Page 48 of Scammed

“Some. He was an orphan, originally from a small village near Bayonne. The church records show that his mother died during childbirth. His father was a craftsman of some sort, but he couldn’t care for him. There’s a bill of sale for him, Marcel. He was sold to a man as his cabin boy.”

“Mon Dieu,” whispered Marcel.

“Do you think the captain abused him?” she asked.

“It’s quite possible. Men were at sea for long periods of time, and many learned to enjoy the company of other men.”

“D-did you? I mean, I won’t judge you.” Marcel smiled at her, shaking his head.

“I did not, and I would tell you if I had. I handled things well enough on my own. But I didn’t judge my men if they chose to do so. Willingly. Many young sailors were often raped against their will. I didn’t tolerate such things.”

“I don’t like this man, but it makes me sick to think of him being abused.”

“It’s not a reason for him to do what he’s done. Is there anything else? Any relatives, siblings, anything?”

“No. Not yet. There is nothing in here of his death. I mean, the records are very good, and yet I can’t find anything to indicate that he actually died.”

“Perhaps Matthew is right. Perhaps he’s two hundred years old and has yet to die. But how?”

“I don’t know,” she said, yawning, staring at the screen.

“Come. We’re going to feed you and my children. Then we’re getting a good night’s sleep. We’ll be headed to Caicos in the morning.”

“Marcel? I want to talk about naming our boys.” He nodded, smiling at her. “I want them to have family names. Good, traditional family names. I think it should be Benoit Gerard, after my father and your father. And Guy Arturo, after your friend and my relative.”

Marcel wrapped his arms around her, kissing her sweetly.

“And who is Guy? Do I know this man?” he smiled.

“He was your great-grandfather. Guy Marcel Antoine Claude Robicheaux. I think that’s a bit much for a baby, don’t you?” she smiled. Marcel only laughed, nodding his head.

“I do, my love. I do. Benoit and Guy.” She noticed that he pronounced it the French way, Ge-eh, and she pronounced it the English way, Gi. They’d discuss that later. At least she’d gotten him to agree on names.

“Now I need food,” she smiled. “I’m terribly hungry for potatoes and spinach.”

“Spinach?” he asked, scrunching his nose.

“Don’t look at me. Your sons are demanding potatoes and spinach.”

“Then potatoes and spinach is what my wife shall have. Do you have any other cravings, wife?” he smiled.

“You,” she grinned with a deliciously erotic note to her voice. “I crave you, Marcel. If you leave in the morning, I want this night with you alone. I want to do all the things to your body that my mind can dream up.”

“Should I be worried?” he laughed.

“Only if you think you’re going to get tired. I don’t think I’ll be in a merciful feeling tonight. I’m aching for you.” Marcel swallowed at the desire in his wife’s voice.

“Perhaps we should skip our meal,” he said in a low rumble.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I need my food, then I need you and your thick beautiful cock.” She kissed his lips and walked off toward the others in the cafeteria. Filling her plate, she winked at him, then took her seat.

“Everything okay?” asked Nine, standing behind him.

“Huh? Oh, yes. Everything is good. My wife is just, well, she seems incredibly amorous during her pregnancy. Is that normal?”

“Brother,” laughed Nine, slapping his back, “it damn sure is, and I’d suggest you enjoy it while you can. She’s going to get big with those twin boys, and then she’s going to hate you touching her. When she has them, all fifteen pounds or so of baby, she’s really going to hate you. But don’t worry. Eventually, she’ll love you again.”

“This is going to be a long year, isn’t it?” said Marcel.

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