Wolves

by W. A. Hoffman

  “We were comin’ ta stop him,” Carmichael said.

  “And I thank you for that,” I said. “This man wronged me before and he owed me his life for it. I was not about to allow it to happen again. Understand that we are not attempting to escape, though. We wish to go where you are supposed to take us: to my father, Lord Dorshire.”

  They took a step back, and the two behind looked to Carmichael.

  “Well, my lord,” he said weakly. He cleared his throat. “That um… Ya wish ta go to yur father? Then um... I suppose that’s what we should do, then.”

  “Where are we supposed to go?” I asked.

  “Rolland Hall, my lord.” His mien said he was balancing on the fence of the truth and did not like it.

  I took a guess as to why. “Is my father there?”

  Carmichael grimaced. “Nay, my lord, ’e be in London.”

  “Then I would have you take us there.”

  He seemed concerned at this direction, but he did not say anything to counter it. He nodded. “Very good, my lord.” One of the other men whispered. He nodded enthusiastically. “We ’ave proper clothes fer ya.”

  “Very good,” I said. “I would like wine, a tub with warm water… Can that be done? And food.”

  They nodded and scurried off. I pulled a blade from Thorp’s belt and cut our bonds.

  Gaston threw his arms around me and we held one another in breathless wonder at our turn of good fortune.

  “Thank you,” I finally breathed. “I could not have survived that without you.”

  “You were magnificent.” He kissed me deeply.”’

  “Non, you were. I would have been helpless.”

  “Never: I only had the advantage because I did not fear him. I only led you past that fear. It was you who rose to the occasion.” He grinned.

  I snorted and had to laugh. “I cannot believe I managed that.” I shuddered.

  “We will consider it another task of Hercules.”

  “We will not tell our grandchildren of it.”

  He laughed and then his face shifted to a bemused frown. “My love, there are many things we should not tell our grandchildren.”

  “Do tell,” I teased.

  Carmichael returned with a box of clothes: replete with coats, wigs, and boots. We picked through that with matching grimaces until he returned again with our bags, boots, and to my amazement, weapons.

  “Thank the Gods,” I muttered. “There is the glimmer of life in the Way of the Coast yet.”

  Gaston was hugging the musket he had owned for over ten years like the beloved friend it was.

  The men did manage to produce wine, a bowl of soup, and a wash basin and hot kettle. I was going to ask them to leave us alone so that we could bathe, but then I saw Thorp’s body.

  “Can you dispose of that?” I asked Carmichael.

  “Dump it in the alley?” he asked with trepidation.

  “Why not?” I replied. “Be sure to remove any coin or valuables and distribute it amongst yourselves.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Carmichael said with awe.

  His comrades bowed deeply in gratitude.

  I smiled and waved them out the door as they dragged Thorp away by his heels. Once we were alone, I looked to Gaston. “It seems odd that my father would only send Thorp and four men.”

  He frowned. “What are you questioning?”

  “As you suggested when first you saw him: that my father would still trust him.”

  Gaston nodded thoughtfully. “We must question Carmichael further. And where is that other man?”

  We loaded our weapons, and with one eye on the door to the warehouse, took turns quickly bathing and dressing. We were shaving when Carmichael returned.

  “Mister Carmichael, were there not four of you?” I asked.

  He nodded and grimaced. “I sent Burt ta fetch Mister Jenkins. It were afore… um, Mister Thorp, um…”

  “Who is Mister Jenkins?” I asked.

  “Um, well, ’e manages things like this, er… Um, difficult things requirin’… discreetin? Discretion fer ’Is Lordship. ’E ’ad ta be away: so ’e left Mister Thorp ’ere ta wait on the ship. We were ta tell ’im as soon as ya arrived, but Mister Thorp…” He sighed. “’E were always the troublesome sort. ’E said ’e could manage this well enough on ’is own.” Carmichael shrugged eloquently.

  Gaston and I exchanged a look of concern.

  “Where did you send Burt to find Jenkins?” I asked.

