s father might have been lovers: it was completely foreign to me. There was much to consider if it were true.

“I need time to mull that over,” I said.

“I have mulled it over,” she said. “At one point in my ruminations I wondered if Shane were indeed our father’s son, but that idea…”

I was suddenly overcome with nausea, and the room swam for a moment. “Nay,” I said. “Nay, Father knew about…”

Gaston’s arm steadied me, and Sarah shook her head quickly.

“Nay!” she said. “I do not believe it true, I am merely saying I wondered at it; but Father’s behavior during the time you had trouble with Shane belies that. He obviously allowed it, and I cannot believe he would allow such as that.”

I was acutely aware of four sets of eyes upon us. I did not wish to meet them, but I forced myself to gaze upon their concerned faces. I resolved I could tell them if I could tell anyone.

“Shane and I were lovers in our youth,” I said before I could change my mind. “He became… abusive toward me in later years, and that is the reason I fled my father’s home. My father knew of it. He told me he allowed it because he thought it might put me off men.”

Gaston kissed my cheek.

“Oh good Lord,” Theodore sighed and downed his cup. He refilled it as he said, “That does indeed lend a great deal of perspective to the matter, and all matters related to it.”

Agnes appeared confused.

Striker met my gaze and nodded with silent understanding.

Pete asked the question I had always dreaded from others if the matter were exposed. “YaDidnaKill’Im?”

I shook my head sadly. “Nay, I loved him, and I hoped he would change. I had not yet killed a man when I left. I have rued that Shane was not my first every day since then. Out of all the men I have killed, he is by far the most deserving.”

“SometimesYaCanna KillTheOnesThat DeserveItMost,” he said sadly.

“Nay, we cannot,” I sighed. “Even now. Though, apparently my sister has nearly done it for me.”

She shook her head with a small smile. “These last weeks I have wished that I aimed better or used a larger piece, but…” She shook her head again and went on with her tale:

“After the incident at the wedding, and Father’s reaction, I no longer felt any would protect me. I was very careful when Shane arrived for Mother’s funeral a month later. I took to carrying a pistol in my handbag and sleeping with it near my pillow. I also took to blocking the door with a chair as you had done. I was quite careful not to allow him to catch me alone for the fortnight he was in residence. I took perverse pleasure in shadowing Father about and not leaving the two of them alone, as I knew Shane would dare not do anything in Father’s presence. But, whenever Father’s back was turned, Shane would look at me as if I were a mouse and he the cat. I saw lust and hatred and little else in his eyes. Our aunt even remarked upon it and suggested I stay with them for a time. So I did. Father returned to London with Shane and the house sat empty. I suppose the servants either rejoiced or mourned.

“So I stayed with our aunt for a month, and then returned home when I was sure Shane was safely in London. It was… strange. With mother gone, and Elizabeth, and their servants, I was expected to be the mistress of the house and it was… most uncomfortable. But that is another matter. Your letter arrived at the house in the middle of October, along with the letters to Father and Rucker. As I was bored, and could no longer stand the house, and your letter spurred me to seek adventure in some small way, I decided to take the barouche to deliver the letters myself.

“So I delivered Master Rucker’s letter to him, and we spent a delightful evening discussing your tales and descriptions. To my maid’s utter dismay, I even spent the night there at his sister’s home.

“Then I took Father’s letter to him at the new house in London. It was there that I learned of his arrangement with the Earl of Whitlock and your proposed marriage.”

She paused and met my gaze with a wry smile. “I do not know how you will perceive the matter: hopefully with amusement. Miss Barclay was due to sail in December. There were concerns regarding her relationship with her former suitor. Rumor of impropriety had surfaced, and well, Father was livid. I feel he would have stopped the entire affair if events had not taken place with Shane as they did. And for that, Will, I am truly sorry. Not that Father’s next choice might have been any better.”

“Wonderful,” I sighed. “How did…?”

