Free Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure by W A Hoffman Page B

looked at Vittese.
    As expected, Vittese was not pleased, but he kept his eyes on the horizon and did not comment. I found it interesting he did not look at his lord for instruction, either.
    The Marquis sighed. “Vittese, you have…” He licked his lips and considered his words and me with narrowed eyes before smiling again.
    “Go and get those men back on the ship.”
    “Non,” I said quickly, and all eyes were immediately on me. “I will not have him near Gaston.”
    “You need not fear another attempted abduction,” the Marquis said amiably.
    “I do not,” I said. “But I do fear another incident of violence. They hate one another.”
    “Lord Marsdale,” Vittese said tightly. “Please do not presume to know how I feel. And I will not harm him.”
    “You sent men to collect him from the street like a wayward dog,”
    I snapped. “I do not call that respect or fondness. And you will not harm him because I sincerely doubt you are capable of it. Non, I am concerned that you will provoke him such that he will harm you. And I care not if he tears you to pieces, I simply do not wish to have to explain the matter to the governor.”
    The Marquis was chuckling. He grabbed the front of Vittese’s coat and looked the man in the eye, and then all amusement vanished from him and his voice held the command of a wolf. “Go to the ship and tell Deloise to send his man around to collect them. You have done enough this day.”
    Vittese winced at the rebuke, but he said nothing to defend himself.
    He nodded and left us smartly.
    With a final nod and a “Good day, my Lord,” to both of us, the courtier followed.
    The Marquis cleared his throat and fidgeted with his cane, whilst a parade of emotions marched across his features. It was as if he displayed every thought he had, but none remained long enough for anyone witnessing them to know which would stay and govern what he did. The fox’s smile at last returned, though, and stayed. I realized it was a mask. I knew I must watch him carefully if I wished to truly see anything of merit revealed.
    “Gaston…” he said at last with a bemused little smile. “However did he gain that name?”
    I shrugged. “He was ever quiet among the men he hunted with on the Haiti. They awarded it to him as a jest. He is now known as Gaston Sable. Amongst the Brethren he is known as Gaston the Ghoul.”
    “The Ghoul?” He seemed amused by this. “Because he is a surgeon?”
    “Non, because in the aftermath of battles he would arrange bodies to honor them.” It was not a thing I expected him to understand, nor one I wished to explain. And I knew I should not have said it, but my Horse was battling me for my tongue. Gaston felt his father had sent him away as a child because Gaston and his sister had arranged their mother’s body to mimic a painting of the Madonna and Child after their mother died in childbirth.
    The Marquis was frowning, but even that basic expression was tinged with a flow of regret, guilt, and anger.
    He quickly collected himself, the grin returned, and he changed his tack. “In his letter, he mentioned you. He implied that you were…
    lovers.” His eyes narrowed as he gauged my response.
    I sighed. “We are not merely lovers. We are matelots, which among the Brethren is akin to marriage. We are partners in all things.”
    “I had not known he favored men…” he said with a moue and a sideways nod of his head, rather like a shrug, as if it were no matter to him, merely a thing to be noted. It was disingenuous, though.
    “He does not favor men in general,” I said coldly. “But he favors me in specific a great deal.”
    He seemed relieved: I could see some of the tension leave his grip on the cane and the set of his shoulders. “And why is that?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
    I decided not to lie. I did not wish to give this man anything, but I wished for him to know the truth.
    “Because I love him despite… everything,” I said. “Because he