[i]"To be a child again, eh?"[/i] 

Though not directed to her, Thomas' offhand question-[i]cum[/i]-statement, apropos of nothing weighty in the least, a comment he merely tossed to the winds, was still sufficient to raise one dark eyebrow. And she wondered. 

Antonia wondered at herself, that the words did not spear her as they might have, whether flippantly stated in the course of conversation or no. But she supposed that in the grander scheme, her childhood at least had been one of ease and indulgence. There had been tutors to teach her to read and write both English and French, endless music and dancing lessons, and all the pretty silks and satins for the giggling, grey-eyed girl of the childless Master's favored house slave. All this in stark contrast to what might have been her life but for his favor, just past the plantation house gates in the casual, callous brutality that flourished among the endless fields of sugar cane. 

She could not help but wonder too: does the meticulously-bred colt or the prize hunting pup ever realize that the Master of its devotions truly considers it mere property, only gradations more valuable than the carriage horse or the fighting cur? Does the creature ever imagine that the Master can never match the devotion of his beast, any more than he would think to write sonnets for his mahogany desk or call his favorite pistol "beloved?"

She knew the answer to those questions all too well, and it was always "No." No, the beast knows nothing until it is far too late, when the bit tears cruelly into the tender flesh of his mouth and the crop lashes at his haunches. Not until the boot connects with his ribs, after his sharp puppy teeth mouth the game too deeply. 

Antonia bit the inside of her lip, keeping the useless sigh inside. The flagon of cool [i]bumbo[/i] for the helmsman was ready and, silent but for the rustling hiss of her skirts, she returned to the table to set the drink at Jax's vacated seat. Thomas and his first mate were deep in ship matters that had precious little to do with Antonia's work, which would begin in the morn for the next two days until the [i]Skate[/i] was underway once more. And so she listened on with half an ear, her gaze following after the helmsman and the boy, disappearing into the kitchens.

And Antonia wondered. She wondered what Luc might choose to do with the doubloon purchased by virtue of his [i]Maman[/i]'s pound cake, and she smiled. [i]Anything he wished.[/i] Her heart thrilled with the sure knowledge, [i]Luc could do anything at all.[/i] Merchant? Intrepid explorer? Scholar or proprietor, or tradesman even should he have such skill? There were no chains, no bars or shackles that would ever bind him. Luc was free, and there was no man on this good Earth he would ever call "Master."

His mother had made [i]damn[/i] sure of that.

Antonia settled back in her chair, her gaze moving from the kitchens to Thomas, her smile softening, those incomparable eyes shining with the light of genuine gratitude for her lovely man. She knew very well how he loved his world, his life, his beautiful [i]Skate[/i], the vast, endless horizons of the open sea, and the siren's call of peril, all of his own choosing. A life lived entirely on his own terms, each and every second from beginning to end. 

And yet to Luc he spoke of merchants in this New World, of the fleets of ships the boy might one day command across the oceans. She would not interrupt his business with the first mate of course, though she mouthed the heartfelt words to him nonetheless, when she thought she might yet catch his eye. [i]'Thank you, Thomas.'[/i]