“Shane was at the London house,” she sighed. “He wished to know why I was there. I said nothing. I do not know what Father might have told him, but my maid complained of spending the night at Rucker’s to the other servants, and this of course got all around the house to Shane, along with the knowledge that I had delivered letters from you. And thus Shane was apprised for the first time of my friendship with you. He leapt to a number of accurate conclusions as to the reason I had put him off, and he confronted Father and me over the matter at dinner. Father suggested I let them talk, and I retired.”

She took a deep breath. “There was no chair that could be easily moved to the door. So I sat with the pistol in my lap and waited for the house to quiet. I dozed. I woke to find Shane standing by the bed, reeking of wine.”

I gasped, as I knew that image well. Gaston took my hand. I squeezed his in return, grateful again for his presence. Then I took Sarah’s again, as I could see she was lost in what had occurred.

She looked up at me and smiled sadly. “So I shot him. I did not think. I did not wait for him to speak. His eyes said all that needed to be said. I will never forget how he looked at me in that moment. It will haunt me.”

“I hit him in the shoulder, as I said,” she continued with renewed calm. “He had a lamp in one hand and bottle in the other, and he dropped both and dove for me. I threw myself onto the floor. I was tangled in the sheets. By the time I freed myself and escaped out the door, the room was in flames and he was screaming.

“All was chaos for a time, as the fire was put out and a surgeon summoned and the like. My room was gutted. They had put Shane in Father’s room. He was not burned as badly as I had thought from what I had seen as I ran. He will be scarred, though, if he still lives. Despite the bullet wound and the burns, the physician had high hopes. I realized that, as you have noted, if he had been mean before, he will be rabid now.

“Father was very distraught. When he at last caught sight of me, he grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me until I thought my neck would break, all the while yelling, “Why?” over and over again. When I was finally able to speak, I told him I had thought Shane would harm me. Father said that was a foolish notion that you had placed in my head. He was… not himself, or perhaps he was truly himself and this is the side of him I had not chosen to see.”

She was weeping. I slid my chair closer and held her until the quiet sobs subsided.

Over her head, Gaston met my gaze with a grim smile of reassurance. Theodore was downing another cup of wine. Pete was frowning at Sarah, and Striker was studying the table with concern. Agnes was weeping in sympathy.

I released Sarah when her weeping stopped. She composed herself and pawed tears from her eyes before awarding us all a sad smile.

“That is the part of it that… hurt the most,” she said.

I nodded. “The night I left, as I stood watching Goliath’s body burn, I realized that if burning a horse in the yard beyond his study did not get his attention, nothing would. I knew then I would never be loved in that house. I think I always held out hope before. But all hope died for me that night. I realized Shane would not change, and Father would never care, and Mother never had.”

“I thought Father loved me,” she said. “But he does not. Of all of us, Shane is the only one he has ever cared for: thus my ruminations on the cause of that.”

She shook her head again and squared her shoulders. “I fled from him, and knowing not where else to go, I went to our uncle’s, as it was closer than our aunt’s. Uncle Cedric was quite distraught over events, in the proper fashion, as in he was very alarmed that I had been in danger. He went to speak with Father. They quarreled, apparently, and Uncle Cedric returned with a blackened eye and the news that he was going to see me off to safety. I told him I wished to come here and he readily agreed. And since there had been talk of arranging a proper escort for Miss Barclay, it was decided that all of us should travel together. I extended an invitation to Mister Rucker, and he accepted.

“So, we boarded a ship for the Massachusetts colony ten days later… And had a miserable crossing of the sea, and then another cold and stormy trip down the coast, until we at last reached the tropical region. Most of us spent the voyages in abject sea sickness. Rucker swears he will never board another vessel. Miss Barclay swears she will only board another to get home, which she wishes to do as soon as possible.”

“And how is Miss Barclay?” I asked.

Sarah shook her head sadly. “Angry, Will. She is filled with such anger. She steams with it like a kettle. She snaps at everyone. She even strikes her maid, poor girl.”

