“Non, but I feel I will garner great satisfaction in being a participant.”
We sat in silence for a time, each contemplating the coming wave of disaster. I was roiling in anger. I had truly expected this at some junction; why should I be surprised now?
“Will,” Gaston whispered into the growing darkness. “The Horse is very distraught.”
His fists were clenched and there was fury in his eyes. I was not sure where he could vent it. The object of it was not present.
For my part, the room appeared to be reeling. I decided retreat was in order, and perhaps a den. I slipped out of the chair and around the desk, pulling Gaston after me into the knee space. He curled against my chest and we held each other like scared children, or perhaps puppies. I did not feel that I had teeth or weapons, and I very much wanted someone to come and protect me. But it was not to be. We only had each other. I assured myself that was far more than most were blessed with.
I heard footsteps a while later. I supposed it was time for dinner. I also supposed the person who had entered the room was our host.
“Theodore?” I queried.
The steps approached, and so did a lamp. Theodore peered under the desk at us. I nodded a greeting. He perused the letters on the surface.
“May I read your father’s letter?” he asked.
“Please,” I said pleasantly.
He scooped it up, and to my amusement, pushed the chair aside and sat on the floor next to us. He gave me a curious look, and his gaze flicked to Gaston. I looked down; my matelot’s eyes were tightly closed.
“We are not having a good day,” I said. I was thankful I had been forthright with Theodore as to Gaston’s madness in October. It made additional explanation unnecessary now.
Theodore nodded. “Due to this?”
“It added to a prevailing situation,” I said. “Coming to Port Royal has been… difficult.”
He nodded and read. When he finished, he sat it on the desk above us. “It is much as he wrote me, only friendlier.”
“I will not do it,” I said.
Theodore took a large breath, preparatory to sighing, but he held it in and shrugged instead.
“Non.” Gaston stirred in my arms and extricated himself enough to turn and look at me. He appeared calm again, his face truly a mask.
“Non, what?” I asked in French.
“It is a thing you must do if you are to inherit. You are a nobleman; it is expected. Non, it is required. You can do much good with the title. You must do this to gain it. It will be meaningless to us, non?”
His words did not sit well with me, and I could not at the moment name the reasons why. I told him, “We will discuss it,” and switched to English and my attention to Theodore.
“I do not wish to wed or bed a woman, especially not one my father might select. I do not wish for any but my matelot to think they have some claim over me.”
“Of course,” Theodore sighed. “I did not think you would feel otherwise on either count. As for the latter, under English law a wife is not a thing to be concerned about when compared to a man’s legal partner in any enterprise. As you have already, you are free to establish whatever ownership of property and disbursement of your assets at death that you wish. She and your father will have no say in any of that, and your father will only be a consideration concerning matters of the title or property associated with it, such as your family estate in England. The plantation, however, once he gives it to you, can be owned jointly with Gaston. None can gainsay that. As for the former, if you do not wish a bride of your father’s choosing, then make your own choice.”
“And how am I to do that here?” I asked.
“I have taken the liberty of researching some of the better families here,” he said carefully. “I have determined that there are three possible candidates with sufficient breeding that your father might not demand an annulment if you were married to one of them upon the other bride’s arrival.”
“So you have been planning this for months.” I was oddly amused.
“Well,” he sighed, “this conversation surely.”
I snorted. “Well, I have said I feel you to have my best interests at heart. I suppose I should allow you to pick a bride for me. Better you than my father. I mean no sarcasm in that.”
He smiled sadly. “Oh, Will… You have met one of them,” he said brightly.
“Truly? I can not recall meeting any…” And then I could.
“Miss Christine Vines,” Theodore said. “Her father is the second son of the Baron of Hapsmarch, and by some twist of fate and romance, he married above his station into a noble Austrian house that was in dire straits.”
All that Miss Vines had said the night I made her acquaintance at the Governor’s house returned to me. She had been educated in Vienna, and said she could make several fine matches there or in England. She was only on Jamaica because her mother had died recently, and her father had needed her. I also recalled her frustration over being expected to marry, at being a girl and limited in her choices. And her vivid blue eyes, and lilting voice, and long limbs, and lovely features.
Gaston was frowning, and then his eyes shot wide. “The Brisket?”
I frowned until I remembered why he called her that, and then I could do little but chuckle.
“I cannot explain,” I said in response to Theodore’s confusion – and then tried to anyway. “Miss Vines was the road not taken and the meal not eaten. Gaston and I had quite the argument over my statement that if I had not met him first, I would have been quite smitten with her.”
Theodore decided he did not need to understand more. “The other two young ladies are of strictly English lineage, but ladies they are, and not commoners. A number of earls and viscounts own plantations here, and some have actually brought their families temporarily.”
I did not care who the others were. Damn me all to hell, I could see taking the Brisket for a wife. I did not feel Gaston would be the least bit reasonable about sharing me with her, though, because Miss Vines would matter.
“I have much to think on,” I said firmly. “And there is much Gaston and I must discuss.”