  “Rolland Hall,” Carmichael said, seemingly happy to have an easy question to answer.

  “The estate is several days ride to the north,” I told Gaston. “London is one day’s hard ride to the northeast.”

  He nodded. “Then let us find horses.”

  I nodded and looked to Carmichael. “We will be riding to London at once. Do you have horses ready, or were we to ride in the wagon?”

  “There be a carriage fer the two o’ ya , and then ’orses fer us; but we were na’ ta leave ’til Mister Jenkins arrived.”

  We could not have that. “Give us the two best horses.”

  He frowned.

  I sighed. “Mister Carmichael, I understand you are a loyal and good servant of my father. I appreciate your service to the family. However, I am sure Mister Jenkins will wish for us to travel with him to Rolland Hall. We wish to go to London. I do not wish for anyone other than Thorp to die. Do you understand my meaning?”

  He heaved a great resigned sigh. “I do, my lord. We’ll fetch the ’orses.”

  We were on the road traveling as fast as we dared by torchlight within the hour. We had fine animals, and it felt good to ride; I only wished I could enjoy it without fear of robbers or other dangers.

  As the sky grayed with the dawn, I saw that Gaston appeared as pensive as I felt.

  “Our plan is to confront him and not kill him, oui?” he asked when he saw me watching him. “We are free now, and armed.”

  I thought on it. “Nothing has changed, has it?” I finally asked. “We are better men for not seeking to kill him; the Gods have done much to bring us here; and even if They had not, things must be resolved with him if we are to live in peace; and so, what else is there except to go and speak with him—whatever the consequences?”

  He sighed and smiled weakly.

  “However, if you have had a change of heart, speak now. I would love to have another option.”

  His smile became more sincere and he looked to me with love. “We must. I am just afraid you will be angry with me for a very long time if this goes badly.”

  I laughed. “At least we will be together to argue the matter for eternity, non?”

  He pulled his horse up and I quickly had to do the same and wheel to return to him.

  “Let us pray,” he said. “And promise a temple or some service or whatever you feel appropriate.”

  “Who should we implore? What do we seek?”

  He frowned in thought. “Venus?” he offered.

  “You truly believe She was the Goddess angered?”

  He nodded. “And if not… Love is what we seek: the freedom to love: the freedom to embrace Her divine gift. And love is what we hold. It is our greatest treasure. Should we not ask Her to safeguard it?”

  My heart ached in an old familiar way. “Oui.”

  We rode off the road and found a grove at the edge of a field. We dismounted, and as the sun broke the horizon, I turned my face skyward and spoke from my heart.

  “Oh Divine Goddess Venus, Aphrodite, Goddess of Love and Beauty; please hear our prayer. We wish to thank You for the bounty of Your blessing. Your gift has enriched our lives as no other can. Please help us safeguard Your gift in our coming battle. We face a fearsome foe: a man who I feel knows You not. Please let us… love: live in love: live to celebrate You: live to spend the rest of our lives in devotion to Your gift. We will build You a temple… Not in a garden or on a hill, but in our home, with our home and the Love it shall hold. Please let us serve as Your disciples
and emissaries. And if it is not Your will, or the will of the other Gods, that we should survive this battle, then please grant us peace in one another’s arms for all eternity.”

  I stood there feeling the sun on my face, and then Gaston’s arms were about me and he was pulling and pushing my clothing off and away. I stripped him as well, and we fell to the grass and made love as if our lives depended upon it, and as if there was no other purpose in life than stepping into Heaven in one another’s arms. The blinding light of that perfection did not leave me in the aftermath, and I felt golden and powerful.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to the sky—and my love.

  “I thought it an appropriate offering to Her,” Gaston said with a happy smile.

  “I feel invested with Her juju.”

  He pushed up to look down at me. “My love, you are Her juju.”

  “And you are mine.”

