Treasure

by W. A. Hoffman

  He sighed and shook his head. “God knows, I should not care if she has noble blood: all who have it seem to be fools.” He indicated himself.

  Cudro, Rucker, and even Alonso – who spoke some French – were regarding us with even more curiosity than those who did not understand our words.

  “Agnes,” I said for the benefit of the French speakers. I continued in English. “It has been decided that Gaston will marry Agnes and not Christine.”

  “Ah,” Liam said. “That why they be fightin’ earlier?”

  “Aye and nay,” I sighed. “They did not know of our plans when that occurred.”

  Alonso chuckled. “Women always have their own agenda. You should know that.”

  This brought amusement all around.

  “Aye, I know,” I said with a grim smile. “And we should remember that theirs have likely changed in light of this.”

  The Marquis nodded sadly once my words were translated.

  I addressed him in French. “We had hoped Christine could return with you to France. She has expressed an interest in traveling and seeing the sights of Christendom. Now she might well return to her father.”

  He frowned at that. “How much trouble might that cause for you?”

  I looked to Theodore and switched to English. “What do you feel would be the outcome of her returning to her father at this time?”

  Theodore sighed heavily, and his brow furrowed as he considered it. “There will be no legal matter, but he might feel compelled to challenge Gaston to a duel or engage in some other stupid act of revenge to save face. He could conceivably put another price on your heads,” he said, then shrugged off his attempt at humor. “It is best in these situations for a marriage to occur to appease the family, but that is apparently no longer an option. I have never thought it a good one, as I feel it is a poor way to begin a marriage.”

  “There are places where marriage by rapine is an honored tradition,” Rucker noted.

  “Brave damn men,” Cudro muttered.

  Theodore chuckled. “I surely cannot imagine it.”

  “Women be like men.” Liam said soberly. “Ya beat any one ’ard enough an’ they’ll get quiet.”

  “With some that’s when they become the meanest,” Striker added with equal sobriety.

  Smiles fled faces.

  I frowned as I considered how Christine would weather this. I felt strongly that Gaston had not beaten her hard or long enough to do anything but make her angry and dangerous. She would not run as I had done. This abuse was a new and raw wound, and not marks laid upon scars and scabs. She was not inured to it or anything of its like, and would not feel she deserved it. Even if we had not wished for her to leave before, we had to send her away now.

  “So, you wish for her to go to France,” Theodore was saying. “Does she know this?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, it is often best to present a distraught individual with the option you wish them to take while they are… distraught,” he said. “Else they often develop their own plans and become quite fixed upon them in their time of distress.”

  He was correct. Some of my greater intrigues had been culminated during such times, as I had caused them to bring about the hasty making of decisions. “Are you volunteering?”

  This elicited a number of chuckles, as did his sorrowful expression.

  “I suppose,” Theodore sighed. “As your solicitor.”

  “I feel I will be the messenger most likely to be stoned,” I said.

  “Is there anyone else they might be more inclined to listen to?” Theodore asked hopefully.

  I looked to Striker.

  “Oh, bloody Hell, nay!” he said quickly.

  I looked back to Theodore. “You are very likely the finest candidate we can muster.”

  “Perhaps ya should take a white flag,” Liam offered quite seriously as Theodore stood.

  “Nay,” Theodore sighed. “I feel that will make my case too obvious.”

  We all watched him walk up the stairs and across the balcony as if he were a condemned man. He knocked upon Christine’s door, and it was opened for him, but he was apparently not allowed entry. He stood and spoke so quietly I could not hear a word, with someone I could not see, and the panic I had felt in the stable began to grip me again.

  I stood and went to look in on Gaston. He appeared to be sleeping. I did not touch him for fear the drug’s grip was truly too shallow and he would wake. So I knelt and soothed Bella instead.

  “Will!” Striker called a few minutes later. I emerged from the stable in time to see all the women, Christine included, marching across the balcony and down the stairs. Christine was wrapped in a blanket, but I could see from the color of her skirt that she had changed her gown. She appeared furious and ready for battle.

