The Bo’sun was a monster of a man, seven feet tall and heavily muscled all over, scarred in some traditional fashion that aided his fearsome appearance. He scowled at the men he instructed on behalf of his Captain, great arms folded over his chest, but Evie had seen him cow to Barbossa with merely a hard glance from his superior. As they roped up the longboats Evie swallowed the last of her roll and rocked on her heels, watching the men scarper about to their orders, hauling swag onto the docks. She grinned when the Bo’sun caught sight of her and his harsh face broke into a smile – though it looked almost an effort. He knew her now – if Barbossa gambled, dined or made merry in the taverns, it was Evie who stood at his side and amused his other interests.
”Hold a moment,” he called and finished barking at the crew, who hurried up the beach with the loot, ready to sell, spend and spoil, before holding out a hand to her.
“Come, I’ll row ye to de Captain,” he said and, pleasantly surprised, she took his grip and was lifted into the longboat.
She was startled to feel the sway of it under her feet and sat abruptly down.
“You sure the Capt’n won’t mind?” She asked as the Bo’sun took hold of the oars and began to row, his broad chest an impressive display.
“Aye. He’s in a mood to celebrate.” The Bo’sun, when he wasn’t barking orders, was a man of few words and Evie was left to supposition their latest venture had been a grander success than most.
They rowed further and further from the shore and Evie dared a glimpse over the edge of the boat. The water was a cloudy blue, dark as a sapphire and she couldn’t fathom a guess as to how deep it was – or what lurked just below the surface. She positioned herself carefully in the very middle of the boat and hoped the Bo’sun did not notice her tremble. The Siren was moored much further from shore than she had realised and she inwardly hoped they would reach their destination unscathed.
“It’s a grand boat.” She tried to mask her nervousness in idle conversation, with the slow and steady approach of The Siren revealing the beautiful sheen of its red and gold façade.
“Ship.” The Bo’sun corrected her shortly. “And aye, it ‘tis. The Captain won that when he sailed wit’ Morgan and they stormed the port of Marcaibo. The Captain fought so fearless and ferocious that Morgan said he had the right to be sailin’ beneath his own colours and gave him his blessin’s to take this ship and answer to no other. They were allied until Morgan died, some three year ago now.”
And once again she tried to envisage it, Barbossa in battle, a younger man then, fearless and merciless and she wondered how it seemed, to watch him command his crew now into ventures. This world of his she never saw – never shared. Not Barbossa, the man who yearned only for pleasurable diversions, but Barbossa the Captain who had sunk more ships than anyone cared to count and sailed twenty-seven years upon the sea without yet meeting his end.
“I were sailin’ under Morgan then too,” The Bo’sun continued. “But I knew the Captain were for great things on these waters and when I seen him fight, I knew it would do well for me to be before the mast on his ship. “
The Siren towered above them magnificent in the pale light of dawn – a mammoth of a vessel that stretched away into the sky. Evie craned her neck upwards to catch its uppermost points, but the ship’s vast curved belly obstructed such efforts. Besides such splendour, Evie felt herself shrink, no more than flotsam that might cling to The Siren’s fiery sides in hopes of travelling with glory.
“Did it?” she murmured, as they drew alongside the ship and the Bo’sun roped them in. He chuckled.
“Aye.” And said no more.
The Bo’sun stood beneath her as she grasped hold of the rope ladder and made a fearful and clumsy ascent upwards. Finally, she reached the deck and hauled herself over the side, cursing under her breath – no wonder sailors had such ropey arms! - and fell into a clumsy heap on the main deck. The Bo’sun, bless him, did not laugh but merely helped her to rise. Dusting off her skirts, she was startled to feel the ship rock beneath her feet and exclaimed in some alarm:
“The ship is movin’!”
Now, the Bo’sun did laugh and joining his was another’s – throaty, dark and very familiar. Turning, she saw Barbossa, tall and straight-backed in the doorway of his cabin, regarding her with shining eyes.
“We’re well anchored, pet, but the sea be not made of glass.”
She felt her cheeks burn as the Bo’sun continued to chuckle, looping up long coils of rope. “I knows that,” she said defensive. “It’s me first time on a ship!”