  We dressed and rode on. We stopped several times throughout the day to eat and rest our mounts. We watched our fellow inn patrons carefully. Though Jenkins would not have a good description of us save for our hair color, the clothes we had been given were new and did not fit well: that alone would not have made us stand out in the crowded inns, but when we added the anomaly of our muskets—an uncommon weapon for a gentleman in England to casually carry—we did attract attention from other wary men. Still, we made London that evening without incident.

  Gaston slowed as we entered the teeming city.

  “Do you know where we are going?” he asked with some trepidation.

  “I hope I do,” I said. “We shall have a bit of a problem if my father did not rebuild his townhouse where the old one stood before the fire.”

  We swung wide to avoid the near-collision of the city-bound carriage and a country-bound dray. There was a great deal of cursing and whip cracking. I was silently recalling all I hated about being around so many faceless, yet loud and obnoxious, urban denizens when I saw that Gaston was quite tense. For me, it was an unexpected annoyance, for my matelot, who had ever suffered from over-sensitivity to loud sounds and sudden movement, it must appear a nightmare.

  I went to his side, and only recalled at the last instant that here—in civilized England—I should not bridge the distance between us and take his hand.

  “My love, look at me,” I said calmly and quietly in French.

  His worried gaze shifted to me with gratefulness. “I did not think… to anticipate this. I knew we were riding into a city—a large city—and I have been in cities… But…” He sighed heavily. “It will be akin to battle.” He regarded the road ahead with dismay. “A battle where I cannot allow my Horse to pick His path.”

  I considered how we would manage this obstacle. I could not lead him.

  “Your Wolf?” I asked.

  He took a steadying breath and considered that with a frown. “I will try.”

  In London, as in every great city, a traveler runs the risk of being waylaid at every alley if he wanders from the well-traveled roads: however, I tried to steer us around the more clamorous streets anyway; without endangering us or becoming lost. I twice had us meander in a circle. It was dark—and late—when we at last reached the place where I thought my father’s house stood.

  There was a fine, large, four-story stone house on the lot. Now I sat my horse—and Horse—with trepidation.

  “This might be it,” I said.

  “You do not recognize it?” Gaston asked.

  “I have not seen it since it was rebuilt. When last I was here, most of the city had recently burned. The old house was completely made of wood.”

  He nodded. “Well, we are somewhat committed. There is a man in the yard watching us.”

  There was indeed an armed man standing in the yard with his eyes on the two horsemen staring at his building.

  I sighed. “He should be able to answer the question. We rode across the street. “Hello, I am seeking the home of the Earl of Dorshire.”

  He was a surly fellow, but he answered readily enough. “This is it… sir. What business might you have with His Lordship at this hour?”

  I bit back the honest answer. “I am a guest from out of town. Would he still be about, or should we call in the morning?”

  “Would he be expecting you?”

  “Nay.”

  The man frowned. “I’ll ask then, sir.”

  As he went to the door and knocked, I reflected that he was a lucky man indeed we did not come here to kill anyone: not because he was surly, nay; but because if we had followed our original plan of burning the house around my father’s ears, he would have needed to die.

  Another man appeared in the doorway and studied us in the lantern light. This one I recognized. He had been in my father’s employ before I went to Jamaica. He was a lean, hawk-nosed man, with a confident bearing: we had not been introduced: he had merely drifted in and out of my father’s study like an obedient wolf. My stomach knotted as I realized who he might be.

  His eyes widened with surprise and dismay as he recognized me, but he quickly schooled his features and descended two steps—with his hand hooked in his belt close to his pistol—to ask, “Lord Marsdale?” in a deep and rich voice.

  “Aye,” I said. “Mister Jenkins?”

  Gaston tensed.

  Jenkins bowed politely.

  “We heard you were at Rolland Hall,” I said pleasantly. “Mister Carmichael sent a man named Burt to fetch you.”

  “Did he? Might I inquire as to the whereabouts of Mister Thorp?” he asked with a small smile.

