A/N: more historical inaccuracies. Also, I did a few searches on google for the breed of Beckett's horse, couldn't find it, and decided to go with predictable. And somehow, the equestrian theme wandered into the story without James…

5

Stables

James opted to mingle the next morning at breakfast, instead of eating with the other officers of the small honor guard of marines that had been posted to the frigate. A discreet background check on the passenger list had informed him which lords were affiliated to or part of the East India Company, and after a brief glance around the dining area to make sure neither the twins nor Beckett were about, he seated himself at their table.

"Admiral," an ascetic, middle-aged man with impressive gray whiskers spoke with solemn dignity, in greeting. Lord Rockham, on his way to a posting in Boston, his posture speaking of a military background. All four of the seated lords were dressed in unprepossessing colors – dark blue, grays and browns, gold thread the only form of embellishment. Come to think of it, so did Lord Beckett – the twins were the only flamboyantly dressed exceptions.

"Good morning," James ventured, as he helped himself to cold meats and bread. He had never previously made any effort to acquaint himself with this particular group of men – and he could tell that they were curious, despite carefully schooled expressions.

The men glanced at each other, then, surprisingly, to the slumped, half-awake looking, portly form of Lord Calder. From the passenger records, James had rather thought that Rockham – as titled old blood – would be the 'lead' of this group – Calder was the third son of a merchant prince, who had bought title, and was attending a niece's wedding in New York. White hair fought a losing battle over a domed scalp, thin lips obscured under a walrus moustache. Calder regarded James thoughtfully with watery gray eyes, and then smiled faintly. The lords relaxed almost imperceptibly.

Lord Thom was the next to speak - the youngest of the group, he was dressed somewhat more formally with white wig and cravat. His posture and too-bright blue eyes spoke of excess. "Admiral. I had the pleasure of observing your duel on the deck. Your skill with the blade is indeed incredible. Small wonder that the Navy in the Caribbean appears to be keeping piracy well in check."

There were murmurs of congratulations from the other lords. The fourth – the elderly Lord Kambers, didn't look up from buttering his bread with slightly palsied fingers. His voice was querulous. "Indeed remarkable. But you may have to take it upon yourself to teach some restraint to Lady Tembury-Lysander, Admiral. That sort of behavior is unbecoming for a descendant of such a respected ancestry. I was a fourth-removed cousin from her father, the late Earl, and I always felt he let them run a little too wild."

James suppressed the irritation he felt at Kambers' tone and decided to play the part of a besotted fiancé – he lowered his head slightly, and smiled. "Lady Katherine is extraordinary."

Arched eyebrows, from Lord Rockham and Lord Thom, a murmured, "Of course, of course," from Lord Calder.

"That may be so," Lord Kambers said, a little reproachfully, "But I am glad that she is finally settling down. Her family was beginning to despair of it, what with her brother the Earl letting her stay with him in Montserrat rather than sending her into society in London."

"My good fortune, it would seem," James grinned, inciting chuckles from Lord Calder – and a split second later, from Lord Thom. "Actually, I need your help with another issue?"

"What issue, Admiral?" Lord Thom asked.

"My base of operations is Port Royal, as you all are well aware of," James said, seeking to seem hesitant. "And, well, I'm afraid to confess that I didn't exactly get… along, with the late Lord Sythe."

Kambers nodded sagely. "Not to worry, Admiral. Lord Sythe was not easy to… swallow, especially in the final years of his life. A fine agent of the Company, of course, but… a difficult man, even in his youth."

Calder chuckled. "He fell out with Lord Horne in Bombay, and everybody thought Horne's patient verged on saintly. That's why he got posted to the Caribbean, I'm sorry to say. For putting up with him for three years, we of the Company really should issue you some sort of thank-you letter."

"It was a fairly unpleasant three years," James said wryly. "And I wouldn't like to repeat the experience. So I'd like to know about his successor. It might be a little paranoid of me, but…"

Rockham's smile held the faintest hint of amused disdain. "Say no more, Admiral. We understand." He ate a bite of buttered toast. "Lord Cutler Beckett… hn. The second son of Lord Christopher Beckett. Bought his title, I believe, some years back. Perhaps sponsored – commendable work in his previous postings."

