“Your sister is feeling contractions of her belly on occasion,” he said quietly. “She has not begun to labor yet, but she might be quite close. She has sent for the midwife, and I would attend that meeting.” He sighed heavily. “I would know more of women.”
I nodded. I understood what he said. “Have you seen Agnes since?”
“Non,” he said quickly, and then he did not speak but I could hear unsaid words.
With the clarity born of my distant perspective, I said, “I do not feel that that in specific has troubled me.” I raised my head enough to meet his worried gaze. “How did you find it?”
He frowned and looked away with, thankfully, what appeared to be more thought than guilt. “I wish to experience it again without my head being so full of… memories. When it came time to actually lie with her, all I could think of was my sister, and how this or that element was different or the same.”
“You cried,” I prompted gently.
He nodded. “I cannot give a single reason for it. I seemed to be flooded with emotions from that night: many different emotions I cannot truly name. It was as if they were released to wash over me like a wave, and I felt tumbled beneath them. I do not know if that will happen again. I am relieved it happened there with you and with one such as Agnes.”
“As am I,” I said softly.
He shook his head the way a dog or duck shakes off water. “My cock enjoyed it well enough. It was squishy.”
We smiled in memory of Pete’s name for that part of a woman’s anatomy: the squishy hole.
He sobered quickly. “She is very thin and not… When I envision a woman, I see more rounded features. But… I found her pleasing.” He met my gaze with guilt. “In ways I do not find you,” he sighed. “It is different.”
I smiled. “If you found Agnes and me pleasing to the eye, or even your cock, in the same manner, I would be concerned for one or the other of us.”
He gave another fleeting smile before frowning again. “Pleasing her seems to be much as it is with you, other than her not being enamored with my entry.”
“That could change,” I said with a shrug. “Even though she does not favor men, she might come to find pleasure in your presence there. Though women are larger and… squishier, it does not mean they need not become inured to it.”
“I will not do it again if it will spook your Horse as it has,” he said earnestly.
I thought on it with curiosity. “I cannot say if it will or not. We cannot know if it will unless you do it again.” I was feeling more myself, or rather more within myself, and I was able to look upon a single thought and feel great conviction towards it. “I will stipulate one thing. I would not have you touch her again unless I am present.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
I was able to recall why we wished for that, anyway. “Did you feel any urge to harm her?”
“Non, none. She is Agnes. My Horse has ever viewed her as… safe. She is not alarming or threatening.” He frowned. “I did not like watching you touch her at first, and your kissing her was… not appreciated, but that was because it was you and I felt jealousy. Later, when I instructed you to have her pleasure you… that was my Horse wishing to see you pleased; and since I was involved in the activity, I was not jealous. I do not feel you harbor any feelings toward her other than fondness, or her you.”
I kissed him lightly. “I will endeavor to allow you to guide all that occurs in our future trysting with her.”
“My Horse would prefer that.” He smiled thoughtfully. “My cock could not care less.”
“It is a thoughtless organ: they all are,” I said with amusement.
“How did you find it?” he asked me with curiosity.
“It was a thing I did for you. She was… a tool, with which you could be pleased in a different manner; with which we could resolve your concerns regarding bedding a woman.” I sighed as I listened to my words. “I do not mean to sound so very cold: I am fond of the girl, and I am happy we gave her pleasure, but…” I shrugged. “She is just a woman.”
He sighed, and his face contorted with concern. “I wish I could reassure and soothe your Horse as you can mine.”
Emotion swelled within me, and though I would assign it the name of love, it felt far more complex and nuanced, and I did not think man possessed names for some of the colors swirling within the sudden storm roiling within me: describing such things fell within the ambition and purview of poets. I hurried past the feelings to a memory: of us on a road in the dark.