“Lovely,” I sighed.

“Aye,” Sarah said, “on a good day she would make our mother appear endearing in comparison.”

Sarah laughed at the expression on my face.

“Must I marry her?” I asked.

She nodded sadly. “If you wish to retain any standing with Father whatsoever.”

Theodore was studying his wine cup with grim regard and did not look up to meet my gaze.

Gaston was equally contemplative.

“YaDoNaNeed YurFather’sMoney.” Pete said.

“Nay,” I sighed, “but… there are other things held in the balance.”

I turned back to Sarah. “I will at least meet the witch. Where are Uncle Cedric and Rucker?”

“They went to see a plantation today.”

“Ithaca?” I asked.

She shook her head. “A planter offered them a tour of his fully developed one. Uncle has decided that he will remain here to care for me, as we were not sure when or if you would return. To that end, he has developed an interest in plantations.”

“Do you feel you will be here for a long time?” I asked.

She nodded. “Do you see how I can return, without…?”

I could not, and wondered at my question. “Nay. So whatever shall you do?”

“I do not know,” she said with a weary shrug. “Uncle speaks of my marrying, but I feel the eligible men I might be interested in will already be taken here.”

I could see the effort she put into not glancing at Striker. I put effort into suppressing a sigh.

“Surely not all,” Theodore said.

“Perhaps,” she sighed. “Either way, I would do something useful. I have little interest in becoming a planter’s wife if I am to live as the ones I have seen so far. Though, perhaps if I am married and have babies I will be pleased to spend my time speaking of trouble with my servants and what lovely damask I have endeavored to secure for curtains.” She frowned. “That was actually one of the reasons I was keen to marry Shane. I felt that if I were his wife, he and Father would continue to include me in their business dealings.”

I thought it likely they would have, and I sighed again.

“There is no rush for you to marry,” I said. “I am sure you might do whatever you wish here. There is money to order books and… if you wished to engage in some enterprise, I am sure it could be arranged.”

I looked to Theodore; and he frowned, first at me and then at Sarah before nodding thoughtfully. “Aye, I would be willing to front such a matter if it were necessary,” he said.

“Truly, thank you,” Sarah said brightly. Then she dimmed a little. “But I have no money, and yours stems from Father and…”

“You will have money,” Gaston said quickly. “That need not be a concern.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Well, what business is lucrative here?” she asked. “Other than sugar, as from what I have seen that requires far too much capital for an uncertain profit. I would imagine shipping is very much in demand.”

I happened to glance across the table and find Striker slack-jawed and staring at her. I smiled and turned back to Sarah.

“That and fleecing buccaneers,” I said. “Several members of our cabal have suggested an interest in developing a shipping concern. Roving does not occupy the entire year, or hold the promise it once did. I am sure Theodore and Striker can give you copious information on what might be needed or desired. Perhaps you could even serve as our agent in town for such matters. And maybe those of us who own the Virgin Queen should form a company.”

“That is an excellent idea,” Theodore said.

“Aye,” Striker said with awe. “That would meet many ends.”

Gaston was nodding agreeably, but Pete was frowning and studying his wine cup.

“It would allow all of us to stay at sea,” I added for his benefit.

Pete shrugged at that.

I looked to Agnes, who, though she was directly across the table from me, I had forgotten was present. She was gazing at my sister with love-struck eyes. I sighed.

“Might I live here?” Sarah asked. “I do not wish to share a house with Miss Barclay.”

“I would be well with that,” I said. “However, I am not sure if I wish to share a dwelling with her either… if I do marry her.”

“Oh Lord,” Theodore sighed. “I should tell you now, I suppose. Miss Barclay has emphatically stated to me that she will not share a roof with Gaston, and that she expects you to live with her.”

I shook my head.

Theodore rubbed his temples. “I know, I know…”

“We will build another house for all of us,” Gaston said. “The Bride can live here until a suitable house can be built at Ithaca.”

“She will not find that acceptable,” Theodore said doggedly.