"A horse fanatic and a true horseman. Inherited his family's stable – his brother has no interest," Lord Thom said, sipping coffee. "I lost a sum of money to him at the track, a few years back, racing my animals against his stable. I do believe his prized stud is on board – Caesar. He takes it along with him to every posting, I hear." Wryly, "Seems to me like a waste of prime horseflesh, especially since the voyages cut across the breeding seasons, but we're all entitled to our little peculiarities."

"I don't think you have anything to fear, Admiral," Calder's smile was polite. "Judging from Lord Beckett's record, the man might be a cold one, but he has done fine work in the field, and has proved himself capable of diplomatic relations with the Navy."

"I confess I am not too familiar with how the Company operates," James said, wryly. "You mentioned previous postings, Lord Rockham. But as far as I am aware, the Earl of Southsend has always been at Montserrat."

"Ah. Well. The Company does make allowances for personal preferences, and Montserrat does happen to be the Earl's home – it's well known that he prefers it to his family estates in Southsend within England," Lord Rockham shrugged. "But for those who have no such preference, often the Company utilizes our skills in different postings and occasionally rotates us, unless we request otherwise. For example, I am about to take up a position in Boston."

"But it's usual to be re-posted every few years?" James asked, keeping his tone merely curious. "So I should expect to have to reacquaint myself with another representative of the Company in Port Royal, after Lord Beckett's term is over?"

"Unless he requests otherwise, of course," Calder said absently, as if it wasn't important.

"He is a wide traveler, I believe," Lord Thom pointed out.

"Who… eh… controls the postings?" James asked.

"A council in London, Admiral," Calder smiled. "The members of whom are secret, for various reasons. But not to worry, the Earl will never be reassigned against his will." James smiled, as if that had been exactly what he had been worried about. "They reassign agents and balance power within each territory."

"Balancing power?"

"Oh yes. We can't have Lords starting up their own private empires," Calder shrugged. The others were silent. "Not only would it be bad for the reputation of the Company, it is also rather makes for inefficient commerce."

"So what does the Company do, in that case?" James arched an eyebrow. "Given that Lords cannot be reposted if they do not wish to be."

Calder smiled faintly. "We have our ways." Absently. "You might, however – just a friendly little warning, of course, given the hospitality we have been shown – like to speak to the Earl of Southsend, sometime. It's no secret that he has been building quite the power base for himself, within Jamaica. And I have heard it said that it sits a little uneasily with London. It is entirely possible that measures may soon be taken."

"If they haven't already been," Kambers murmured.

James nodded, slowly. "I thank you for your honesty."

--

The stalls on the lower deck for animals were kept surprisingly clean – at least the section devoted to horseflesh, at least. The livestock were kept separate, in pens, and partitioned off – only bleats and the occasional murmur from cattle could be heard. The horse stalls were obviously for visiting nobility. There were eight in total, four on each side of the ship, and a small pen for walked exercise. Grooms worked in silence, mucking out stalls, brushing down the horses, scrubbing the deck, changing the rushes. There were four other animals in the stalls other than Caesar – a chestnut mare with bright eyes and a white forelock, thoroughbred. Two dapple gray Percheron horses who snorted and tossed their manes at him – Beckett smiled a little wryly. Warhorses, likely to be yoked to some carriage for a nobleman's amusement. A steeldust quarter horse stallion, silent, browsing oats.

Caesar whickered at the scent of his master, turning its proud head. It was stabled next to the Percherons, and was currently being admired by none other than the Earl and his sister, dressed casually in matching clothes of unadorned green woolens. They turned to look at him – Lady Tembury-Lysander had been in the act of petting Caesar's muzzle.

For a moment, Beckett rather regretted having sent Mercer to observe Norrington, but he rather doubted he had to worry – both the Earl and his sister were unarmed, and they had no apparent underlings about.

"Lord Beckett," the Earl smiled. "Good afternoon."

"Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander," Beckett inclined his head. He glanced at the other steeds, supposing that they would have to do for conversation. He had rather been hoping to be alone (ignoring the handlers and the grooms, of course, unimportant commoners) with Caesar to steady himself. "I had no idea you traveled with such expensive horseflesh."

"Oh. No, the Percherons are ours," Lady Tembury-Lysander said, walking forward and stroking the mane of one of the large dappled horses. "But the mare is Lord Calder's – a gift, I think, to relatives – and the stallion is Mister Zachary's, back from loan to London."