“When this matter first arose,” I said hesitantly. “When we first considered Christine… for you. I looked to the challenge with some anticipation. I wished to have a worthy opponent. I wished… to see if you would still choose me if you had one such as her available. It was as if my Horse required proof. I have since abandoned such notions. I know your love for me transcends… the desires of your cock. And, I felt my Horse knew this as well, but perhaps it is still concerned.”
He frowned and rolled on his back to study the ceiling with his lip between his teeth. “So… your Horse will feel more reassurance if I bed them?”
The storm I had hurried around struck with a ferocity that left me nearly as breathless as my earlier bout upon not finding him. I loved him. I loved him more than life itself. I could not lose him. I could not share him. I felt the fool for admitting what I had. Then I felt the fool for feeling that. I tore at myself with red hot tongs of regret. I wished to retreat to the tower again, but I was held fast in the thick of it. I gasped.
He turned to face me with concern.
“I am a fool,” I hissed. “Oui, the more women you bed, the more reassurance I might find.” I spat with bitterness and sarcasm.
He rolled atop me to gaze earnestly into my eyes. “Will…” he admonished with a growl.
I shook my head with shame. “I know. I know. You would not bed them all even if I gave you true license to do so. You do not wish to… and…”
“Should I bind and gag you?” he whispered.
He was only partially teasing, and I stood in the thick of the storm and thought on it.
“Take the reins,” I whispered. “I am plunging about. I feel it now. Gods how I feel it. I am trying to hang on. Should I let it throw me again? And what part do you find mad?” I asked with sincere wonder. “I truly felt I wished to compete with Christine. Was that the madness you see? Or…”
He silenced me with a deep kiss, and I accepted it gratefully. It steadied me. I felt pulled away again, safe and distant, as if he had extended a hand into the howling winds and plucked me out. The storm raged on, though. I wondered if this was how I made him feel when he was thus. I wished to know that very much, so much that I found myself clutching at him to keep that particular wind from dragging me back into the maelstrom.
“Can you calm yourself?” he whispered.
“I do not know,” I said. “I thought I was recovering. I thought: and now this… It is a storm like you speak of. You hold me clear of it, but I feel if I think, I will be sucked back in.”
He regarded me with a physician’s concern and my matelot’s love. “I am going to drug you.”
I nodded eagerly, but as he climbed from the hammock I was gripped by the knowledge that I was forgetting many important things and I could not spend the day abed – as we had already done – as we had already angered someone by doing.
“Vivian,” I hissed. “She is at Theodore’s. She does not wish to be abandoned there. She does not… She is lonely. She is… She wants to be loved. I cannot care for her as she needs. I would break her heart and you would kill her.”
He smiled with patient amusement as he returned to me. “I will fetch her home.”
He pressed a small cup to my lips, and I drank.
“Christine is lonely, too,” he sighed. “And I cannot care for her, either. It will kill you and my Horse will kill her. But I did tell her that we would train her more in swordplay if the weather breaks.”
I nodded, waiting for the drug to ease my heart.
He returned to lying beside me beneath the blanket, and pulled me into his arms.
I was sure there was something else I should tell him. That thought left me anxious that I would not remember before the drug took hold.
“Theodore has drawn up the document for the renunciation,” I said at last with relief. “He wishes for us to go to Spanish Town when the weather clears.”
Gaston nodded. “Perhaps we can do both on the morrow. Was there not another thing we should do in Spanish Town?”
I looked to see if he was merely attempting to distract me, but he seemed sincere.
“I suppose we should visit Ithaca,” I sighed. “Not that I will ever inherit it now. And we can go riding.” That thought pleased me, and as the drug began to wrap me in a sheltering blanket even more comforting than his arms, I let myself think of riding.
“Your uncle,” Gaston said with a frown. “We need to track him down.”
I could not remember who he spoke of. I snuggled against him and reveled in the world slipping away. I rode Diablo, feeling the wind in my face and the play of muscle beneath my thighs. The road was wide and level before me, and I could go anywhere and never look back.