“Then I will not find her acceptable,” I said.

“Will…” Sarah said with concern.

“I know what is at stake,” I told her. “I will not live a lie.”

She nodded thoughtfully.

“So,” I said, “let us return to the King’s House so that I might meet the woman and parley. I would know the result sooner rather than later.”

“I suggest you meet with her alone,” Theodore said. “Truly.”

“I will wait outside,” Gaston said and stood.

“Will you require us?” Striker asked.

“Nay, I think not, and as Theodore has already introduced me to her Cerberus, I feel I shall be able to enter the gates of Hell alone. Perhaps you should all discuss future plans.”

Sarah stood and embraced me before we left.

“I never want to be our father,” I whispered.

“It would be impossible,” she whispered back.

“Be careful where you tread with Striker,” I said even more quietly. “Pete is a formidable opponent and will not take kindly to you.”

She tensed in my arms. “I will remember that.”

She was sober when I released her.

Gaston and I left them to discuss what they would. We were silent for a block.

“Do you wish to see her?” I asked.

He snorted. “From the description of others, non. Yet… If there is any chance of maintaining your inheritance, I would have you take it. There is a chance she will die here within the year. There is also a chance she will die in childbirth. And if she does not, we can send her back to England and keep any issue. But I will not ask you to do a thing you might be loathe to do.”

“I will not share her bed for anything other than sowing my seed,” I said. “I will not have you put out so that I must steal away at night to find you. I will not live in that manner.”

“I do not wish that, either,” he sighed. “And I will take no pleasure in puppies if I am not allowed to hold them. I will honor whatever decision you feel you must make.”

My heart was racing and I felt my Horse ready to bolt, yet he was so very calm.

 

“Is that you talking, or your Horse?” I asked quietly.

He frowned. We had had little cause to speak of his Horse for weeks.

“My Horse insists we do not tell her not to drink the water, and that she definitely must live at the plantation and eat the food there.”

I chuckled. “I see.”

“You make a very good point, though,” he said solemnly. “I cannot guarantee how I will react if you marry her. I feel much calmer over this bride than I did about the Brisket, even sight unseen, because I know you will not favor her in any way, and she will not favor you. And, of course, now I know you to be truly mine and have no doubts over that matter.”

“Yet, there is still much that will be assumed and implied by others that we must face.”

“Oui,” he sighed, “For my Horse, it will be as if we wade through nettles.”

“I think it likely we will not,” I said carefully, “and how will your Horse feel on that?”

He considered me thoughtfully. “My Horse cares little for titles, other than it would see you have what is due you.”

I frowned. “You are not giving me any great incentive to say yes. I can sire puppies elsewhere.”

He stopped and faced me. His eyes were kind. “Your father thinks you will fail in this. It is likely he picked the most miserable harridan he could in order to insure it.”

My breath caught as I realized he was indeed correct. I swore.

He smiled sadly. “Marry her, and we will let the tropics kill her, and then we will find another bride.”

“All right, but it will be on my terms.”

He nodded somberly. “If it is not, she will probably anger the Horse such that I will kill her.”

“And we will no longer be welcome on English soil,” I said with a sad smile.

He shrugged. “Perhaps the Dutch will take us.”

“The Spanish surely will not,” I teased.

I kissed him deeply and he returned it in kind.

We said no more as we finished the distance to the King’s House. Gaston kissed me one last time and stayed across the street at the wherry landing. I walked to my supposed doom alone in body, but feeling well-loved in spirit. And I did not fear the outcome of whatever might occur.

Coswold was no more pleased to lay eyes on me this time than he had been before.

“I will meet with your mistress now, alone,” I told him.

“Very good, my Lord,” he said with barely-disguised disdain. “Her guests have departed. If you will wait in the dining hall, I will announce you.”