"Carriage horses?" Beckett asked, watching how the stallions snorted and stamped when he moved a step closer to inspect them. Hot-blooded pair. The handlers employed on the Petrel had to be remarkably skilled, to even get them to settle in such a confined space.

"No, no," the Earl looked mildly aghast. "Riding. Kathie and I prefer the Araby breeds, of course, but when our agents informed us about this pair we just had to buy them."

"Your stallion… Anglo-Arabian?" Lady Katherine asked, without looking around. "An eventing horse. Better at dressage or show jumping?"

"Three quarters Arabian," Beckett nodded, relaxing a little. He could handle this sort of conversation. "And Caesar handles excellently in all events, including cross-country, but is best in show jumping."

"Really?" the Earl smiled boyishly. "Kingston has an equestrian event in five months or so. It would be a pleasure to compete against you, if you were so inclined to enter. My Ares would be glad of the challenge."

"Artemis will still take the cup at dressage," Lady Katherine said over her shoulder, playfully.

"Araby horses?" Beckett asked. "From London or Boston?"

"From the deserts," the Earl grinned, with evident pride. "We can show you in Montserrat, whenever you have the time to visit. They're our pride and joy, though I have to confess they cost something ludicrous."

"Are the rest of the Sleipnir stable as fine as Caesar, Lord Beckett?" Katherine was petting the stallion again, which looked a little surprised, if gratified, at all the attention to the point of whickering softly. Odd. Normally, Caesar was disdainful of any attention that didn't stem from its master.

"No, but there are some fine foals this season that hold promise," Beckett said, and flinched slightly when a warm arm was draped over his shoulder. Lord Tembury-Lysander smelled of horse, coffee and ink. This close, the ice-blue eyes were hypnotic, though the boyish grin was directed at his sister.

"Thinking of poaching, Kathie?" The arm stayed, despite surreptitious, polite attempts to shrug it off. Beckett was thankful for Caesar's proximity – outside of the stables, it was entirely possible that the anxiety could have caused him undue embarrassment.

"Obviously," Katherine chuckled, with a backward glance at Beckett. "Though I'm not sure if Lord Beckett would consent, really."

"Maybe after he sees how ours perform in eventing," The Earl turned a charming, playful smile on the slighter man. "I'm told our flying changes are picture-perfect." There was innuendo there that somehow managed to surprise Beckett – the Earl's voice was a rumbling purr, breath tickling an ear. "Ares also has a gorgeous pirouette…" the Earl turned them both, firmly, and Beckett found himself pressed against the longer body, facing the other man. "…and passage." He was walked slowly backwards before he realized it – his back pressed into something soft. Lips brushed briefly against an ear. Lady Katherine.

Beckett made a strangled sound of protest as arms wrapped around his waist from behind, shocked, and managed to collect himself with a deep breath of the stalls' warm, animal stink. Stiff, cold tones of outrage. "Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander. Please unhand me."

Soft chuckles and far too much silky gold hair – in his vision, over his shoulders. Ice-blue eyes. A warm hand tilted up his chin, and lips pressed over his. A choked gasp – the Earl's tongue slipped into his mouth, leisurely rubbing over teeth, then tangling with his own. Warning bells in his mind – but he was kissing Lord Victor back, a little clumsily. A breath, and lips claimed his again, skilled and confident. His fingers were curled in green wool. Small fingers against his belly made him jump slightly – his mind informed him, with some panic, that Lady Katherine had navigated the buttons on his shirt, fingers curiously exploring warm flesh.

Handlers… the handlers… a sidelong glance. The men were working silently, apparently not even noticing how their employers were in the midst of seducing a man in the middle of a rather public area.

The Earl purred into the next kiss. Distracting nuzzles and nips against the shell of his ear. Beckett was panting, the harsh sounds foreign to his ears. An animal in heat.

That particular analogy brought him up short.

What was he doing?

Getting seduced by two of the most beautiful people he had met to date.

Getting seduced, by targets.

Any further and he'd be compromised… oh, that was good.

No.

Beckett attempted to push the Earl away, but hands caught his wrists and kept them on expensively clothed shoulders. And oh God, the other man was rubbing against him in a manner that made his blood sing, and that heat against his belly could only be…

"Victor? Katherine?" An amused drawl, from the lower-deck stair. Victor pulled back from the kiss, and smiled lazily at the Admiral.

