He feels relief all the way to his bones when the shot from Thomas’s pistol hits Edmund Hamilton, previous head official of Bethlem Royal Hospital, on the right side of his chest.
The brother of Thomas’s father goes down to the dirt, wounded though not yet dead. The look in his lover’s eyes tells James Thomas intends to fix that problem.
Thomas draws his sword and advances. Hamilton, his shirt coloring an ever-expanding crimson, scrambles to get on his feet, pulling out his sword with one hand and clutching his chest with the other. But Thomas is already close enough to knock Hamilton’s sword out of his grip and point his own at the man’s throat.
James watches Thomas slit Hamilton’s throat and run him through, a riptide of emotions churning through him.
Thomas sheaths his sword and stands over the dead man’s body for a long minute. At last he turns around. His face is flushed and stony, eyes as hard as diamonds. James watches him on the way home but Thomas’s expression does not change.
“I’m fine,” is all he says when he catches James’s eyes on him. James nods and lets out a quiet sigh.
They arrive home just as the sun is touching the tops of the moss-covered oak trees. They tend to the horses then go inside, shedding their boots and coats with little affair.
It is as Thomas is cutting carrots for a stew for supper that he finally breaks his silence. James startles when he hears the loud thump, followed by a curse—also loud and full of anger.
He goes into the kitchen and finds Thomas standing there, nostrils flaring. His fist is over the table still, balled tight. He refuses to look at James and James can see the moisture in his eyes. Thomas tries to relax and wipes at his eyes.
“I don’t know what it is,” he manages, trying a laugh. “It’s fine. He’s dead at last. I’m relieved. I am.”
“I know you are.”
“It’s all over now. There’s no reason…to brood. It’s over.”
James cannot form any words of comfort, because he knows Thomas would not believe anything he said.
Thomas turns away from him and starts chopping carrots again. James does not move. Within minutes Thomas’s shoulders are heaving. His head dips. James moves forward and at his first touch Thomas spins around into his arms. He smashes his face against James’s broad shoulder and sobs uncontrollably. James holds him to never let him go as Thomas cries to never cry again.
He keeps his promises to himself this time–how they’ll never be apart again and that James will fight for him always–repeating them in his mind for fear of breaking this reality should he speak them out loud.
When Thomas pulls away at last, eyes swollen and nose running, he asks, “Will it ever be over?”
James splays his fingers over the pulse on either side of Thomas’s neck.
“I don’t know. But I do know I’m willing to keep trying to make it so, if you are.”
Thomas presses their lips together softly. When he pulls away he is smiling.
Idelle looked up as a purse full of coins was dumped unceremoniously on the dresser where she sat, unweaving her sleep braid.
“What’s that for?” She asked, not bothering to put any politeness into the words.
“It’s money for a gravestone. I can show you where we buried her.”
Idelle turned to look at Anne Bonny. She was wearing her hat again, pulled low so she could only see the slight downturn of her lips.
“Why?”
Anne shrugged.
“You were right. She didn’t deserve what I done to her. Don’t know about him. I reckon most men could do with a knife in the gut now and then. But she didn’t deserve it. Nothing I can do for her now, but I can do this, see she gets something proper to remember her to her friends. To you.”
Idelle nodded, not quite trusting her voice, and Anne turned and left the room as silently as she’d arrived.
She waited until the door was shut and she was sure she was alone, then she allowed herself to cry for her friend, for Charlotte.
Meg's Mumbles 