Read Online Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure by W A Hoffman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: W A Hoffman
Ads: Link
bitter amusement. “I will tend them,”
he muttered in French.
I nodded. I turned to the militia leader. “Gaston is a physician; he will see to them.”
The man shrugged.
As it appeared the medicine chest must be moved, I went to help Theodore rise. He was trying to awkwardly position the sling over his shoulder.
“I’ll Take It,” Pete said, and carefully took the puppies from him.
He positioned the sling across his shoulder and shushed and cooed the now-mewling and hungry puppies. Then he looked at Striker, Theodore, Gaston, and me. “I Take ’Em Home. Tell The Women We Live.
Y’all Get Ta The Gaol. Don’t Need Me Now.”
Striker rolled his eyes. “How do you know that?”
Pete grinned. “All That Be Left Be The Talkin’.” With that he walked off with the dogs at his heels.
I sincerely hoped he was correct, but with so many men about us now, I doubted even the stupidest of men would move against us. Still, I looked about as everything and everyone was gathered up for the move to the gaol.
A tall man at the edge of the crowd caught my gaze. He was watching Gaston with hard and speculative eyes, and disdain etched deep into his sharply-featured visage. I assessed his clothes and arms, and saw he made choices based upon quality and functionality: not only was he not fashionable, he seemed to care little for aesthetics, but his pistols and blade were finely wrought and well-used.
The thin man next to him was quite the opposite. His clothes and mannerisms said “courtier” more clearly than if he had a placard strapped to his chest saying the same. As I watched, he whispered almost continuously in the tall man’s ear, in a manner that suggested he was repeating what he heard, or rather, translating.
One of the men carrying Gaston’s medicine chest bumped into me accidentally, and I turned my attention back to the last of the chaos around me. Gaston was gazing down at the stout man. I went to stand next to him. I saw I had shot the stout man in the eye.
Gaston gave me a wry smile. “You are amazingly precise when startled.”
“Are you implying my shooting lacks precision when I am calm?” I teased.
He snorted. “You are always precise.”
“Do you recognize him, or any of them?” I asked.
He shook his head. “This bastard was staring at me as if he recognized me, but I cannot recall him.”
“What of that tall man over there?” I gestured surreptitiously to where the disdainful man and the courtier still stood.
Gaston caught the meaning of my low hand movement, and casually glanced about, letting his gaze slowly travel to where I had indicated. He froze and quickly turned back to me.
“Vittese,” he hissed.
“The tall stony-faced man with the fop beside him?” I asked.
He nodded tightly.
“Well, then…” I said.
“Will,” Gaston said quickly. “He is competent.”
I met his gaze and shrugged.
He shook his head with frustration, but I thought it more at his own thoughts and not me. “You are a thousand times better, but… do not think he is as foolish as these were.”
“I understand,” I said solemnly. “I wish to speak with him, though.
Will you stay with me?”
He regarded his blood-stained hands and looked to where the wounded were already disappearing into the crowd on Lime Street. “I should not.”
“All right then, is there anything you would have me tell him?” I asked.
He sighed, and a small smile graced his lips. “I am sure you will make him angry. You can tell me of it later.”
I smiled and leaned close to whisper. “I am proud of you. You are doing well this day.”
He met my gaze with startled eyes and then a rueful smile. “Am I?” He thought on it and nodded to himself before smiling at me. “I am loved.”
“Oui,” I breathed.
He seemed to have to work up to it with little rocking motions, but he grabbed me and kissed me deeply there on the beach of the Chocolata Hole, in front of dozens of people, and Vittese. He grinned
he muttered in French.
I nodded. I turned to the militia leader. “Gaston is a physician; he will see to them.”
The man shrugged.
As it appeared the medicine chest must be moved, I went to help Theodore rise. He was trying to awkwardly position the sling over his shoulder.
“I’ll Take It,” Pete said, and carefully took the puppies from him.
He positioned the sling across his shoulder and shushed and cooed the now-mewling and hungry puppies. Then he looked at Striker, Theodore, Gaston, and me. “I Take ’Em Home. Tell The Women We Live.
Y’all Get Ta The Gaol. Don’t Need Me Now.”
Striker rolled his eyes. “How do you know that?”
Pete grinned. “All That Be Left Be The Talkin’.” With that he walked off with the dogs at his heels.
I sincerely hoped he was correct, but with so many men about us now, I doubted even the stupidest of men would move against us. Still, I looked about as everything and everyone was gathered up for the move to the gaol.
A tall man at the edge of the crowd caught my gaze. He was watching Gaston with hard and speculative eyes, and disdain etched deep into his sharply-featured visage. I assessed his clothes and arms, and saw he made choices based upon quality and functionality: not only was he not fashionable, he seemed to care little for aesthetics, but his pistols and blade were finely wrought and well-used.
The thin man next to him was quite the opposite. His clothes and mannerisms said “courtier” more clearly than if he had a placard strapped to his chest saying the same. As I watched, he whispered almost continuously in the tall man’s ear, in a manner that suggested he was repeating what he heard, or rather, translating.
One of the men carrying Gaston’s medicine chest bumped into me accidentally, and I turned my attention back to the last of the chaos around me. Gaston was gazing down at the stout man. I went to stand next to him. I saw I had shot the stout man in the eye.
Gaston gave me a wry smile. “You are amazingly precise when startled.”
“Are you implying my shooting lacks precision when I am calm?” I teased.
He snorted. “You are always precise.”
“Do you recognize him, or any of them?” I asked.
He shook his head. “This bastard was staring at me as if he recognized me, but I cannot recall him.”
“What of that tall man over there?” I gestured surreptitiously to where the disdainful man and the courtier still stood.
Gaston caught the meaning of my low hand movement, and casually glanced about, letting his gaze slowly travel to where I had indicated. He froze and quickly turned back to me.
“Vittese,” he hissed.
“The tall stony-faced man with the fop beside him?” I asked.
He nodded tightly.
“Well, then…” I said.
“Will,” Gaston said quickly. “He is competent.”
I met his gaze and shrugged.
He shook his head with frustration, but I thought it more at his own thoughts and not me. “You are a thousand times better, but… do not think he is as foolish as these were.”
“I understand,” I said solemnly. “I wish to speak with him, though.
Will you stay with me?”
He regarded his blood-stained hands and looked to where the wounded were already disappearing into the crowd on Lime Street. “I should not.”
“All right then, is there anything you would have me tell him?” I asked.
He sighed, and a small smile graced his lips. “I am sure you will make him angry. You can tell me of it later.”
I smiled and leaned close to whisper. “I am proud of you. You are doing well this day.”
He met my gaze with startled eyes and then a rueful smile. “Am I?” He thought on it and nodded to himself before smiling at me. “I am loved.”
“Oui,” I breathed.
He seemed to have to work up to it with little rocking motions, but he grabbed me and kissed me deeply there on the beach of the Chocolata Hole, in front of dozens of people, and Vittese. He grinned
Similar Books
