I tried not to think of all the things that might be in the water beneath us. I tried not to think of all the things waiting for us ashore. And we had only blades, no guns. Our powder was soaked through and useless even if we had a piece.
I tried to trust the Gods. I found peace there; just as I found peace in trusting Gaston.
“I am sorry,” I said at last. “My Horse bolted. I thought of you being harmed, and how foolish I had been to trust him, and…”
“Hush,” he said again. He eased onto his back to float beside me, and took my hand.
I wondered what we looked like from above, floating there in the deep blue sea. The water was warm, and our gentle bobbing was relaxing.
“How are we?” I asked.
He snorted. “Well enough.”
“Because I fell and you found your feet to guard over me as you always do?” I asked.
“Non,” he said gently and squeezed my hand. “Because I no longer fear him. I do not care if he ever loves me. It is as if I have finally pulled his talons from my heart.”
“That is good,” I said. “I must learn how to extract my father’s from mine.”
He sighed. “I am sorry I asked you to appease him to preserve your title. That was foolishness. It was… me talking to my father. As long as I can remember, I was taught that a gentleman’s title is of great importance.”
“I understand,” I said. “More than I wish to, perhaps.”
“The Devil with it,” he said. “Unless it is a thing you want in order to spite your damn cousin.”
I shook my head, though I did not think he would see the gesture. “Non. I do wish to spite him; but non, I think I will spite him more by relinquishing gladly the thing he has ever coveted. And I do not blame you for the marriage. I will have it annulled, and marry Agnes, and give you sane puppies. Though by the Gods, I wonder at that last.”
He did not reply immediately, and I wondered how he truly thought of me. Tension returned to my heart and limbs, and I felt vulnerable atop the waves. I forced myself to trust him, and the Gods, and the water yet again. I remembered once suggesting he learn to float upon his madness. Surely I could take my own advice.
When he spoke at last I knew my concerns had been madness-born and foolish.
“I wonder how insane I would be if I had been treated as you treat me now throughout my life,” he said. “You surely would not suffer bouts of madness as you do if you had not been so misused. I would most probably still be mad, but…”
“Would you be mad?” I asked as the thought resonated deep in my soul. “Or would you merely be overly sensitive to sound and emotion and… perhaps your Horse would not be so very sovereign if he did not feel he must be in order to survive.”
“Perhaps it was the same with my mother,” he said softly.
“Perhaps,” I said. “Surely being told one is possessed will not make one sane.”
He snorted. “We are back where we began.”
I shook my head. “Non, I feel we have come far.”
“In relation to the beach,” he said with amusement.
I turned my head and squinted across the glare upon the water. We were indeed even with Fort Rupert again. I sighed.
“Can you swim now?” he asked as he began to tread water again.
I nodded and flipped over. While I did not feel reinvigorated in the least, I felt confident of my ability to swim as far as the beach.
We were watched as we came ashore, but no one present made any remark. Vittese and his men and the militia, except for those left guarding the gate, were gone. I wondered what the outcome of it all would be.
I decided we should stop by Theodore’s and apprise him of our latest escapade. His Negress, Hannah, answered the door. Her master was not home. The mistress of the house inquired who was calling, though, and at hearing our names came into view with a babe on her hip.
Our former Jewess housekeeper was a bit plumper than she had once been, but she looked happy and hale, and the little girl in her arms was round and jolly, with little wisps of fine black hair about her head and lovely brown eyes.
“Hello Mistress Theodore,” I said. “And this must be Miss Elizabeth.”
“Aye,” Rachel said. She was gazing at Gaston with a quizzical look.
I turned to find him enthralled by the baby.
With a bemused smirk, Mistress Theodore handed him the child. Gaston accepted the girl awkwardly, and then he was lost in saying small stupid things to her in French and gazing at her with wonder while she stared at him curiously.
Mistress Theodore shook her head. “He likes children, I see.”
“Aye, and puppies,” I said.
She smiled. “I can’t wait to see the big golden one with Mistress Striker’s babe. I hope it’s a girl. She’ll have Pete eating out of her hand in no time.”
I laughed. “Aye, she’ll be doted upon to be sure.”
“It’s a shame you won’t have one for Gaston to dote on,” she said with a shrug.
I sighed. “We will see how fate and fortune smile upon us in the coming years.”
She nodded. “Mister Theodore was called away… to your house, or rather the Striker’s.”
“Ah, so soon,” I sighed.
“Would it have a thing to do with why you’re dripping on my floor and getting my child sopping wet?” she asked.
“Aye, Madam, it would.” I smiled. “And I am sorry we are ever such a bother, and that he must always be called upon to mitigate our troubled ways.”
She shrugged. “He has ever spoken highly of you.” She gave me an appraising look that said she might not agree with her husband’s sentiments. “And he relishes it. You’re far more exciting than the planters or even the other buccaneers.”
I chuckled. “Well I am glad we perform some service.”
Gaston was quite reluctant to relinquish the child, and I was reluctant to leave, but we at last did.
“We will find some means of providing you with children,” I said with amusement and love once we were on the street again.
