hissed.
“I have you. I have the cart. Puppies?” I asked hopefully.
He nodded pitifully. “I cannot lose him… but…”
“I understand, trust me.”
He nodded with more assurance.
I kissed his forehead and helped him stand and make his way out the door, praying none of our well-minded friends came between him and his objective. I need not have worried: once out of the room, he ran across the atrium to the stable.
I turned back to the Marquis and closed the door. He was still on the floor, sunk in on himself, and looked to be in as much need of comfort as my matelot, but I could not bring myself to go to him. Despite his contrition and my kinship with him, he was still a monster in our midst.
I cast about and spied the sideboard and a bottle of something corked.
There were glasses, and I poured us each a draught of what turned out to be rum. I drank mine quickly, savoring the burn, and then gingerly approached him to offer the other glass.
“It is rum,” I said, as I tapped his shoulder. “Drink it slow or fast.”
He chose fast, and grimaced at the taste, but it seemed to help him regain his composure. He pulled himself back up to sit on the settee and proffered his glass to be filled.
I sat on the closest chair and poured again for us. We drank the second round just as we had done the first, and regarded each other with our teeth bared in a grimace.
“He is overwhelmed,” I said as I wiped my lips with the back of my hand.
“He is?” the Marquis asked and smiled wryly.
I gave a short bark of laughter and was not surprised when it was followed by another. The Marquis chuckled in kind. The dim room did not echo the sound of merry men.
“He does not wish for you to leave,” I said. “He would know you better.
I would… know you better as well. We… are all tangled in the past.”
He nodded solemnly. “I have spent too many years tangled in it.”
Though there was still some little part of me that did not trust him, I felt we were already laid bare to one another. “Gaston did not remember much of what occurred until… well, until right before the incident occurred with Doucette. He could not bear to remember that night.”
The Marquis shook his head sadly. “I could not think of anything else for many years. I thought I had descended into madness. Or perhaps, I realized I had.”
“I have had to change my definitions of madness since meeting Gaston. You should know, perhaps, that… I am not as sane as I appear.” I sighed. “Not that I may have appeared sane to you this day.”
He snorted with amusement and held out his glass again. “You have appeared to be a man who loves my son.”
I nodded and filled our glasses again. “Beyond all reason.”
He smiled and sipped the rum. “I heard he stabbed you.”
“Oui, but it was an accident: I got between Doucette and him. Not that… he has not pulled a blade on me.” I sighed. “Or I him.”
“Perhaps it is easier that you are both men,” he said thoughtfully.
I smiled. “Perhaps, or perhaps it is worse.”
His amusement transmuted to guilt. “I have never understood men who loved other men, but I will try and view the matter without prejudice.”
“I have hated you every time I see his scars,” I said quietly, “but I will try and view you without prejudice.”
He winced. “I understand.”
The rum had seeped deep into my heart so that it was drowsy in the aftermath of so much emotion. I wanted to speak more with the enigma before me, but not this night.
“Will you remain in port?” I asked.
He nodded. “Until…” He smiled quickly and brightly. “My son and I can converse without tears, perhaps.”
I chuckled, but my words were serious. “Give him time. He is…
doing well, but this is a great deal for him to swallow in one sitting.”
“I know. His mother…” He looked away. “She would not have survived any of the trials I put upon him.”
Tired as I was, I could not let that lie. “Was that
“I have you. I have the cart. Puppies?” I asked hopefully.
He nodded pitifully. “I cannot lose him… but…”
“I understand, trust me.”
He nodded with more assurance.
I kissed his forehead and helped him stand and make his way out the door, praying none of our well-minded friends came between him and his objective. I need not have worried: once out of the room, he ran across the atrium to the stable.
I turned back to the Marquis and closed the door. He was still on the floor, sunk in on himself, and looked to be in as much need of comfort as my matelot, but I could not bring myself to go to him. Despite his contrition and my kinship with him, he was still a monster in our midst.
I cast about and spied the sideboard and a bottle of something corked.
There were glasses, and I poured us each a draught of what turned out to be rum. I drank mine quickly, savoring the burn, and then gingerly approached him to offer the other glass.
“It is rum,” I said, as I tapped his shoulder. “Drink it slow or fast.”
He chose fast, and grimaced at the taste, but it seemed to help him regain his composure. He pulled himself back up to sit on the settee and proffered his glass to be filled.
I sat on the closest chair and poured again for us. We drank the second round just as we had done the first, and regarded each other with our teeth bared in a grimace.
“He is overwhelmed,” I said as I wiped my lips with the back of my hand.
“He is?” the Marquis asked and smiled wryly.
I gave a short bark of laughter and was not surprised when it was followed by another. The Marquis chuckled in kind. The dim room did not echo the sound of merry men.
“He does not wish for you to leave,” I said. “He would know you better.
I would… know you better as well. We… are all tangled in the past.”
He nodded solemnly. “I have spent too many years tangled in it.”
Though there was still some little part of me that did not trust him, I felt we were already laid bare to one another. “Gaston did not remember much of what occurred until… well, until right before the incident occurred with Doucette. He could not bear to remember that night.”
The Marquis shook his head sadly. “I could not think of anything else for many years. I thought I had descended into madness. Or perhaps, I realized I had.”
“I have had to change my definitions of madness since meeting Gaston. You should know, perhaps, that… I am not as sane as I appear.” I sighed. “Not that I may have appeared sane to you this day.”
He snorted with amusement and held out his glass again. “You have appeared to be a man who loves my son.”
I nodded and filled our glasses again. “Beyond all reason.”
He smiled and sipped the rum. “I heard he stabbed you.”
“Oui, but it was an accident: I got between Doucette and him. Not that… he has not pulled a blade on me.” I sighed. “Or I him.”
“Perhaps it is easier that you are both men,” he said thoughtfully.
I smiled. “Perhaps, or perhaps it is worse.”
His amusement transmuted to guilt. “I have never understood men who loved other men, but I will try and view the matter without prejudice.”
“I have hated you every time I see his scars,” I said quietly, “but I will try and view you without prejudice.”
He winced. “I understand.”
The rum had seeped deep into my heart so that it was drowsy in the aftermath of so much emotion. I wanted to speak more with the enigma before me, but not this night.
“Will you remain in port?” I asked.
He nodded. “Until…” He smiled quickly and brightly. “My son and I can converse without tears, perhaps.”
I chuckled, but my words were serious. “Give him time. He is…
doing well, but this is a great deal for him to swallow in one sitting.”
“I know. His mother…” He looked away. “She would not have survived any of the trials I put upon him.”
Tired as I was, I could not let that lie. “Was that
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