"Hey, James. We're a little busy, so could you…" One hand freed his wrist, and waved dismissively at Norrington.

"There's a Lord Calder looking for the both of you," Norrington said mildly, his eyes flickering over Beckett's somewhat disheveled state in curiosity. "Up on deck."

"Could you be a sweetie and distract Calder for an hour?" Katherine asked, a little plaintively. Beckett's free hand grabbed her wrist as slender fingers moved to his breeches.

"Two hours," Victor amended, turning back to Beckett, his grin holding a sly, salacious promise that made him bite down a moan.

"Unfortunately, it's already been an hour, and he got tired of my company." Norrington folded his arms.

Victor and Katherine pouted. A quick kiss was pressed to his nose, another to his neck, words whispered into both ears by two different sets of lips, and the twins drew back – the Earl arranging his clothing. "Sorry about that, Lord Beckett. We'd see you later." An impish grin.

"Wear the wig less often!" Katherine added, as they disappeared up the stairs. Norrington watched them go, then chuckled wryly.

"Sorry about that."

"No, you were just in time," Beckett said quickly, turning around as he adjusted his clothing. He reached out to pat Caesar, which whinnied in pleasure. The warmth of the animal calmed his shredded nerves, somewhat. "Uh. Lady Katherine… that is to say, Lady Tembury-Lysander…"

Norrington's tone was indulgent. "They do so like to play."

"You don't… mind?" Beckett was aware that in the wake of what was a severe shock to his conception of self-control, he had lost his grip on 'Lord Beckett'.

Norrington tilted his head, with a lopsided grin. "I'll have to admit that we share the same interests." That deep purr, again. His unsatisfied, traitorous body flared with warmth. "Though I prefer to indulge mine in rather more comfortable surroundings."

"Ah." Dryly, the sarcasm of his mask creeping back into his tone – a good sign of restored composure. "In your chambers, I suppose?"

"That may be so," the Admiral said agreeably. "But at the other party's leisure. Dinner, Lord Beckett?"

Beckett shook his head. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to face dinner with the three of them until he had carefully thought things over. Motives, consequences and changing plans. "Perhaps next time."

"Very well, Lord Beckett. I'll be seeing you." Norrington bowed, playfully, and wandered up the stairs.

Deep breaths, then memory reminded him of Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander's final words, murmured into his ear, and his calm was shredded again.

We want to fuck you, Lord Beckett.

Good Lord. What was he doing?

--

The twins were pouting at dinner, occasionally shooting him accusatory glares over the pork.

James contrived to look innocent, and ate in contented silence. Keeping tabs on the twins was too easy on the frigate, and he had reasoned that if they wanted him to throw the bet, it meant that he should both cheat (within bounds) and attempt to win. The conversation in the morning had given him some clue as to what the twins could be worried about, regarding Beckett. If the man moved around posts as much as he did, and the twins were somehow distressed about his presence, and the picture of the kingfisher was accompanied with encrypted words, his best guess would be that 'kingfisher' was a code word, in the Company, for men who took care of agents who were accruing a little too much power. And the twins were indeed doing that… or so Lord Calder thought.

And it seemed, probably, that any outsiders who came across this little secret could get hurt. Taken out. James had come across many types of men in his long career in the Navy, and he knew the man Beckett kept beside him was a killer of the first water. His skill with a sword likely wouldn't be of much help against knives in the dark. And if he was… but no, the twins had far more in their arsenal than they let others believe. Besides, he rather doubted that the so-called 'kingfishers' (if indeed there were others beside Beckett) operated in such a manner.

Eventually, as he thought it would be, Katherine spoke. If the twins could be said to have a leader, it was her – for difficult issues, she made the first move, and Victor followed her cue. "Lord Calder certainly hadn't been looking for us."

"But no doubt he had much to talk about?" James smiled.

"Far too much," Victor muttered. "We barely escaped without pushing him overboard."

"James, we'd never have believed you capable of cheating," Katherine said reproachfully. "Or lying."

"Only when my opponents are cheating and withholding information in turn," James said mildly. "Mister Evans was suddenly extremely agreeable regarding shifts at the helm. Would occasionally disappear, in fact."

"Anyway, I think we won. We got the first kiss, and could have gotten far more if you hadn't interrupted. So the bet's off," Katherine said, sawing into a side of roast beef with a little more force than necessary.