He smiled warmly. “Oui. I have not held one before. I think I would like them more when they are older and they can speak and learn things.”
I snorted. “You could like one more?”
He gave a rueful smile. “I will like them when they are small, and I will be happy they are small and in my arms, because it will mean they cannot be abused such as we were if they are with us. And then they will grow into the people that we might have wished to be.”
Though my heart swelled at the sentiment, I wondered once again how fine a father I was destined to be. I supposed with my matelot as an example, I would do far better than if tasked with the matter alone.
We ambled toward Sarah’s house. I paused as we passed my wife’s home.
Gaston shook his head. “Not today.”
“I thought it might provide a further divertissement,” I sighed. “Someone else to hate.”
“Let us deal with what we must,” he said.
“How are we?” I asked. “I am… calmer, and clearer of mind and spirit.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I am well enough. Did you say anything when you left?”
“I told Sarah I was incapable of making a determination as to what should be done about him.”
“Let us see what they decided,” he said. “Hopefully he is gone.”
He did not sound sad; nor did he sound angry.
We were dismayed to find, not only the Marquis still in the house, but Vittese there as well, along with several men from the militia; though they were thankfully all members of the Brethren by the look of them. With Sarah, Striker, Pete, Agnes, Rucker, and, of course, Theodore there too, the atrium was quite crowded. All eyes were on us, at least those of them that could see us from where they stood as we entered.
Our friends seemed quite relieved at our arrival.
I told Theodore, “I apologized to your lady for your having to muster again to our defense.”
“Elizabeth is very cute,” Gaston said.
“Thank you,” Theodore said sincerely, and the nod he gave me when Gaston glanced away from him appeared even more relieved than the one he had given at our arrival.
Apparently Sarah and Striker had not told him I was the one to be concerned about.
“Now,” I said. “Why are they still here?”
There were heavy sighs all around, including from the Marquis.
“He says he did not send his man to chase you,” Striker said tiredly, as if perhaps the point had been thoroughly argued. “That the man did it on his own and will be reprimanded for it.”
I snorted and glared at Vittese.
“I was alarmed at the manner of your leaving,” Vittese said in French. “Trustworthy men do not exit a dwelling in such haste and then run. I thought my lord had been harmed.”
Dupree immediately translated loudly enough for all to hear.
I supposed what he said was true, but I saw a flaw in his reasoning; and with that realization, my confidence returned. “So you were so concerned about your lord that you immediately pursued two potential assailants down the street rather than entering the house to see if your lord had indeed been harmed?” I asked in French.
Dupree translated this as well, and Theodore, Pete, Striker and several others smirked.
I glanced at the Marquis. He was contemplating the air before him with little expression.
“One of them is lying,” I said in English.
Pete and Striker chuckled.
Gaston grinned. “Let us find out,” he said, also in English, and began to remove his belt and baldric.
“I was thinking of dueling him,” I said.
Gaston snorted. “Nay, then he would die. I want him to suffer.”
Vittese was frowning as he listened to Dupree’s translation as Gaston approached. Then he understood, and his surprise transmuted to a look of cunning as Gaston came within reach. The tall man might have indeed been competent, but he was no match for Gaston. The first blow caught Vittese in the groin, the second broke his nose, the third sent him sprawling such that Agnes and Rucker were forced to abandon their table and scramble out of the way. My man did not stop there, he continued to strike: each blow a thing of precision delivered to break bone, damage organs, or wrench limbs. It was much as he had once beaten Cudro, but without the pauses between attacks to ask for the man’s surrender. And Vittese never touched him.
“Enough!” the Marquis at last stood and roared. “For the love of God, someone make him stop!”
Gaston stopped kicking Vittese and turned to regard his father with the Horse’s eyes.
“I gave order that you were not to be allowed to disappear,” the Marquis said with exasperation.
My matelot gave no response. He walked back to me, and I handed him his belt and baldric.
“Why should you care?” Striker demanded of the Marquis after Dupree finished translating.
The Marquis did not look at Striker; his eyes were on Gaston. “He is my son.”
Gaston stopped at the foot of the stairs. “I am your son no longer. You have seen to that,” he said with a tired sigh.
“You are my only son,” the Marquis growled. “Neither of us can change that.”
Gaston paused, his foot on the second step. “I have two half-brothers. They are your sons. They are the ones you wanted.”
The Marquis slammed his cane against the table. “They are dead!”
My matelot turned and looked at him. His face betrayed no emotion, and I saw the mask. He had managed to find it after all.
The Marquis swore under his breath and looked away. “Michael contracted the pox at court… and, Denis died in battle. He was a cavalry officer. Your half-sisters still live, but my wife can bear no more children, and I would not divorce her even if the Church allowed it.”
The atrium was silent as an ashen-faced Dupree translated.
Gaston turned away and walked up the stairs.
I snorted contemptuously and told the Marquis, “You are as big a damn fool as my father. You could have spared us all pain if you had simply said that when you arrived.”
He awarded me a glare that told me very plainly he knew that, but one such as I was not to question the reasoning of a lord.
