Wolves

by W. A. Hoffman

  Gaston went and knelt beside him. “Watch him a moment, and let me discover if he will die.”

  Captain Horn nodded, and accompanied by my father’s steady wheezing tirade and pained cries and curses, Gaston gingerly examined the wounds.

  My man finally nodded. “There is nothing I or any other physician can do for him. The ball appears to have gone deep into his liver. I can dig it out; but the organ will never heal, and he will just die a slow death. Before that, he will bleed to death internally from the stab wounds which have perforated his left lung and his bowels.”

  Jenkins and the Captain nodded and regarded one another with serious miens.

  Seemingly satisfied there was nothing he could do to save anyone, Gaston turned his attention to Shane, and pulled the blade free from his back before beginning to roll him off my father’s legs. I stood and went to help him, and we laid my poor cousin out and closed his staring, oddly peaceful eyes. I doffed my coat and spread it over his head and chest.

  “Such a waste,” I said sadly in French. “I have hated him for so long; and here he was this pathetic creature and not the monster of my memories. I feel I did not do all I should have for him.”

  Gaston snorted and spoke softly. “Do not be stupid, my love. He was hurting you; and you were too young to know how to wage that battle—even if it could have been won. I could not have mended things with my father until he lost his other sons. Sometimes only tragedy brings resolution.”

  Captain Horn cleared his throat, but when I looked over I only beheld my father glaring at me with pained eyes.

  “Well,” I said to my father in English. “He still loved me, you damned bastard—enough to save our lives. Take that to your grave. You accomplished nothing with your campaign of hatred except to ruin his life. And he thought he was your favored son. Tell me, did you favor him because he was weaker and you knew he could be bent to your will?”

  My father slowly moved his head until he was staring at the ceiling again. “You will burn in Hell with me,” he wheezed.

  “Nay, I think not,” I said. “I will atone for my sins in this life, and I shall spend eternity with my loved ones, not you.”

  “You will not spend eternity with him,” he growled.

  “God is a very pathetic deity indeed if he allows the likes of you to speak for Him. And I hope that Shane’s father—or whoever it was that drove you to this madness—will not be forced to spend eternity with you.”

  “I never had a lover, you stupid twat,” he gasped. “You will learn. You are Earl now. You will learn.”

  I went to lean over him. “Look at me, you stupid prick. I will not learn. I will not choose to accept anything that will make me miserable. Life is too precious to be squandered on base, petty, and meaningless things when compared to Truth, Love, and the Hereafter.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head weakly with a troubled frown.

  I looked away and found Jenkins and Captain Horn near the door, watching me with furrowed brows. I glared at them until they looked away.

  “You should forgive him,” Gaston whispered from my elbow.

  “Non.”

  “You forgave Shane.”

  “He apologized.”

  “You forgave him before tonight.”

  “I understood why he was as he was, and I could feel sympathy for him. I do not understand why this bastard is the way he is, and I feel nothing but hatred for him.”

  Gaston sighed and leaned over my father. “Dorshire?”

  My father’s eyes opened and he regarded my man with hate.

  “I forgive you,” Gaston said. “And I thank you. If you were not as you are, Will and I would not be together. And, as Will is the best thing in my life, I must thank the misfortune that brought him to me. So thank you. And, I forgive you because there must have been some good in you that was twisted into evil; else you could not be related to Will. So there must have been something worth loving in you once, before you were destroyed; and thus I pity you; and I forgive you your weakness in not being able to rise above it.”

  I sighed as I felt my heart swell with love for my matelot. It pushed the hate away. “There are days when you still make my heart ache,” I told my man.

  “With love?” he asked with the trace of mischief.

  “Non, with the need to smack you.”

  He smiled patiently and with great regard.