  “Well, after my last encounter with Mister Thorp, I had vowed to kill him: and so I did.” I slowly raised my hands to show them empty. “Please do not be alarmed. Though I have vowed similar things about my cousin Shane, I have recently reconsidered; and as for my father, I only wish to speak with him. I wish to resolve things between us without further bloodshed. If he will agree to meet with us in good faith, we will surrender our weapons so that there will be no confusion as to our intent.”

  Jenkins regarded me with respect and awarded me a thoughtful nod. “I will speak with him. Will you wait here?”

  I pointed to the street in front of the house. “Thank you.”

  He went inside and we rode back to the street and turned to face the house.

  “It is good you did not mention that we killed Thorp with our hands tied and only a dildo as a weapon; else he would not trust at all,” Gaston said quietly and grinned.

  I laughed briefly, but it did little to lessen the tension knotting through every fiber of my being.

  We looked to one another. I fought the ache in my heart and throat. It would not do to meet my father with tears in my eyes.

  “Thank you,” Gaston said.

  I smiled. “Non, thank you.” I looked away. “Now do not make me cry.”

  We sat in silence and I tried to think of anything other than the knowledge that my love had honored even that request.

  Jenkins returned to the front steps and motioned us forward. “He will see you,” he said quietly when we approached.

  We dismounted and handed him and another man our weapons. Then we were inside a wood-paneled foyer and mounting an ornately-ballustraded stair to the main floor. I looked to Gaston one last time before we entered the study. He felt my gaze and met it. We smiled.

  My father looked much as I had seen him last. His face was lined but not wizened, and he did not appear older. His shoulder-length, white wig was, of course, as it ever was. He was not a man for changing with the fashions of the day. He wore his usual dour black attire; with a fine white linen shirt—as unadorned as could be managed without making him appear poor. He was a big man, with a great height and shoulder width I had not attained. He had Sarah’s gray-blue eyes—or rather, she had his. He was not fat, but he was no longer lean—if he ever had been: I could not recall. His features were handsome. I supposed I bore his resemblance; though I felt I appeared a bit more youthful, and not because of our actual ages. I wished to ask Gasto
n, but that would have to wait.

  He was sitting in a high-backed, stuffed chair behind a huge desk: a twin of the mahogany slab he used at Rolland Hall. The entire room looked to be very similar to his study at the main house. There was a large fireplace and hearth to our right, and windows to our left.

  He regarded us from behind a frozen mask of dismay and disdain as we crossed the finely-wrought rug and stood behind the chairs before the desk.

  We were not alone. Shane was thankfully not present, but Jenkins and two of his men stood inside the door.

  “Dorshire,” I said in greeting, and bowed respectfully. “Allow me to introduce…”

  “I know who he is,” my father said flatly. “What do you want?” He did not sound fearful, but he did not sound confident, either.

  To my surprise and gratification, my Wolf saw a wolf in decline.

  “What do I want?” I asked with incredulity. “It is my understanding you paid good coin to have me brought here.”

  He snorted. “Not here.”

  “England, then.”

  He snorted again and shrugged. “I want a son.”

  “Well, I have long wanted a father, but it appears we are at an impasse. I am tired of the death and violence. I am sure you feel you are weary of my defiance. What shall we do?”

  “You could stop defying me,” he said with a trace of amusement I recalled from our last meeting. It seemed now as it did then: a grudging respect.

  “If we are speaking solely of my love for this man, nay I cannot. I would cease to be the man I know as myself. I would cease to be. So therefore I cannot strive to please you in that regard. I am sorry.”

  His features had hardened as I spoke, and the little spark of respect and kinship we might have shared was snuffed out. “You will,” he said.

  I sighed and looked to Gaston. He nodded with a sad smile. I met my father’s glare. “Then you will have to kill me. You will have no son. You will have achieved nothing. Truly Father, why? I can understand your dislike of sodomy—many men feel as you do; but your unreasoning hatred: why?”

  “Why?” he snarled. “You are the fruit of my loins: my sorry legacy in this world! And you are as stupid and stubborn as a peasant! You think only of your damn perverted pleasure. If you will not behave as befits a lord’s son, then aye, I will have no son!”