I glanced at Vittese and shrugged. The Marquis winced.
I caught up with Gaston as he entered our room. I closed the door behind us. He stood, looking at nothing.
“Come, let us rinse the salt away and get dry,” I said.
He nodded, and moved as I directed so that we could strip him. I filled the basin with water from the ewer and wiped the sticky salt away, then I applied unguents to the few cuts and bruises he had given himself by striking Vittese, especially on the hand he had injured this morn by punching a post.
When I finished, he crawled onto the bed to curl on his side. He was not in the same state of remove he had been last night, but he soon began to make little rocking movements. I let him be for a time, and occupied myself with cleaning the salt from my skin and rinsing and oiling our leather gear and blades. Only once all was seen to, and I was dressed in clean breeches and tunic, and had knives and several loaded pistols positioned about the bed, did I go to him.
He closed his eyes at my tentative touch on his shoulder.
“Make it all go away,” he murmured.
With a grim smile at his sentimentality at such a time – that he should still ask for me to minister to him in that fashion – I went and fetched a bottle of oil. He was putty beneath my hands as I massaged his back and arms: there was no tension in his muscles.
He mumbled something after I pushed him onto his belly. I leaned closer and asked him to repeat it. “It is not about him anymore,” he said.
I kissed his temple. “What do you want?”
“What is mine,” he said as if it were a matter of wonder.
My Horse shied from thinking of what that might entail.
I was massaging his legs and buttocks when there was a knock on the door. It was Theodore and Striker. Gaston rolled onto his back and scooted up the bed to lean on the headboard with the sheet about his waist.
“First,” Striker said as he entered the room. He kept his voice low but his words were fierce. “I will not have you bastards thinking any who love you are against you. If either of you think for one moment that we’re siding with that son of a bitch while trying to untangle this mess, I swear I will go down there and shoot him now.”
Gaston and I exchanged a look: my matelot smiled.
“Nay, we shall strive not to interpret the manner in that fashion,” I assured Striker.
He appeared relieved, and threw himself down to sprawl in one corner of the foot of the bed. “I should probably shoot him anyway.”
“Not yet,” Theodore implored. He pulled one of the chairs to the side of the bed and sat. His grimace at the scars across Gaston’s chest was very brief. He quickly fixed his eyes on my matelot’s face and adopted his most solicitor-like mien. “The Marquis has made offers to satisfy our lack of trust; however, I would know what you wish of the matter before we proceed.”
Gaston was at his best and I was proud of him beyond measure. His eyes were bright with the Horse’s fierceness, but all about him was the Man’s control. Now there was no mask, and he appeared comfortable in his skin, scars and all. It was the way he had often been when we were alone these last months.
I found his words incredibly chilling, however; even though I knew how much it all meant to him.
“I want all that is due me as the firstborn son of the House of Sable,” he said firmly.
Theodore nodded thoughtfully. “So your title as the Comte de Montren, and any lands or money due that title?”
Gaston sighed at that. “I care not for the money or lands, but I want the title, and I want my name cleared so that I am a man again under French law.”
“Do you wish to return to France
?” Theodore asked.
“I do not wish to, but I will do what I must to claim what is mine by right,” Gaston said, and then he looked to me with a frown.
I smiled at him, and did everything in my power to hide my concern. “I will go with you wherever you wish.”
Either I did a poor job of masking my feelings, or we thought very much alike: I saw the trace of fear in his eyes for a moment, but he quickly dismissed it before turning back to Theodore.
“Sadly,” Theodore said with a shrug, “I only know enough of French law to know how areas of it are similar to English law for the purposes of making contracts between the English and French merchants and Brethren. According to the documents your father sent Doucette, your name is impugned as you say, as your father has had some court judge you incompetent to handle your affairs and therefore you are to be assigned a guardian. I do not know how such a matter is undone. I feel that my ignorance is of such an extent on the matter that if your father presented us with a paper saying the matter was resolved I would not know if the document was valid. Thus, I shall contact a solicitor I have dealt with on Tortuga, and have him engage a solicitor in France to handle the matter on your behalf. I believe the matter can be taken care of without your father’s consent. His assistance in the matter would ease it considerably, though. Still, with or without his assistance or objection, I feel that portion of this matter will take years to resolve, and that under no circumstances should you set foot on French soil or a French vessel until such time as it is resolved, no matter what promises anyone makes you.”
“Thank you,” Gaston said. “I understand.”
“We will provide you with more money to handle such things,” I said.
Theodore shrugged again. “I believe in the end your father will provide all the money any of us might seek.”
“Truly?” Striker asked with amusement.
“Not you,” Theodore said without looking at him. “Now, clearing your name and establishing your competence in the eyes of the French courts will surely be necessary for you to inherit your father’s title. However, I know of no reason – but please remember my ignorance of French law – but I know of no reason why you cannot hold the title due his son, to wit, the title of the Comte de Montren. But I must ask; how is it that you do not hold it now? It is my understanding you are his oldest son by legal marriage and that there is no question of that. Is it your understanding that the title was lost when you were exiled here?”
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