“She is vile,” he snarled in my ear. “They are all vile. Sisters and brides and all of them. This is yours. It is always yours.”
He ground slowly against me while licking and nibbling along my neck.
I thought of candlelight and white gowns and how he had described his sister on that night, and I sighed. I wrapped my arms about him tightly, and held him until he stilled and his cock shrank unspent. At last he returned my embrace and sobbed quietly into my neck.
When the worst of the emotion was past, he released me, and I felt a gentle kiss on my lips.
“I love you,” I breathed.
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
“Hush.”
He took a ragged breath. “She looked like… Gabriella, not in the hair or features, but…”
“I know.”
“I am a monster,” he hissed.
“Non, you are just a man,” I murmured. “And you are correct about this one; she is vile. Tonight I learned that she wishes for power through controlling men with lust. She finds delight in it, and frustration in me because she has no power over me.”
“I told her I would never sully myself in her,” he hissed. “That I would rather fuck a dog, and that it pained me that you should have to stoop so low to have children. I have changed my mind, Will. I want no part of anything that might issue from that.”
I smiled. “Then it is good I failed to bed her again tonight, and that I have set things in motion that might allow us to be rid of her when we return.”
A door opened and we looked up the hall to the darkness near Sarah’s door. Pete emerged from the shadows and into the dim light from below.
We went to meet him.
“SheBeFine,” he said.
I looked past him and saw Sarah coming out of her room with a candle. She looked well enough.
We went to the parlor. Striker was sprawled on one end of the settee, with my uncle and Rucker looking on with concern and bemusement from the chairs they had occupied before Gaston burst in. Ashland was sitting nearby, rubbing his shoulder. He eyed my matelot suspiciously.
Pete snatched the bottle of wine Striker was drinking and took a long swig; some missed his mouth and flowed down his naked chest. My uncle watched this with evident horror. Rucker seemed in awe of the Golden One.
When he was done drinking, Pete glared at Striker and grumbled, “SheTalksLike’ErBrother. TakeMeDaysTaThinkOnIt. INotBeTakin’Ya BackThough.”
He turned and headed toward the door.
“I love you,” Striker said. “I can’t see living or fighting without you.”
Pete paused and swore quietly, and then he continued out the door without looking back.
I looked about and found Sarah leaning in the doorway of the parlor. She wore a smile that made her appear to be a God of old: it was full of ancient and mysterious sadness, patience, and love. It was a womanly thing in a way I cannot describe.
“And I love you, too,” Striker said and stood to go to her. “And I do not want to go on without you.”
Her smile deepened, and he picked her up and carried her upstairs.
Rucker seemed greatly moved and entertained. He was smiling, and once they were out of sight, he began to cast about as if he would see some new actor enter the stage. His questing gaze settled on Gaston and me.
I sat on the settee, and Gaston joined me.
My uncle was quite distraught and seemed not to know what to do: whether to sit, go, speak or swear.
“They have been together for ten years now,” I offered. “Pete and Striker. Sarah was well apprised of the matter and Striker chose her.”
Uncle Cedric’s gaze finally came to settle on Gaston and myself. He looked from one to the other of us.
I knew not how we appeared. Gaston had been crying, and I was sure it was evident. I took Gaston’s hand and felt an answering squeeze. I smiled at my uncle.
“Well, it is not England,” my uncle said at last, and raised his glass in toast.
“To Jamaica,” I said, and hefted the bottle Pete and Striker had left behind.
I felt the Gods smiled upon the new traditions we made, as They had surely been instrumental in their design.
Forty-Three
Wherein We Escape to War
We satisfied Rucker’s curiosity about all things buccaneer, Spanish, and colonial in the tropics, for several hours. This initially proved to be both engaging and distracting, with the added benefits of calming Gaston and driving my uncle quickly to bed. But as the discourse progressed, and I heard Gaston speak repeatedly of what was and how it was changing, I began to experience the welling of a great despair and an even greater anxiety. Thus I was relieved when at last even Rucker’s scholarly ambitions could not hold his eyes open. We said good night and escaped into the dark alleys and quiet back streets. I knew I too should be exhausted, and my weariness was indeed a constant pressure behind my eyes; but I felt I would not be able to sleep once we reached our house. I wanted very much to snatch up our belongings and run to the ship to hide. I did not wish to visit those we would leave behind. I wanted nothing to do with any of them, not even my sister.
I nearly ran us home; and dismayed to see light spilling from the window and door, along with drunken singing, I headed for the back gate, hoping we could slip in through the yard and up the stairs with little notice.
Gaston’s hand on my arm stopped me, and I let him draw me into the darker shadows of the alley beside the house two doors from ours.
“I see why you left,” I said quickly. “Did Pete arrive with the rum, and thus…”
His mouth covered mine.
I did not feel passion rise in response. I had no use for rutting in an alley in my current demeanor. I wanted to be behind closed doors and under a sturdy table, preferably on a ship sailing far from all things English and of the Old World, especially fathers and wives.
He released my mouth, only to wrap his arms about me.
“Are you angry with me?” he asked with concern.