I woke to Gaston whispering my name and rubbing my shoulder. Bright light sprayed between every crack in the stall walls and flooded the open doorway. I could not hear rain. I needed to piss, and my mouth was dry. I thought it likely my head would ache soon.
“How is my mad matelot this morning?” Gaston teased as he prodded and rolled me out of the hammock.
“It is morning?” I asked, as he guided me to the chamber pot. “What morning?”
“The next: you only slept through one night,” he assured me.
He handed me a bottle of water once I had relieved myself, and I sat upon a trunk to down it. Even before I wiped my lips from that, he was handing me a hunk of meat and another of pineapple. I was not especially hungry and so I sucked on the fruit as I watched him lay out clothes and pack our bags.
“Are we traveling?” I asked.
“I let you sleep as long as I could. The others are waiting,” he sighed. “We are to go to Spanish Town to meet with the governor. We have sent for the horses. I have made arrangements concerning Vivian and the baby. I have told Christine that we will see to the marriage once we return. I have told Agnes you are not well. Your sister is not likely to give birth within a day or so – I hope. I have a list of the plantations where your uncle has stayed from your sister and Rucker. Some are a day’s ride from here. I would rather not visit Ithaca, but we should probably see if he is there first. I would spare us the frustration, though. They will learn you will never be its master soon enough and undo anything we tell them.”
I listened to all that and dressed in the good breeches he handed me. His last words brought me to sit upon the trunk again, as my heart suddenly seemed too heavy for me to carry.
He turned, and pushed boots on my feet and began lacing them. “How are we?”
I did not know how to respond. His words and the events of yesterday – the events of the last week – swirled about me, gaining speed and threatening to become a maelstrom again. I stood in fear amidst them.
He looked up, and upon seeing my face, quickly stood to gaze into my eyes. “Will?”
“I am not yet well,” I whispered.
He frowned and studied me with speculation. “Can you ride?”
“Which mount?” I asked with a tight smile. “I feel I would be fine upon the back of a real animal, but the one inside me I must be very careful with.”
He sighed and smiled a little. “Will riding the one help put you at rights with the other?”
I nodded. “It usually does.”
“Do you wish to go to the governor’s?” he asked. “We can tell Theodore to postpone it.”
I tried to think on all that would be entailed: a pleasant ride in the company of friends; having to smile and be friendly to the governor and anyone else who might be there; signing the document; having them wonder at it; having them think me a fool; wondering what else my father had arranged with Modyford… The winds began to howl.
I took a deep breath. “I feel I must go, but… You must hold the reins.”
He nodded. “I want us to return to Negril as soon as possible.” He sighed. “Will, I am doing what I must, and I am well enough at the moment, but I am very close to only standing because you cannot.” He indicated how close by holding a finger and thumb a very small distance apart.
“Then we are in trouble,” I said as lightly as I could manage. “Gods help us.”
“It is so steep here,” he said with a sigh of discouragement.
“I will not think of that, or anything,” I said. “And you should not, either. I will dress.”
He smiled. “Let me shave you first.”
I watched motes of dust dance in the shafts of light above us as he worked. I tried very hard not to think, especially about the fact that I could not think. I had nearly broken a sweat with the effort of it by the time he finished.
“I must be distracted,” I said as I accepted the shirt he had selected for me.
“I will think of something,” he muttered as he donned his weapons.
I donned mine as well, and slipped on my coat. We said goodbye to Bella and the puppies, and went to join Theodore, the Marquis, and Dupree in the atrium. I wondered at the need for us all to go, and then quickly decided that the Marquis’ presence on this mission was greatly appreciated. But all that thinking just brought the winds closer, and so I stopped it, and walked briskly to the street.
Though the rain had stopped, the street was still filled with mud. Someone had thankfully arranged for a carriage, though. After we climbed in, Gaston asked his father his thoughts on the Sun King. The Marquis regarded him with a raised eyebrow, but began to explain his feelings about Emperor Louis XIV’s policies and reign. Dupree translated for Theodore. I quickly discovered that – as well-intentioned as Gaston’s ploy had been – talk of kings led me to think of wolves, and sheep, and the plantation, and my father… Thus I spent much of the journey to the wharf watching the mud being flung from the carriage wheel.