  I sighed again and looked down at my father, who was regarding us with pain and dismay. “I forgive you,” I said tightly, the words barely clearing my throat. I cursed silently and begged the Gods for Their patience and understanding. “I forgive you,” I managed with a little more volume and sincerity. “I forgive you for being weak. That I can do. I cannot forgive you for… Shane, or Vivian, or everyone else I have known and loved who has been troubled and cast to the winds before your foolish hatred. But I can see that that hatred is born of deep misery, and can feel pity for that. Not as much as I feel for the people you have troubled, but some. And aye, I will forgive you the trouble you have caused me. I will because my man is correct: without you, I would not be who I am. You have set me a fine example of what not to become. So I thank you. Now make your peace with God, and may He have mercy on your soul.”

  He shook his head, and I saw sadness in his eyes. “I am damned.”

  “I am sorry,” I said, and truly meant it. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew it was because he was damned. He would never be at peace. He simply could not see his way clear to do it, and there but for the Grace of the Gods—and my matelot—went I.

  I dropped down to squat beside him. “I did not come here to kill you,” I said. “I came here to resolve things between us so that we could both be at peace. I truly did. But everyone is correct; we are damn stubborn men. I am very much your son in that regard. Sometimes it serves me well, and other times it serves me as poorly as I feel it has served you.”

  “Do not presume to know what I think,” he wheezed.

  I shook my head with wonder and bemusement. “You are stubborn. Fine, take it to your grave. Perhaps you are a braver man than I.”

  “You cannot win,” he hissed. “Nay, nay, it is not me. They will not let you. You are just too stupid to see that. You always have been.”

  “Were you willing to walk away—to keep that which you wanted and give the rest away?”

  “That is not winning,” he gasped.

  “It is for me,” I said. “I would rather live the life I want.”

  “But that is not fair,” he breathed.

  “To whom?”

  “To everyone who follows the rules. You cannot win by… changing the rules…”

  “Why not?”

  He shook his head; his gaze upon the ceiling became unfocused and wavered.

  “Father?”

  With one last wobble of negation, he breathed his last.

  With trembling fingers, I closed his eyes. “May the Gods have mercy on your soul,” I whispered.

  One Hundred and Fourteen

  Wherein We Find Ourselves in a Dragon’s Shadow

  Gaston pulled me to my feet and away, back into the shadows of the cellar. Then he held me. I felt his solid body against mine and I let the tension drain from my back and soul. It was done: for whatever it was worth, it was done and we had lived.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “And I you,” he breathed. “How are we?”

  I thought on it. “Exhausted. Numb. And you?”

  “The same,” he sighed. “And fearful of what awaits us next.”

  I wished to say that surely the worst was behind us; but we still stood alone in a cellar with two dead bodies and soldiers under the command of some purported benefactor we knew nothing about. My worry returned.

  There was a great deal more commotion in the house above. We listened as it poured down the stairs and through the kitchen like a rock slide. Then Captain Horn and Jenkins were tripping over one another to provide some coherent account of the night’s e
vents to several nobleman and gentlemen. We did not move to see these new arrivals. I assumed it was the Earl of Whyse and his entourage.

  Then, “Where are my sons?” was asked quite forcefully—in English—by Gaston’s father.

  We stiffened and exchanged a startled look before darting out into the lantern light. We were immediately accosted and embraced by the Marquis and Theodore.

  The Marquis was in tears and could not let either of us go. He cupped our faces one after the other and embraced us again and again. Theodore was equally enthusiastic.

  “You are supposed to be in Holland,” I gasped as Theodore pounded my back heartily.

  “Oh, shut up,” he said and held me tighter.

  “How is everyone?” I finally had the presence of mind to ask. “The children, the ladies, are they here?”

  They nodded in unison, and Theodore said in French, “They are well and safe; and oui, they are here. They are at a house we leased in a village near your father’s lands. Where are Pete and Cudro, and Ash, and, um, Chris?”

  “We have not seen them since Panama when we were abducted,” I said.

  “Aha!” a voice boomed from nearby.