  I attempted to gauge the mood of the other women. Sarah had the pinched look she got when angry or frustrated: it made my stomach clench, as it was a masterful mix of both our father’s and our mother’s disapproval. Agnes appeared thoughtful and concerned; and I saw some hope in that. Henrietta was all atwitter: her hands wringing and her eyes teary. Vivian looked more concerned with quieting the child in her arms than with what was occurring around her; but I supposed the child was agitated because she sensed her mother’s unease. Rachel’s face was a hard mask of disapproval that I was sure could make Theodore’s balls retract, as it was very nearly having that effect on mine, and I would not be sharing her bed this night.

  Theodore appeared very composed, his face betraying nothing; but when he met my gaze he gave a small sign, just the slight turn of his head that said he found some aspect of what we faced curious.

  I crossed my arms, and remained standing when I reached the tables at which the men sat. The women were arrayed beyond the tables, and the men seemed disconcerted by this, as if they had been caught in the middle of a battleground. As one, though, all the men turned their backs to me to face the women.

  “Where is he?” Christine demanded.

  “Drugged and sleeping, and you will never be in his presence again,” I said firmly.

  “So he is afraid to face me?” she spat.

  “’E be mad, woman! Are ya daft?” Liam asked.

  “Aye,” I said. “What part of madness do you not understand? He has suffered a bout. I warned you of this.”

  She looked away with anger. “So that is how it is?”

  “Aye, that is how he is when he loses himself. He will recover. He will rue forever what occurred this day. He is sorry even now. He was sorry when it occurred, but he could not stop himself; that is how madness behaves.”

  “So that is it?” she asked, more of the walls than any of us.

  “How are you?” I asked Christine.

  Her face contorted with incredulity as she turned back to me. “How am I?”

  I sighed. “Is anything broken? Do you require a physician?”

  “My maidenhead is broken!” she snapped, eliciting gasps and grimaces from the women and men alike.

  “I am truly sorry,” I said sincerely. “I truly am. If I could change what occurred, I would, but I cannot.”

  “What occurred, Will?” Sarah asked. “Besides the obvious. Why? We would understand. We are… concerned.”

  Christine awarded her a glare of great venom, and the lead in my gut relaxed somewhat. They were not united against us, thank the Gods; but my sister’s actual question bothered me.

  “He is no threat to the rest of you,” I said with more of my Horse’s rancor than I knew was prudent. “Gaston has been under great strain these past weeks,” I continued quickly and with more care. “She apparently sought to confront him because we had decided – due to the strain he was under – that he should not marry her. From what he was able to tell me, she was quite determined to press her case as to why he should marry a woman and not remain with a man, and… She drove him into madness.”

  “How dare you?” Christine roared. “This is not my fault! I am not to blame! You
damn bastards, all of you!” She had backed away, to face the women as well now. “Will speaks of being raped – a thing none here witnessed – and you all hang your heads for his shame! I am raped – and my attacker does not deny it – and you all blame me!”

  “It is not the same!” Sarah said with such force the babe in her arms startled. She handed the child to Rachel and began to emphasize her words with her hands. “Will was raped by our cousin who is an evil man! I know! I had to shoot him lest he do the same to me. I had to run here to avoid him. He does vicious and horrible things to all around him. Gaston is not an evil man. He is good and kind to everyone. He is just mad. It is my understanding he was born mad.” She turned to look to the Marquis and myself for corroboration.

  Dupree had been translating rapidly, and thus at her last words, the Marquis stood and faced Christine to speak with great passion. “Oui, he was born mad. His mother was mad. I had to keep her locked away to prevent her from hurting herself or anyone she thought an enemy in her madness. Gaston appears far saner only because of Will’s kind caretaking. I wish to God I had cared for my wife as Will cares for my son. But make no mistake, my son is still mad.”