Theodore nodded sagely and appeared a trifle relieved. My matelot appeared distraught, but now I was sure his Horse was plunging about in a new direction, and I was not sure if I could provide it comfort over this matter.
I sighed. “May we eat now?”
I was sure I heard the Gods snickering.
Thirty
Wherein We Chart an Unexpected Course
The meal consisted of an interestingly spiced stew, for which I complemented both Mistress Theodore and Hannah. The table was well set with linen and pewter. It minded me much of the last time we dined in a fine room, at Doucette’s. Thankfully, we were free of priests this night; but when I thought of sleeping in this house, with its fine white-walled rooms, and how we had fared the last time we had done such a thing, I began to feel uneasy. This was, of course, ladled atop the unease I already felt over my father’s plans and the decisions I must make. I had little appetite, not even for the wine.
Gaston nudged me with his foot, and I looked up sharply to find his eyes motioning toward Theodore, and the room engulfed in awkward silence.
“I am sorry,” I mumbled.
“I was just asking when you would be visiting the plantation,” Theodore said.
I sighed. “As I am not entirely sure of Striker’s plans, I suppose I should do it sooner rather than later. Would it be possible to go tomorrow?”
I gave Gaston a questioning look. He nodded.
“That will be fine,” Theodore said. “I would like you to see the place before we discuss anything of merit concerning it. I will send Sam to fetch your horses in the morning.”
I shrugged. “It seems a pity to send someone all the way to Ithaca to fetch them when we just have to ride there. We can let another pair and have them returned to the livery.”
“Ah, aye, but they are not on the plantation,�
� Theodore said. At my sharp glance he shrugged a trifle sheepishly. “I found a fine pasturage for them outside Spanish Town. They have been well treated, and not ridden. They have had quite the life of leisure.”
“Was that not possible at Ithaca?” I asked.
“There was some… resentment over there being idle horses.” He shrugged. “That need be fed. And it was felt some of the men might use them to escape. Not that I can see the Negroes doing so, they are scared of them.”
“Donoughy?” I had not always seen eye to eye with our plantation manager, but I had not doubted his willingness to follow my instructions since last summer. I cursed myself for being a fool. I should have visited the plantation during the fall so that I was well remembered; but of course, I had chosen Gaston over the sheep on the plantation. It was a thing I knew I would always do.
“Aye,” Theodore sighed. “Please, do not be angry with him; though, I well know you will be, and not merely for the horses. He made comment that Ithaca was a working plantation that needed beasts of burden, and not a gentleman’s country estate. I thought it best to remove the objects of contention.”
“Thank you,” Gaston said.
My matelot appeared far more thoughtful than angry. I was mystified as to the current working of his mind. I was mystified as to a great many things and they all seemed to weigh upon me. My strength took flight to follow my appetite, and a great exhaustion settled over me.
“I do not wish to know what else I should even be angry with him for,” I said. “Aye, please have the horses fetched to the Passage landing in the morning. Now, if you will all excuse me. Thank you again, Mistress Theodore, for this meal. I am sorry I have not done it justice.”
I left them, and retrieved my bags and weapons from Theodore’s office. Gaston joined me before I had finished hefting them.
“I do not feel well,” I told him.
As we reached the second floor, I realized I had not thought to inquire as to where the guest room was, but there was a door open in the hall and I spied Sam coming out of it. He seemed pleased to see us.
“Master Marsdale, you be wantin’ the bath now? I bring a kettle.”
There was a small brass washtub with clear water in the middle of the room, and a sheet of canvas beneath it. There was a stack of cotton cloths for drying next to it.
“Aye, please Sam. This will be fine. And thank you. And, how are you, Sam? I see you have a woman of your own kind in the house now.”
He frowned, and then glanced about and stepped in close to whisper. “Master Marsdale, she not be from my people, and that not be no woman. Women be soft. That one don’t have a soft thing in her.”
“I am sorry.” I smiled in spite of my mood. “I am well pleased you are here and we will not be left solely to her tender mercies.” I gave him a coin, and he grinned. “We will also need boiled water in bottles on the morrow. If you could place them outside the door.”
“Anything for you, Master Marsdale. I get kettle now.”
I closed the door and found it did not lock. It was a nice room in the corner of the dwelling, with windows in both outer walls. Even from where I stood, I could feel a little breeze. Unfortunately, it was furnished with a bed rather than a hammock; but as it was placed somewhat between the windows, I supposed it would be tolerable. Of far more concern, all the surfaces seemed to be painted or lacquered white. This added to the overall appearance of cleanliness and left me uncomfortable. I did not know if my weapons were clean enough to deposit anywhere, and I was afraid my bare feet would leave horrid prints on the floor.
Gaston had preceded me into the room, and set his weapons on a trunk, which he now leaned upon, watching me.
“What would you have of me?” he asked gently.
I handed him my weapons and bag, and collapsed in the chair near the desk. I had left footprints across the clean floor.
“Make it all go away,” I sighed. “We do not need this battle now. We have enough to…”
His fingers were on my lips and he kissed my forehead. “Hush.” He smiled softly. “There is this small desk here, and this chair, and perhaps with the bed linens we could make a den.”