“Non. Let us get to our den.”
“I am calm… now,” he said. “It has passed. You need not worry.”
“I am not concerned about you. I am… It is I who feels the need to run. I have great need to be rid of this place and all it entails.”
He held me in silence for a time, and then spoke as if it were a curiosity to him. “Let me have the reins.”
I chuckled mirthlessly. “Oui.”
“Sit here,” he said with more authority. “I will retrieve our things and we will go to the ship. They are all here, so it should be empty.”
I sat where instructed. He seemed to take long in returning, and I fretted, only to soundly curse myself for doing so.
At last he returned with a bag and the rest of our weapons. I realized I had only a sword and pistol and was still dressed in a coat and boots. He had truly arrived at the King’s House unarmed.
“What occurred?” I asked as he handed me my musket.
“They are drunk,” he said with a shrug. “There were men in our room. But Cudro is not so drunk he will let them harm anything, and Agnes is safe in her room. The puppies are with her.”
“That is not what I wished to know,” I said, “but I am pleased to hear all of it. What occurred with Pete to send you both to the King’s House in such haste? Though I imagine yours was precipitated by his.”
He began to lead me toward the Chocolata Hole. “He arrived with the men from the ship. They were drunk. Someone asked of Striker. Pete became agitated and left us. I felt I should speak with him and stepped outside. Then I saw him running up the street. I guessed his destination and went another way.”
“I am damn pleased you beat him.”
He nodded and sighed. “I am pleased I did not arrive to find you with her.”
“Non.” I told him of my conversation with my bride.
He swore softly. “And then I…”
“Got the bit out of your teeth,” I said.
He snorted, and we reached the Hole and were locating a canoe before he spoke again. “Do you truly feel I am doing better?”
I nodded. “Oui. Do you? These last days have been trying and yet… no one has died.”
I had tried to keep my words light, but there was too much truth weighing them down.
Thankfully, I saw the glint of his smile in the distant lamplight as he pushed the canoe into the water.
“And you have not been harmed,” he said. “Oui, I am doing well.”
This earned more amusement than it possibly deserved, but I was feeling in far better spirits by the time we rowed out to our nearly empty ship.
To my surprise, Pete was the one who took the rope to tie the canoe and then accepted our muskets while we climbed aboard.
“How are you?” I asked him.
“WellAnough,” he said with a shrug. “ButNaTaTalkAboutIt.”
“I am not well enough to discuss anything of its ilk, either,” I said.
We nodded to the men on night watch and went to the cabin. Pete followed us. I was not pleased in this, but there was little for it; and as he did not wish to speak on matters of concern, he would probably be no bother. Still, I was now somewhat in the mood to cuddle with my matelot, and I felt guilt at doing it in front of Pete in his current circumstances.
“YaGonnaFuck?” Pete asked as he climbed into his hammock.
“Not in front of you,” I said.
He snorted.
We stored our muskets and companionably arranged our weapons for sleeping, without looking at one another or speaking.
Pete spoke when Gaston reached up to dim the lamp.
“Don’tBeDoin’ Nuthin’OnMyAccount. OrDon’tNotBe… FuckIt. YaKnowWhatIMean.”
I sighed. “Striker wishes for both of you.”
“HeCan’t’AveBothO’Us. NowShutUpAnFuck.”
“Non,” Gaston said flatly, and pulled me under the table to lie beside him.
I lie in his arms and felt little relief from the anxiety that had gripped me at the King’s House. There was literally and figuratively a wolf in the shadows outside the door of our den; the problems I sought to escape by sailing would be traveling with us. Things would not be as they were before, and some of the new traditions we had established these last few days were not ones conducive to happiness in what I thought of as my true home, that being at sea or ashore with our fellows. Thankfully, Gaston and I were well with each other and becoming stronger. That, of course, eclipsed all else when I allowed myself to think on it. Still, I would miss and mourn Striker and Pete no longer being as they were.
We woke early, to a ship silent save for snoring: most of which seemed to emanate from the hammock above us. We looked at one another and realized that nothing need be said, even if we did wish to risk waking Pete, and also that we were not truly amorous enough to risk waking him with that, either. We smiled and quietly gathered our weapons for one more trip about town, and slipped out to the early morning light. We were rowing ashore before I chose to speak.
“Food, the King’s House, then Theodore and Agnes?” I asked.
He grunted his assent, and so we went first to the market. We did not proceed immediately to the King’s House with our fish, though; instead, we chose to find a shady place to sit near the wharf and eat.
“I wish to go riding,” Gaston said after we had watched several wherries land.
The idea delighted me. “Then let us prove we are yet free men.”
He grinned.
We rented a wherry and rowed across the passage. We could not remember the name of the farm at which our horses now resided, and stopped at the livery to inquire if they knew the place we sought. They were actually quite helpful; and soon, instead of riding, we were jogging toward Spanish Town with a rough idea of where we needed to turn off the road to reach Byerly Farm. It was mid-morning before we actually located our mounts, but we cared not. We surprised the plantation’s livery boys by taking loops of rope to make halter bridles and happily running into the field to fetch Diablo and Francis. The animals seemed to remember us, and though they were fractious, we were soon off and running with manes in our faces and grins on our lips.