As he led me to the dining hall I wondered why I would not wait in the parlor, and then I saw that a maid was cleaning that room: clearing many little China cups and trays of sweetmeats. And so I waited in the dining room, peering out a window at a lovely little garden tucked in on the side of the house. It reminded me of the garden at Christine’s, and here I was to meet another prospective bride, and yet this time I was locked away from the fragrance and beauty of it. I snorted with amusement at the turns my mind is prone to take.

I seemed to stand there for quite a time, and I thought it likely she was making me wait. Then at last the door opened and in she walked. We stared at one another with guarded curiosity.

She was indeed lovely: a fine figure nipped into the tight stays and bodice of a regal blue gown; voluminous coils of honey-brown hair pinned atop her head; hazel eyes behind long lashes; delicate though somewhat pinched features; and soft white skin gracing her long neck and arms.

She curtsied. “Lord Marsdale.”

I bowed. “Miss Barclay.”

“You are not as I expected,” she said.

Her voice, though pitched a little high for my liking, would have been as melodious as her image if it had been devoid of anger. As it was, every word seemed a kitten’s snarl.

“And what did you expect?” I asked with amusement.

“Someone less manly, perhaps,” she said with challenge.

I smirked. “The lady is burdened by incorrect assumptions about sodomites. We are not all effete; you only see the ones who are.”

She sniffed and tossed her head prettily. “I suppose.”

“Shall we sit?” I pulled a chair from the table for her.

She gave a brief incline of her head and accepted the chair. As I pushed her chair in, I noted she had quite the inviting décolletage, and that she smelled faintly of rum along with powder and the usual feminine musk.

I sat opposite her. “I understand you are no more enamored of this marriage than I am. I wish to apologize for your having to sail halfway around the world to meet with me on the matter, and I am sincerely sorry that my family’s recent troubles forced such a voyage upon you in haste.”

She frowned, and I could tell that she did not know precisely of what I spoke.

“Your sister made mention of her having to leave in haste,” she said carefully.

I smiled. “Aye, there was a bit of trouble involving our cousin.”

“Mister Jacob Shane?” She appeared to throw the name out to see my reaction.

I gave her little. “That would be the one.”

“I have met him,” she said.

“Truly? I am sure he was charming,” I said calmly.

Her eyes narrowed. “He spoke of you when he heard we were betrothed.”

I wondered if he were the one who told her I was a sodomite.

I smirked. “I am sure he said nothing kind, and there is a great deal I could say of him in the same vein.”

This did surprise her, but she recovered quickly.

“Why would he have anything to do with your sister’s leaving England in such haste?” she asked.

“He endeavored to secure his place in my father’s house by marrying her,” I said drolly. “After learning more of his nature, she spurned him. He was quite put out, and he broke into her room while drunk with intent to harm her. She shot him. Unfortunately, he still lived when you sailed.”

Her eyes had widened considerably. “That explains a great deal. If true.”

I chuckled. “Ask my Uncle. But we digress. Let us now be succinct with our expectations and conditions, so that we might determine if this marriage will take place or not, and be done with it one way or another.”

She snorted incredulously. “Or what? If we cannot reach an agreement, you will not marry me? Whatever will your father say?”

“If I choose not to marry you, I do not care what my father says.”

“You think highly of your place in the order of things,” she said with smug amusement.

“Nay, I know if I thwart my father on this, it is likely he will disinherit me. I care not. I would like to retain my title and eventually claim his, but not if it involves living in misery.”

She was quite stunned. “You jest,” she breathed.

“Nay, nor do I bluff. So let us see if we can reach agreeable terms. First, in the matter of offspring. Any children will remain with me on Jamaica and I shall be the sole arbiter of how they are raised and instructed. Once you have produced them – and by them, I shall assume that, unless your health dictates otherwise, we will aim for two males – once they are birthed, you are free to return to England, and I care not what you do or who you sleep with.”

She flushed. “My Lord, you are direct.”

“Would you prefer I were circumspect?”

“Nay.” She shook her head, but would not meet my gaze.

“Do you take issue with my stipulation that the children shall remain in my keeping?” I asked.

