Casey learns to surrender control of her diet and finally eats as my bride wishes. Slowly her body thickens and curves appear where bones once were noticeable. Elizabeth too continues to grow bigger, the child strong and kicking within her. Even at night, after my bride has changed into her natural state, her new girth can't go unnoticed. "Do you still desire me?" she surprises me by asking one night.
"I thought you didn't want to anymore."
Elizabeth shakes her head. "I didn't before. I do now. Mum told me I might-for a while-after the baby grew some. Do you still want to, Peter?"
"Of course," I say and I find myself making love to her again as often as when we first met.
Sex, I find, is on Santos's mind too. He brings up the subject one afternoon, shortly before the end of January, when I have him follow me outside to help me do routine maintenance in one of the arms rooms.
Even though I can't imagine any way the man will ever have an opportunity to try to break into the room, I make Santos face away before I approach the narrow crack in the stone on the arms door's side. I check to make sure his eyes are elsewhere before I thin my arm and work it into the crevice, feeling for the release lever, smiling at the loud click as it opens.
After my arm regains its shape, I allow the Cuban to turn. Jorge whistles when I lift the crossbar and throw open the room's thick oak door. I watch as he examines the ancient weapons stored on the shelves, the extra cannons in the back of the room, the bags of shot, the sealed, lead canisters filled with gunpowder. "Did you once have an army out here?" he asks.
I grin and shake my head. "Not an army," I say. "But my ancestor believed in maintaining a strong defense. That's why he kept so many rifles and cannons here."
Santos picks up one of the longarms, examines it and puts it back in place. "Muskets, Boss," he contradicts me. "These have smooth bores. That makes them muskets. If the barrels had grooves cut inside them, then they'd be rifles."
"Oh," I say. "I take it you know your way around these."
The Cuban reaches for an old, massive, naval, blunderbuss, rail gun, and grunts from its weight as he lifts it. He nods. "Not that I'm used to handling real ones. Every one of these are collectors' items. You could make a fortune selling them." He studies the piece, looks into the muzzle. "The ball this fires has to be as large as a child's fist."
"Not quite," I say, pointing to the golfball-size, lead balls stacked on a shelf a few feet away.
Santos hefts the piece again before he puts it down. "No wonder they mounted these on the rails. The recoil would knock even a large man on his ass." He picks a flintlock pistol up, cocks it, sights it on me. "Tempting," he says, laughs. "Too bad it's empty."
I smile. "You'd just be wasting your time. It wouldn't kill me anyway."
"None of it?"
"Maybe one of the big pieces… if you got lucky. But trust me, you could never aim it in time to get me."
He grins too. "Boss," he says, "you never know until you try."
We spend the afternoon inspecting every piece, applying grease wherever needed. Santos tells me about the big guns in Saint Augustine. "They're easily twice as large as your cannons. One man couldn't move them. God, you can't believe how the ground shakes when they fire."
"Maybe, one of these days, we'll fire the one I keep outside," I say.
"I'd like that," Jorge says.
We finish shortly before dark and linger on the veranda, watching Elizabeth direct as Casey weeds the garden. The woman's blond hair has grown out enough to permit a pony-tail and it sways as she works. Her newfound weight has settled mostly to her breasts, hips and buttocks. Jorge shakes his head as he watches her. "Man," he says, "this has to qualify as cruel and unusual treatment. Even prisoners in Raiford get conjugal visits."
His comments come back to me later that evening, after Elizabeth and I have made love. Pregnancy has quieted much of her wildness and sex has become for us a gentle thing, a slow coming together of our bodies, a movement as measured as calm waves lapping at the shore. The very gentleness of it somehow heightens our passion and makes our eventual orgasms almost painfully explosive.
Although I prefer my mattress to Elizabeth's bed of hay, I find it hard not to linger beside her afterward, tails entwined, feeling her warmth, waiting for the baby to move beneath my touch. I find it the most loving time we spend together, one of the few times my bride likes to talk.
"Jorge complained today that we give him and Morton no opportunity to have sex," I say. "When I lie here with you and share with you what we share, it seems a shame to me to deny them the chance to experience something like this."
She nuzzles her cheek against mine. "Peter, they're just humans. When will you learn that how they feel means nothing?"
"I like Santos. I don't see anything wrong with keeping him happy. It makes it easier when he cooperates."
"True," Elizabeth says. "But Morton cooperates too-without any kindness from me. Fear can work every bit as well as friendship… Actually, I think it works better."
I think about it. Morton remains an enigma to me. She does as she's told, volunteers nothing about herself. Except for whispered conversations with Santos, she remains silent. For the most part, she answers to Elizabeth, who limits her involvement to as few brusque orders as necessary. I wonder if different treatment would bring the woman out. "I prefer the other way. Even humans have value. The man entertains me."
My bride sighs. "Don't get too attached to him, Peter. The man will disappoint you. Even if he doesn't, he'll be dead before summer begins."
I mentally count eleven months from impregnation, an unnecessary exercise, since Elizabeth's assured me many times she will deliver sometime in June. Then I calculate the remaining time. "Only four more months," I say.
Elizabeth shifts in the hay. "It feels like an eternity. I'm so weary of carrying this extra weight, so fed up with being constantly hungry and tired. I hate it especially when I'm in my human form. I don't know how their women cope with the way their bodies bloat and sag.…"
"I know." I stroke her with my tail. "But it will be ended soon enough, without hopefully much further aggravation," I say. "Which gives us all the more reason to keep the humans content."
Elizabeth laughs. "You're shameless! If you want to let your pet have sex, do it. It doesn't matter to me."
Santos raises his eyebrows when I tell him to forget taking the chess board out after dinner the next night. I grin at his uneasiness. "Something's come up," I say. "I need to take you and Casey downstairs earlier than usual this evening."
The Cuban shows no expression. I've no doubt he's trying to figure out what I have in store for them and how he can resist it. It makes it hard for me to stop smiling. I follow them down the spiral stairs, Casey in the lead, Santos behind her. As usual the woman begins to march into her open cell as soon as we reach it. "No, Casey, not tonight," I say.
She freezes, takes in an audible gulp of air. Santos turns and stares at me. Both of them look so apprehensive I break out laughing. It only changes their expressions to puzzlement. When I regain control of myself, I undo Casey's chains and say, "I thought it might be nice for you two to have some time together, alone, in Jorge's cell…"
A big grin breaks out on Santos's face. "Boss, you son of a bitch! You had me going. I thought something terrible was going to happen." He laughs. "Son of a bitch! You actually listened to me."
Grinning too, I nod.
Casey Morton glares at us both. "You're giving me to him?" she asks, frowning. "First this man almost drowns me, then you take me prisoner. You make me a slave and that bitch of a wife of yours makes me eat all types of shit. Look at me!" She stamps one foot. "Look how fat she's made me! Now you expect me to fuck whoever you want, whenever you want? Fuck you, you pig!" She looks at Jorge. "Fuck you too, you bastard!" The blonde spins on her heels and stomps into her own cell.