  Startled, I looked about and beheld a tall man dressed all in red velvet and white lace, with black boots that might have taken an entire calf apiece—if not several, considering his height: he was stooping, and yet his elegant and ornate chapeau was still scraping the ceiling. He had a wide smile and lively demeanor.

  “My lord, allow me to introduce the Earl of Whyse,” Theodore said quickly. “My lord, this is the Vis…”

  The Earl of Whyse tsked before Theodore could finish. “Nay, my good man: that is the Earl of Dorshire.”

  He bowed as if I was his equal, and I managed to do likewise while my thoughts awkwardly tripped over themselves as I understood his meaning. My father was dead: by the Gods, I was the Earl of Dorshire. Unless…

  “If it pleases His Majesty, the king,” I said quickly.

  Whyse snorted and grinned. “Oh, it most certainly does.”

  “You were quite correct, your father is…was not favored by the king,” Theodore whispered.

  “Now, did you not just say you last saw someone in Panama?” Whyse asked with glee.

  I nodded.

  “So that damn fool Morgan actually went to Panama?”

  I nodded again.

  “Well, then, you are the first person from whom we shall be able to hear an account.”

  “Ah,” I said stupidly. “I will be happy to tell you all I can.”

  “But not tonight,” the Marquis said firmly.

  Whyse bowed in acquiescence and reined in his excitement a little as he glanced at the bodies. “Nay, it can wait until the morrow. I know the four of you have much to discuss.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Theodore said with great sincerity. “For all you have done on our behalf; and the behalf of Lord Dorshire and Lord Montren.”

  “It has been my pleasure; as I am sure it will continue to be,” Whyse said. He looked to the bodies again and sobered further. “Lord Dorshire, would you like for me to send the appropriate agents to arrange for the services and burials? I know you have much to consider, but I assume you will have them buried on the estate.”

  “Aye, please,” I said.

  “I will be happy to assist you in any way I can. My retainers are at your disposal.” He frowned at me, his eyes raking up and down my body and then Gaston’s. “I will also send my tailor.”

  I managed to keep my face quite bland despite being appalled. “Thank you, Lord Whyse, that will be much appreciated. Thank you for everything. It appears you have been our guardian angel.”

  He chuckled. “You are very welcome. I am relieved you are safe and well. We feared the worst when my damn men did not catch you in Portsmouth.” He sighed. “But apparently you possess celestial angels as well as terrestrial ones.” He chuckled anew. “My men did find Thorp.” Whyse’s grin indicated they had found him as we had left him—presumably with a dildo still shoved down his throat—and reported the same to their lord.

  “I will call on the morrow, then,” Whyse continued, “and we shall discuss your adventures. I am sure you will liven my life considerably. Just hearing of your exploits has kept me quite amused for several years now.”

  My thoughts were stumbling over his ‘for several years now’, but I forced words from my mouth. “I live to amuse.”

  He laughed, and bowed with a flourish of his hat in parting. He took up so much of the available air with the gesture that my Horse wished to shy and retreat.

  “I need to get out of this cellar,” I said as soon as he was gone.

  Gaston’s hand slipped into mine, and his grip was painful. I returned it in kind, and made for the door and freedom, with the Marquis and Theodore in our wake. I soon regretted leaving the relatively open space of the cellar as we pushed our way through a mob of confused servants and retainers. Being a giant and dressed all in red, Whyse had undoubtedly made easy work of his passage through the hall, but these people did not know me in my shabby attire. They grasped at Jenkins and bombarded him with questions as he attempted to clear a path for us.

  “Return to your beds!” he ordered again and again. “It is not your concern.”

  But it was their concern. Their lord was dead. There was a new lord. All they depended on had been cast to the winds. Finally, I could countenance their anxiety and fear no longer.

  I squeezed Gaston’s hand and whispered, “I must speak to them.”

  With reluctance and anxiety pinching his features, he nodded and released me.