“Nay,” she said quietly. “I rather imagine they will be seen to by governesses no matter where they are. I do not have my heart set on coddling them or any such thing. If we are agreeing to terms, I will stipulate that you provide an adequate wet nurse.”

I was not sure how that would be arranged on Jamaica when women were in such short supply, but I was not going to allow it to slow the proceedings down.

“Agreed,” I said. “Second, there will be a house built for you at the plantation, Ithaca.”

She held up her hand. “I will not share it with your paramour.”

It was my turn to snort. “Lady, I will not quibble with you over titles; you may call him what you like. But his name is Gaston, and I will reside with him. If you do not wish to share our house, then I will ensconce you someplace convenient enough for me to do my conjugal duties in the name of producing progeny. And rest assured, we will not be in port for most of the year.”

She was livid. “Nay, sir, that is not acceptable.”

I shrugged and stood. “Then we are done here. I will make arrangements for your return voyage.”

The anger fled her and she regarded me with astonishment. “You would truly abandon your title over this?”

“Aye,” I said amicably.

She took several deep breaths and seemed to have great difficulty deciding whether to continue staring at me or to pull her gaze away: her eyes jerked about in her sockets ever so slightly for a few moments. At last she did look at the table.

“Wait,” she breathed.

I took some pity on her. “I do not stipulate that I will remain with him as an affront to you. It is simply that he is my partner and I love him dearly and I will not live without him. I put him before all things, including my title.”

“So,” she nearly whispered, “I might have my own home, and you will visit but live elsewhere with him while in port, or be at sea?”

“Aye.”

“I can live with that,” she said at last.

I returned to my seat.

She looked up to meet my gaze again. “I will not have him at my table, though, or about me in any fashion.”

“He wants nothing to do with you, either,” I said with some amusement.

She nodded. “Is this plantation far from town? I would like to be able to entertain on occasion.”

I thought of all the little tea cups and the plantation wives with houses in town. I sighed.

“We will see that you have a proper house in town,” I assured her. “It must be built, though.”

She nodded. “Do you have other stipulations?”

I shrugged. “None that I can think of. If something else should arise, let us agree to discuss it before assuming the other party will not be cooperative.”

“I will agree to that,” she said with surprising sincerity. “When do you wish to marry?”

“I suppose… tomorrow.”

Her eyes widened again, only to narrow quickly into a glare. “Why?”

“I sail in three days. I will be gone for several months.”

She considered that with a speculative frown.

“It is unlikely I will become pregnant in a day or two,” she said calmly. “Can you not wait to disappear until after we are sure I am with child: in order to avoid any wasted time in the endeavor?”

I had to admit she was correct, but I did not see how we could forestall sailing, unless we did not sail at all, and that was not wise; Gaston would probably kill her if seasoning did not. And then I had it.

“I agree with the point you are making; however, I was not sure when or if you would arrive, and I made prior commitments. Besides, many sicken upon coming to the tropics. It is considered wise for one to season for a time. It would be best if we were sure of your health before getting you with child. There is no reason for you to be doubly miserable, or dead.”

“Oh,” she sighed, “I had not thought of that, but aye, the other ladies mentioned it.”

“We will consummate the marriage, and if the… if God should happen to find favor with us, then so be it.”

She nodded, but there was a cunning glint in her eye for a moment. “Will you make the arrangements?”

“Aye.”

“Then please send someone around to apprise me of the time, and I will see you on the morrow.” She pushed her chair back and stood before I could assist her.

I nodded. “Aye.”

And then she was gone in a swirl of blue satin.

I let myself out and went to find Gaston. He was standing near the place where we parted, watching the activity on the docks.

“I will wed her on the morrow,” I said.

He blinked with surprise. “She is more agreeable than we were led to believe.”

“Nay, but apparently she needs this marriage more than I do.” I relayed all that had occurred as we walked to our house.

When I finished, Gaston said, “Let us hope the Gods are not mocking us.”

 

 

Forty