  “Then he should be locked away, too!” Christine roared in French. “You have no right allowing him to hurt people just because he behaves well. If he is so very mad that he is blameless of what he does, then he should be kept in a cell!”

  “Nay!” I snapped in English. “Any sane man can be provoked to violence. And we did all we could to keep you from harm. We knew he would not do well with you: that you would cause trouble for us. We sought to ward that off. Gaston has not been about women for his entire life, between boys’ schools, a monastery, and living here amongst the Brethren. He did not know when he offered to marry you that he would…” I stopped, unsure if I should say more, but all eyes were upon me now. “A woman is responsible for his scars.” This earned me curious looks from Striker, Pete, my sister, and even the Marquis. “She did not wield the whip, but she was responsible for it being used. Until he was confronted with the prospect of marriage, he did not know he still harbored such anger and resentment about the matter. Now he does, and we have sought… We have found he might be with a woman, and thus produce the heirs his father wants, if she is a woman he feels he can trust and… if I am with him. Neither of which was possible with you.”

  Christine was shaking her head, her face a mask of incredulity once again. “I am so very relieved I did not marry you,” she said with sarcasm.

  “You stupid girl!” I snapped. “I would not have married you, anyway. Gaston would not allow it. He suffered a bout at the prospect of it the night you ran away. He fought with me, and then from the guilt of that, went and took on an entire tavern.”

  “And got Will good and beat in the process,” Striker added.

  “Aye,” I said tiredly. “Thus he suffered his punishment by being forced to watch me lie about in pain.” I glared at her again. “You must understand. He is truly contrite over what has occurred. He did not do this to you with malice. It was not a thing planned. We were attempting to save you from facing his madness, as we judged you would drive him mad.”

  She was very still, and then she moved. “Then this should hurt him!”

  It seemed I saw the pistol emerge from beneath her blanket at the same time I felt the kick of the ball hitting my right shoulder. I was not prepared, as I would have been if dueling. During a duel or battle, all appeared to slow around me before I was wounded. This had been so very fast. I fell back, the world spinning and all about erupting into chaos.

  “Not again,” I gasped as the pain hit. Why was I always getting wounded when Gaston was mad and we were at our worst for handling the matter?

  Cudro and Agnes appeared above me.

  “Gaston,” I said. Then I remembered he was drugged and I cursed.

  Cudro and Alonso lifted me onto the table. Liam pressed a rag to my wound. I could hear yelling all around, but I could not understand the words. Someone took my right hand and implored me to hold on in French. I looked down and saw it was the Marquis. I looked elsewhere and saw Gaston through the bodies. He was coming, leaning on Agnes. I reached for him with my left hand, and then he was there above me at the head of the table, his face pressed to mine, our fingers tightly clasped on my chest.

  “Show me,” he gasped at Liam.

  They cut my tunic open to expose my shoulder, and Gaston probed at the wound.

  I tried to ignore the pain. I did not try to look at the wound. I studied my matelot’s profile. As always, my blood steadied him. He was slowed greatly by the drug, but he was sane, with a strong hand on the reins.

  “It is not bad,” he whispered in French. “It is just in the muscle. It must have been a small ball.”

  I nodded, reluctant to tell him it was a lady’s piece, as I did not know what Agnes had told him of my assailant, or for that matter what had become of my assailant. Perhaps Pete had killed her. He had been moving toward her very rapidly when I fell.

  “Can you tend him?” Striker was asking.

  Gaston grimaced with thought. “I cannot wield the instruments. I can tell someone what must be done and guide them.”

  A discussion of who that someone would be followed, and Cudro ended it by volunteering. He had stitched Gaston’s head once before, that day of the tavern beating. Gaston nodded his assent and began to give instructions.

  He sat in a chair beside my head. I was sorry when he released my hand, but another set of fingers were quickly entwined with mine, and I looked down to my left and found Vivian’s worried face. She squeezed my hand nervously, and I squeezed back. The Marquis still held my right. At Gaston’s instruction, Agnes retrieved things they would need from the medicine chest, which someone had fetched from the stable. I felt surrounded by love and industry on my behalf, and the pain and its cause were very distant things.