I could but smile in return. “I thought you were never allowed to play with the furniture as a child.”
“I have always felt safe beneath them,” he whispered solemnly, as if it were a great secret. “My sister and I would crawl beneath a table in the nursery when it stormed. Even though we were in a great stone house, we always felt the ceiling would collapse, or perhaps the windows would shatter.”
I understood. “I always sought comfort amongst others, and if that was not possible, I would press myself into some corner where I could see all that approached.”
He grinned. “If you are very small under a table, you can see their feet, and attack them there if you must, but they cannot see you unless they lean down; and then they are off balance and easy to topple.”
I smiled. I could well envision the feral little red-headed demon he must have been.
Sam knocked on the door, and we started. We bade him enter and he emptied a kettle of boiling water into the tub and withdrew with a polite bow.
Gaston blocked the door with the room’s other chair after Sam left.
“Remove your clothes,” he ordered softly, as he doffed his own. “I will bathe you.”
“Why are you so calm… now?” I asked.
“You need me.”
My battered heart swelled, and the pressure brought a tear to my eye. “Thank you.”
I removed my tunic and shed my breeches without standing. He moved the lamp closer to us, and I forced all other thoughts to recede except for how very beautiful he was in the flickering golden light. Soon my eyes roamed contentedly, watching the glide of muscle under skin.
“You bathe first.” I breathed.
He crossed the room to lean on the arms of my chair, with one knee between mine. I let my head fall back to gaze up at him with curiosity and amusement. I saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes before his mouth closed over mine. His kiss was languid and sensual. It burned all memory of my duress away. There was only him. When he withdrew, I tried to follow like a pup after a teat.
“I wish I had attended school with you,” he breathed on my lips. “I wish I had been the first to touch you. To kiss you. To fuck you.”
My heart was pounding with nearly painful intensity, and I gasped for breath as my already-stirring manhood sprang to life. He was not the first to say such things, but for the first time, I felt he would be the last.
He came in for the kill. The first kiss had been a promise, the second was an answered prayer. I became limp, and slid down until my naked crotch encountered his knee. Fire erupted in my groin, leaving me flushed and breathless. His mouth left mine to trace over my jaw and down. I clawed feebly at his shoulders as he nipped the side of my neck, and then bit and sucked. I gave a strangled laugh as I realized he was marking me. The pain and pleasure were one, and it was divine.
When he finally stopped and stood, I was aroused to the edge of discomfort. He grinned triumphantly at me. I chuckled with amazement that he had endeavored to seduce me so readily and succeeded so handily. He ran a fingertip up the underside of my manhood, and I gasped and pushed his hand away.
“Not yet, you have me on the brink and I want it to last as long as possible. It is an exquisite agony, rather like my heart aching.”
“I will endeavor to make you truly miserable, then,” he whispered, and retrieved a pot of salve from his bag. He set it beneath the chair and smirked at my hungry eyes.
He bathed for me. He was not coy or practiced; he merely made sure I saw every gliding stroke of his hand over his flesh. Wet, he glistened in the lamplight. It was as if I watched a sculpture come to life and display itself for my pleasure. I had never desired anything as I did him.
When he finished, he slid my chair closer to the warm water, and began to clean me with a cloth. I held out as long as I could. When he bade
me lift a little, and began to clean my buttocks, and the private place between, I gasped and reached for my manhood. He blocked my attempt, and took me in hand while continuing his other ministrations.
As his fingers sank deeper, I realized they were greased. I coiled with anticipation. He stilled as I tensed, as he did when we practiced our morning regimen.
“I am not afraid,” I breathed.
I willed myself to relax. He slipped a single finger inside me, as he had every day this week, and I savored the sensation. But this time he was not content to play about my opening. This time he went deeper and probed about, until he found the front wall of the passage, and the lump of the organ there. He pressed gently.
I exploded with fear and pain.
I found myself in the corner. I did not remember leaving the chair or fleeing across the room.
He still knelt beside the tub. His eyes were wide.
“Will?” he breathed. He was coiled to flee, and looked as scared as I.
“I…” I had to tell him something, but the words would not come. “Hurt,” I gasped.
This seemed to mitigate his fear, but it added to my internal agitation. Why had it hurt?
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked as he crept toward me.
I did not want to be touched. “Non. Stay back.”
Pain gripped his features.
“Non, non, please. I just cannot bear to be touched now, even by you.”
He stayed where he was. “I am sorry.”
“Non. It was not you. That much I am certain of. You touched… a memory.”
His eyes narrowed, and I shook my head in frustration at my inability to grasp what had occurred.
“I do not know if I can explain,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Has that happened before?”
“Non, that is the issue. It has not. I mean… Damn it.” I sighed, and forced myself to think slowly and recall other memories. “No one else has touched me there. Not even Alonso. I do not understand why I reacted so… except that it reminded me of… Shane, and what he did. Though he never did that. The only thing he entered me with was his cock.”
Matelots Page 12