Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure Read Online Free PDF Page B

could be quickly done with, and the Marquis would return to France and I could then spend several months assisting Gaston with healing his newly opened wounds: in becoming the man I knew and loved again.
    We were still alone after we had eaten, and it was becoming a matter of amusement for us. I guessed the blame could be laid upon the demon of rum for their absence. And so, we donned our sword belts and kerchiefs, took up several bottles of water, and with the dogs excited that we were off for a romp, went in search of our guests. Taro took the vanguard and ranged all about us in the brush, while we kept our pace slow in honor of Bella’ s waddling. She quickly licked our hands when we patted her wide head.
    “Do you truly feel we should take her to Port Royal?” I asked. “I suppose they will be lonely here if we do not, though.”
    Gaston gave me an admonishing look. “Will, we can leave the goats and chickens: they will be well enough as there is much for them to forage on. But if we leave the dogs, they will eat our goats and chickens, and our neighbors’, and the nearest plantations’…”
    I was chuckling as I looked over our canine behemoths. Neither of them weighed less than six stone, and we went hunting for cattle to feed them every fortnight. “Aye, we best take them and let Agnes feed them in town.”
    This set me thinking though. “Do you feel she still works for us?”
    Gaston shrugged. “She loves the dogs.”
    I decided that truly did answer the question of where her loyalties lay.
    We found our guests at Liam’s. Our good Scots musketeer had deemed his abode upon the Point to no longer be a home in which he could remain without his beloved and deceased matelot, Otter; and thus he had gone on the smuggling venture with the rest of our cabal.
    Gaston and I did not often visit what had been their house. I felt its haunted-seeming emptiness to be a dire warning of what befell all pairs of matelots who roved too long. This morn it was pleasant to hear snores as we approached it. The reverberations rolling across the hillside were affirmations of life and things being as they should.
    Liam’s house was a small two-room structure much like ours, with one wall constructed of the side of a hill and the rest of stacked and mortared stones. We found Theodore sleeping on the large table in the front room, and Striker and Pete entangled with one another and a hastily strung hammock in the back. They should well thank the Gods we were not Spanish marauders, as we had to kick them before they noticed us. I found great amusement in watching Pete scrambling about and managing to get a pistol aimed at me with his left hand, when all other limbs were trapped in some manner, either by netting or his matelot. I supposed I should be thankful he did not shoot me, especially while I was laughing.
    Striker swore at us a great deal while they got themselves untangled.
    Pete stumbled across the room to embrace Gaston. Theodore appeared quite green as he lurched awake and hurried outside to relieve himself of all manner of fluids his body thought it should no longer contain.
    “How many bottles did you daft buggers bring?” I asked once they were fairly coherent.
    “One,” Striker sighed as he stretched so that his back popped several times. “But we found more here.”
    “A tavern’s worth,” I teased.
    “Go fuck yourself,” he said with a grin.
    I chuckled. “No need, I have a matelot.”
    “Aye, you do,” he said seriously.
    Our gazes met, and underneath the after effects of rum and the bleariness of waking, I saw grudging respect in his. It gladdened my heart. I smiled. And that seemed to gladden his, as he came to embrace me. “I’ll try very hard to stop… being an arse,” he whispered.
    “Thank you,” I said solemnly. “But understand, I would not have you stop caring, I would just have you show more faith.”
    He nodded as he released me. “I’ll try. Truly Will, it’s not so…” He