The wake of the ferry proved to be an equal distraction, and though I was aware of several pairs of eyes upon me, I was able to throw that concern to the maelstrom. I wondered if the winds circled fast enough, if they could throw thoughts I did not wish to encounter out and away as mud was flung from wheels. The Bard had told me there was a calm center in the largest storms, the ones the Indians call hurricanes. As I seemed to picture the winds howling around me, perhaps I stood in such a center, and I could be safe here as long as I did not move; and in time the winds would wear themselves out, having flung all the awful thoughts away.
Our horses, Diablo and Francis, were as fractious as ever. And who could blame them? Being solely ours, and with our being present so seldom, they spent their days doing nothing but eating, sleeping, and frolicking: they were spoiled through and through. My sorrel, Diablo, tried to bite me as I approached. I wished to embrace him for it: here was a true distraction.
The farm they resided on had chosen to saddle them for us, and I supposed that was acceptable as we wore our better clothes, but I thought we would have to make arrangements to return the tack once we changed into our buccaneer garb, which Gaston had thoughtfully packed.
Our companions had arranged for horses at the livery, and soon we were all mounted to ride the short distance to Spanish Town. I longed to run. I looked to Gaston and he grinned. We pushed out hats far onto our heads, put heels to our steeds, and left those near us in a spatter of mud and curses.
We rode for the sheer glory of it; and when Spanish Town loomed all too soon, we glanced at one another, and with the grins of foxes signaled our mutual accord; and so we wove our way through side streets to another road leading out of town and continued to ride. Our horses were far from winded and our spirits far from sated w
hen Gaston pulled Francis up. I reluctantly reined Diablo in and turned to join him. My matelot did not need to tell me we must return, and I did not need to tell him I did not wish to: there were many things we need not say. He reached for me as I passed, and I leaned to kiss him. Then we cantered back to town.
Theodore and the Marquis appeared quite relieved to see us as we rode into the yard of the Governor’s House.
“I would not miss this,” I chided, as we joined them on the portico.
Theodore snorted derisively.
We were allowed to scrape our boots and then ushered into the governor’s office. He was present, as were Sir Thomas Lynch, Henry Morgan, and two other men Theodore quickly identified as councilmen. All greeted us graciously and viewed us with barely disguised curiosity.
“You need for us to witness a document?” Governor Modyford asked as he took a seat behind his desk.
The Marquis and I took the two chairs before him, with Dupree at his master’s side, Theodore hovering nearby, Gaston leaning with his back to the doorpost, and the other guests arrayed about the walls, standing or seated.
Calm rolled over me like a fog. It was as I often felt before a battle. I found comfort in it, clarity: all things were held at a safe and muffled distance save those right before me, the things I could do something about.
I nodded politely to the governor’s question, and Theodore unrolled the document he had prepared and flattened it with paper weights at the corners before sliding it across the desk to the man. I watched Modyford struggle with surprise and dismay as he read it.
“My Lord, you cannot be serious,” Modyford said when he finished.
Lynch moved to regard what he could of the document. The governor was forced to slide the paper to the side of the desk to keep the other man from leaning over him. At which point, Morgan joined Lynch in reading: a thing the former was not pleased with at all.
“I am very serious,” I said.
“Why?” Lynch blurted.
“I believe my father does not wish for me to inherit,” I said coolly. “There is another he has long favored over me; and I believe, working either separately or in concert, that they will do what they feel necessary to insure I do not inherit. So I have decided it is in my best interests, and of far more importance, the best interests of all whom I hold dear, for me to step aside. It is not a battle I wish to wage or win. I feel the cost will be far too high.”
Treasure Page 43