  “Stop!” I said loudly enough to be heard. “I will explain.”

  Jenkins turned to glare at me, and then remembered his place—or rather, mine—and dropped his eyes.

  “Let me through to the stairs,” my Wolf ordered with firm kindness.

  They parted and made a path until I stood on the stairs going up to the next floor. There I was able to turn and overlook the sea of anxious faces filling the hall.

  “I am John Williams: your master’s son. He summoned me home from Jamaica.”

  This quieted them, and they studied me with consternation and curiosity. By the time questions began to form on their lips, I knew what I must say next: how the matter should be presented. I held up my hand to stay them and spoke quickly.

  “My cousin Shane and my father quarreled over the matter of my arrival, and now both are dead.”

  Surprise gripped them, and many began to whisper urgently: seeking confirmation of what they thought I said.

  “My father is dead,” I repeated. “Shane shot and stabbed him, and he did the same to Shane. There was much confusion, and we could not prevent it. They are gone. I am Earl now. The king’s man has confirmed it.”

  Many looked to Jenkins for confirmation, and he nodded solemnly. Some of the women began to wail and the men to curse.

  “This has been a great blow and a surprise to us all!” I said to hush them again. “I am as overwrought as any of you! But I wish to assure you that you will be dealt with fairly. No one here will be cast into the street or go hungry because of this. You must be patient and allow us time to sort through matters, though. And we all must grieve.”

  “Should we prepare the bodies?” someone asked from far down the hall.

  “Aye,” I said. “The Earl of Whyse has said he will send someone to assist with the planning of a proper funeral. But aye, please make them presentable if you wish.”

  “My lord,” Jenkins said tightly.

  “Then you oversee it!” I hissed to him and then smiled congenially.

  He pushed his way back down the hall to the kitchen.

  I thought it likely I would break my word and put him out on the street soon.

  “My lord?” a young woman in a maid’s dress asked from the stairs above me. When I turned to her, she bobbed a deep curtsy and asked, “Shall we prepare the lord’s chamber for you?”

  I thought of t
hem preparing my father’s room, and was immediately horrified. It felt wrong to take his place so soon. And Gaston, how were we to…

  “Is there a guest room?” I asked her. Several of them nodded. “Then prepare it with fresh linen. It is too soon to address the matter of my father’s things.”

  “I will insure nothing is disturbed… my lord,” an older man in the household livery said stiffly.

  I assumed he had been my father’s valet. I thought of him dressing me and suppressed a shudder. How was I to do this? My Horse was glaring down my Wolf.

  Will you be needin’ anything else this night, my lord?” an older woman asked from the hall below. She wore an apron.

  Aye, I needed to run very far away. I looked for Gaston and found and him with his father and Theodore standing in the doorway to my father’s study. They were very close: if I dove across the hall they could catch me. My matelot’s eyes were warm and steady.

  “Food,” Gaston said.

  “Aye,” Theodore added, “There’s brandy in here.”

  “Food, please,” I told the woman. “Something warm. We will take porridge if that is all there is at this hour. Several bowls. Please bring it to the study. Now, I have much to discuss with my advisors.”

  Thankfully—for their sake—no one blocked my path to the study; and Gaston pulled me inside and we pushed the door closed with relief.

  “That was well done,” the Marquis assured me with a smile.

  “Thank you,” I sighed as I got a good grip on Gaston’s hand and pulled him to the settee. We sat, and I fought my Horse’s urge to plunge about and run screaming from the house.

  “Are you both truly well?” the Marquis asked. He and Theodore were regarding us with worry.

  “We are unharmed,” Gaston assured them. He took a deep and steadying sigh and disentangled his fingers from mine. He went to help Theodore pull the heavy chairs from the front of my father’s desk closer to the settee. Then he was sitting beside me again, and Theodore was passing me a bottle before taking his seat, and the Marquis was settling into his.