We did not ride to Ithaca. We galloped along roads we had never taken before, to the south of Spanish Town. We walked idly through pastures and orchards, stealing fruit when we hungered. We even made love on horseback, a thing I had not done with a man before.
At last the sun began to sink to the west. I found I longed to follow it.
“If I did not feel Striker would need us on this voyage, I would say let us just continue to ride west until we reach Negril,” I commented.
Gaston sighed. “Our muskets are on the ship. I can hunt without one, but…”
“Pity that,” I said. “We should have exercised more forethought.”
“Oui,” Gaston said with a smile. “We should have stayed at Negril.”
He put his heels to Francis, and we were off and running back toward their home.
It was dusk when we at last returned to the wharf at the Passage Fort. Our men would be gathering on the Virgin Queen, and debauch would soon hold sway there. I had been supposed to speak with Striker about Ashland’s services. And of course there were a number of people we should bid farewell to. As we rowed across the passage, I felt pursued by a wave of guilt. I did not allow it to gain on me, though; instead, I concentrated on how pleasurably sore my arse was and rowed faster.
“Where have you been?” Sarah demanded, once Coswold admitted us to the King’s House.
She had been in the parlor with my bride, who now glared at both of us and then took to studying the wall.
“We had something unexpected to attend to,” I said glibly. “Now we are here to bid you farewell. Has Striker gone on to the ship?”
“Hours ago,” she snapped, but despite her rancor she embraced us both.
“Are Uncle and…”
“They are at Mister Theodore’s,” she said. “They went looking for you.”
I sighed. “We will catch up to them before we leave.”
She glared over her shoulder at the parlor, and then led us into the dining room and shut the door.
“You must take care of him,” she said quietly.
“We will do all that we can,” I assured her.
“He confided to me that he has never fought the Spanish without Pete,” she said.
“Aye, he has not,” I said. “We will care for him, and it is my hope that he can be reunited with Pete for the purposes of combat if nothing else.”
She took a long, tired breath and sat. “I would have that, too,” she said sadly.
“What did you say to Pete, may we ask?”
She looked from one to the other of us and sighed. “I told him I would share James with him, and that… if it was Pete’s wish, and it would ease the matter, I was willing to act as wife to both of them.”
She flushed at the last, and I sighed.
“What did he say?” I asked when she seemed to find studying the wood grain of the table to hold far more appeal than continuing.
“He said… that he would think on it,” she whispered.
Even though she brought her gaze up to meet mine again, I felt she dissembled.
“Is that a thing you would truly wish, or is it a compromise you feel you might have to make?” I asked carefully.
Her eyes left mine quickly. “I would rather have them both than lose Striker.”
“Do you feel Striker might return to Pete and abandon you?” I asked.
She shook her head quickly. “Nay. He… That is, James, spoke at great length about what you all might face, and how buccaneers fought in pairs, and that Pete has ever been at his side, and he does not know how he will fare without him.”
“Was that before or after Pete arrived?” I asked.
“After. Before…” She flushed anew. “We did not speak a great deal.”
I found I did not wish to dwell on that.
; “I do not feel that Pete will allow him to be harmed,” I said, “no matter how angry he might be.”
“I feel…” she paused and returned to tracing the whorls in the wood with her thumb. “Is there no way that James can acquire a partner for combat who he does nothing else with?”
“He is a captain now,” Gaston said before I could answer. “He is not expected to board, and even in raiding, it is not the same. That is why many of the captains no longer have matelots.”
This seemed to brighten her mood.
“You would rather he not have a matelot?” I asked her.
She shook her head sadly and did not look up at me. “Nay, I would rather he were mine alone.” She sighed. “I wish Pete no ill will, and I will do as I say if it comes to that; but I would rather Pete find someone else.”
I could hear a rumble of amusement from the Gods, and I thought she might be disappointed. I felt spiteful satisfaction in that. I supposed I did not wish it to be so easy to split a pair such as our wolves asunder, even for her happiness.
“We will see what comes to pass,” I said gently.
“Aye, we will see.” Her gaze finally returned to mine. “And take care of one another, as well. I would have all of you return to me.”
“I should hope so,” I teased.
We embraced her in parting, and left without a word to anyone else.
I caught Gaston regarding me askance as we trudged south with aching legs.
“What?” I asked.
“It is unfair to her, and even Striker, but I would have her lose,” he said.
“Do not feel guilt, or perhaps we should, but… Well, I would also rather the same occur.”
“Then I am relieved you will not hold it against me,” he said.
I grinned. “Never. Truth be told, I know far more of Pete and Striker than I do of her, and blood may be thicker than all things, but friendship is a bond not to be trifled with. And… her winning, as it were, lends validation to all things becoming as others feel they ought, whereas her losing, per se, lends validation to the path I have chosen – which many say leads to ruin.”
“I feel that, too,” Gaston said somberly. “Even though…” His words trailed off with a guilty look.
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