"All right," James said, agreeably.

The twins regarded him suspiciously. It was such a novel change that he couldn't help snickering at them, which earned him identical pouts.

"So you'd stop?" Victor asked, a little hopefully.

"No," James smiled lazily. "Care for another bet?"

"James," a whine, from both.

Dryly. "I'm going to talk to myself for a while, and the both of you can listen."

Pouts.

"This so-called 'Kingfisher' is a person, or a number of persons, who work for the East India Company, and their identities aren't divulged, but their purpose is known to any Company agent." James said, as he sipped his wine. "And this purpose is for the elimination or crippling of any agent of the Company who accrues far too much power for himself."

An intake of breath, from Victor. Katherine stared at her wine.

"And you have reason to believe, somehow, that Lord Beckett is the 'Kingfisher' assigned to your cases," James continued, "Which is why he was posted close to Montserrat, in Port Royal."

Still silence.

"And so, given the caliber of his bodyguard and our agreement that the two of you stop any lethally ruthless activity, you're both trying to compromise his position and judgment, especially since he seems to be… uncomfortable on board a ship." James grinned. It was so nice to be right. "Yes?"

The twins looked at each other, then Katherine muttered, "Yes."

"And we were doing fairly well, up until you interfered," Victor said, in an aggrieved tone. "Whatever did you do that for?"

"Because Lord Beckett strikes me as a dangerous man, perhaps far more than his bodyguard," James said blithely. "And I doubt he would appreciate being toyed with."

"Then what do you think you're doing?" Katherine raised an eyebrow.

"Interfering," James said dryly. "Actually, wouldn't it be better, if the two of you were this worried about him, to simply petition whatever council rules the Company and just give up some of your influence?"

"Kingfisher doesn't only balance power, James," Victor said irritably, "He punishes, as well. Those who have crossed the line."

"But why send him now? The both of you haven't been… of late… unless in England…" Blank looks. James blinked, as something occurred to him. "The marriage agreement. That must have…" Still blank, but Victor's jaw twitched slightly. Ah. James sighed. "Good grief."

The conversation paused as the first course was cleared and the second was served.

"That's what we said, James," Katherine said quietly, when the servants left. "We don't want to tell you, because we don't want to lose you. We're aware that it's still possible, at least for people in our position, to petition London and give redress. But that means giving you up."

"I don't have to be married to you to…"

"It means giving you up, James," Victor repeated, his eyes intent. "Never having contact with you again. Ever."

Wryly, though he felt suddenly cold, James said, "It'd be better than… well, whatever you're afraid that he can do to you. Won't it?" He would rather never see the both of them again in exchange for their safety.

Both twins chuckled softly. "James," Katherine smiled. "One reason why we have so much power is because we recognize and accept that ruin is always part of the gamble."

"We're not afraid of that," Victor agreed.

"We're afraid that he would somehow use you – hurt you – to achieve that ruin." Katherine said, solemnly. "And he's very capable of doing that. Judging from the reports we have of his other assignments. Kingfisher is ruthless."

James sighed. "The two of you treat me like I'm your weakness."

"Aren't you?" Playful grins that didn't really reach their eyes.

James suppressed the surge of irritation that question caused. "And I suppose Lord Beckett would think so, too."

Katherine nodded.

James smirked. "Then I should work towards correcting that status, shouldn't I?"

Suspicion. Victor finally said, "Is that why you want to…"

"Interfere? Yes. We're going about this wrongly, I think," James pointed out. "Instead of the two of you attempting to… compromise his position, we should compromise his view about me. Then if he tries to attack some other point in your 'armor', no doubt the both of you are well equipped and experienced enough to counter that. Yes?"

"We disagree," Katherine said flatly. "It's too dangerous."

"To you," Victor added, with a nod, over a mouthful of chicken.

"And the other way is too dangerous to the both of you," James replied evenly. "You haven't convinced me."

"You haven't convinced us," Katherine countered.

Victor began to chuckle – his sister looked at him, slightly startled. He smiled, reached out, and squeezed her hand. She looked away, with a soft exhalation of breath. When he spoke, it was with resignation. "Looks like the bet's changed then, James."

Katherine's smile was mischievous, when she glanced up. "We're still going to win, darling." Victor's eyes twinkled.

James laughed. It was good that their mood and confidence seemed to have been restored, at least. "You wish."