  “Drink,” Gaston said, and Agnes held a cup at my lips.

  “Non,” I said and turned my head away. “I wish to stay with you. I fear…”

  “I am giving you as much as you gave me,” he whispered in my ear. “You will not go far.”

  There was grim amusement in his voice, and I nodded and drank.

  Agnes gave me the stick to bite on, and I bit it and turned my head away to rest against Gaston’s arm as they began to work. Sometime later, they had removed the ball and the piece of my tunic that had entered with it, and sewn the wound closed after dousing it in rum. I had felt all they did, but thankfully from a safe distance. They had no need to hold me down, and I had no need to scream or bite the stick in two.

  There was some discussion as to what to do with me, and it was decided I should be moved to the Marquis’ room. I did not feel the need to argue with anyone about the matter, as long as Gaston would remain with me. Despite the drug, I was still anxious over that one aspect of my predicament. Gaston himself allayed that fear while fanning another, by instructing Agnes to find the manacles in our bags in the stable and bring them to us. I looked to him with curiosity after his request, and saw fear haunting his eyes. The crisis had passed, and his control was receding.

  “We will be fine,” I murmured.

  “Who shot you?” he asked.

  “The Gods hate me,” I sighed.

  He frowned, his eyes hardening.

  “Non, my love, please,” I breathed.

  “I will do nothing,” he said firmly. “I will stay with you.”

  “Christine,” I said.

  He grimaced with pain and buried his face in my neck.

  “I am sorry,” he gasped.

  Cudro leaned over me. “We need to move you now.”

  “Oui, where is Christine?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Pete hauled her off. I think they trussed her up in the parlor. She won’t be shooting anyone else.” He frowned at Gaston, who did not seem inclined to release me.

  “Can you walk upstairs with me, my love?” I murmured.

  Gaston no
dded tightly and let me go. I did not see the Horse’s anger in his eyes, only guilt and shame. Cudro helped me to my feet. Gaston was unsteady once he rose, and Liam quickly threw an arm about him. We made our way to the guest room. Once there, I was propped on pillows at the head of the bed with my right arm in a sling. Gaston crawled on the mattress to kneel at my left side. His hands were quickly clutching my good one, and his eyes were on my belly and nothing else. His breath was coming shorter and faster than I would like, and as my shoulder still ached, I wondered if we should both have more laudanum. I was going to suggest it when Agnes arrived with the manacles.

  She stood there with the bag and regarded us with concern and curiosity.

  Striker had followed her in with the medicine chest, and stopped behind her with annoyance, as the room had a number of people in it and she was blocking his path.

  “Striker,” I hissed, relieved he heard me over the all the muttering of the others. “Help her with those, please.”

  He pushed her aside and deposited the chest at the foot of the bed, before taking the bag from her, hefting it, and looking at Gaston warily. Then he turned to the others. “Out. All of you. They need to sleep.”

  Cudro and Liam walked toward the door, but Vivian sat in a chair in the corner. The Marquis shooed Dupree out, but he also seemed inclined to stay, as did Agnes.

  Theodore regarded me with concern. “My question can wait.”

  “Your judgment is sound,” I said.

  He smiled and followed Liam out the door.

  Striker shrugged at those remaining, and carefully crawled up the bed sit next to Gaston. Agnes sidled up on my side, and watched him with interest. Striker frowned at her.

  I considered it through the pain and the drug. Gaston had asked her to bring them.

  “She should learn,” I said.

  Striker shrugged and motioned her closer. Gaston kept his eyes on me, but he proffered his wrist, and Striker explained to Agnes how to wrap it with the leather so the iron bracelets did not chafe. He then had her do mine.

  The tension left Gaston’s shoulders after the cuff was locked around his wrist and he tested its weight. After I was chained to him, his hand slipped into mine and he sighed.