Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves Read Online Free Page A

since you
left, my French is not so very good, yet. I could have had Mister
Rucker write it for me; but, I wanted to do it myself, so that the
Marquis would think wellofme.”
Mymatelot let loose a gutturalmoanofdespair. “What has happened?’ Agnes asked.
“Christine is with child.” I quickly related the rest of the
letter.
She buried her face in her long fingers and sniffed back
tears. “Oh damn it all. I… It matters. There was a time when…”
She dropped her hands awayand met mygaze. “Mymother told
me when I was little that my father came froma noble family, but
thenshe said… She told me that I would never ever benefit from
it: that I could never expect to ask them for anything. She told it: that I could never expect to ask them for anything. She told me that on her death bed: that I am dead to them because my father was dead to them. And I told myself it did not matter. Why did I need to be noble? I watched Christine, and I told myself at least I did not have to be like her; but, secretly…” She shook her head and looked away with her lips between her teeth. “I’ve grown accustomed to being the Comtess de
Montren,”she finallyadded.
Gaston crossed the room in two strides and dropped
down in front of her to growl fiercely, “You are the Comtess de
Montren! I will have no other. I amnot married to that bitch!” It
was his Horse talking: that part of him which was truth and
instinct.
She did not flinch. She nodded sadly.
There was a knock onthe door, and I opened it because
I did not know what to say to my matelot or his wife. Theodore
embraced me before I could even speak a greeting. His pleasure
at our presence was buoying; but sadly, we quickly stripped him
of it and brought himdown to stand in the muck with us once he
turned to see Gastonand Agnes.
“Is somethingwrong?”he asked.
I handed him the letter, and then realized he could not
read French.
“My French is not adequate to this, I’m afraid,” he said
quicklybefore I could retrieve it fromhim.
“You are all studying French?” I asked dully. I vaguely
remembered some talk ofthat before we left.
“Oui,” Theodore said quickly with a tight smile. “But
perhaps youshould tellme ofthis, or read it to me.” I read it to him, translating as I went. He sat and his
pleasant features stiffened into the mask of a barrister’s
concentrationas he listened.
“Well, this is a fine mess,”he said whenI finished. I was reminded ofmytalk withGastonthis evening. “We
bringlittle else to this world but fine tragedy,”I said sadly. “Nay, nay,” Theodore said with a friendly smile. “As I
have ever told mywife, youmerelymake life interesting.” The anger gripping Gaston had departed, and he had
slumped down to sit with his back to the couch on whichAgnes
sat and drape one arm across her knee. He looked up, and his
Horse smiled at me.
I smiled back. There was a time when his Horse being
so evident might have scared me, but we had come so very far.
It was a pleasant thought: we had come so very far, and we
would endure and conquer whatever this brought, as we had
everythingelse the Gods had flungat us.
“There you are!” came from the doorway, and I turned
to find Vivian hurrying in the door, a drowsy little baby in her
arms.
At the sight of the child, my matelot’s more animal self
fled, and he stood and peered at the girl who regarded himwith
sleepyinterest.
“Um,” Vivian said as she regarded him. She glanced at
her daughter who was, of course, too young to understand any
of it. “This is your… papa.” That solution in naming seemed to
please Vivian, and she promptly thrust the now-frowning infant
into mymatelot’s arms.
She turned to me, and surprised me with an embrace. “I
amso glad youare alive.”
I smiled in spite of all else I had been thinking. It was
amusing to hear those words fromsomeone who had wished me
dead onmanyoccasions—and I her.
“Aye, we lived, and you look well, as does the little
one.”
Mywife did indeed