Barbossa feigned an expression of surprise. “Oh. Well then, we are contrite. How can it be that ye’ve lived by the sea all ye life and yet have never stepped upon a boat? Too ungainly a practice for yer delicate sensibilities?”
“Now what would I get on a boat for?” Evie felt herself mocked and bridled at it for it had on occasion seemed to be a sport for the Captain. But he clucked at her cross expression and held out a hand to her.
“Now, now, don’t scowl so. ‘Tis merely a jest, brought on by the unexpected pleasure of having so refined a lady onboard my ship.”
She pouted a little still at that but went to him, because the yearning to touch him was too great. About her the great masts, like pillars, rose high above their heads, appearing almost to vanish into the clouds, and it seemed to her a thousand men could’ve easily fit upon the decks, with room to breathe, so wide and far it stretched. Hundreds of ships she had seen, come and go from the port, but never had she realised how immense they really were and all at once the enormity of it all - of her Captain commanding one of these very beasts, guiding it through a strange and monstrous ocean – struck her and she tripped, stumbling forward with his laughter ringing in her ears even as he caught her and pulled her against his chest.
“Oh, Missy, ye’ve done well for me already. Come now, let’s not wear out those pretty feet on deckin’ more suited to rascals.“ He nodded to the Bo’sun:
“Bring us whatever we may need, I trust ye to know. The lady prefers gin to rum.”
“Aye, Captain,” and he swung himself over the side of the ship in an action that made Evie gasp and Barbossa chuckle to hear it.
“Who would think a whore be so innocent still?” and she sulked as he ushered her into his cabin, an unexpectedly large room, grandly furnished but lit only by the soft daylight streaming in the fine panes of its glass windows. She gaped at the grandeur of what she beheld, for she’d never seen the likes of it – for all she had heard of such things to see them so before her very eyes threw into sharp relief her own abject commonness. Barbossa, however, clearly had no time to indulge her wonder, for she was quickly whirled around and her dress unfastened, his face set upon its goal and famished with lust.
The world tipped up from under her and she was on the bed, a strange and unknown bed and she barely paused to wonder if there had been many women in this bed before her before she felt his hardness pushing at her earnestly. She shifted a little and he slid easily inside her, his shoulders shuddering with relief.
“Ah, Missy,” he sighed, “Ye’ve done well for me indeed.”
Contentment rippled through Evie’s breast as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed against him, knowing that soon, after his first need was met, the barrier of petticoats and breeches between them would be dispensed off and tipped her head back for his lips to meet her throat.
“You’ve a chandelier!” she couldn’t help remarking in surprise, watching the fine crystal and waxen candles rock above her head, the beads tinkling delicately against each other.
“Quiet,” he muttered, “Put that pretty mouth to better use now.”
The Captain’s quarters of the Scarlet Siren were a grand affair indeed. Well-lit by both lamp fixtures and large, sparkling windows it held all manner of luxuries, putting Evie’s small dwelling and shabby, mismatched furniture to shame. The bed was oak, each poster bearing a carved maiden in little to cover her voluptuous figure and hung with finest velvet drapes. Its mattress felt as she imagined a cloud would as they rolled about on it, sinking into its downy embrace, her face pressed against Barbossa’s chest, the hair there scratching her cheek and the musky scent of his sweat filling her nostrils and her head with intoxication. Afterwards she gazed at everything, trying to commit it all to memory but there was so much it dizzied her. A wardrobe from which a dozen brightly-coloured coats could be glimpsed, a glittering button or embroidered collar. The sensuous curve of an ebony figure, glistening wetly in its shadows, a large, elaborately carved Spanish chest. A grand writing desk with many locked drawers. She wandered through the bedroom to his – what could it be called? Parlour? Dining room? An immense dining table sat in the middle of it, certainly, but along the surrounding walls there rested many shelves, and on those shelves clustered books. Evie had seen books for sale or trade in Tortuga, but as she could not read she had never laid hands upon one. The books upon Barbossa’s shelves were bound in red or black or brown leather, some appeared finely tooled, some were shabby and falling to pieces. As Barbossa dozed, a satiated figure, she dared to pluck one from its shelf and open the pages. Line after line of mysterious black figures, crammed closely together, pouring over the pages like a marching assembly of ants – what they revealed she could not hazard a guess and fearful, she shut the book abruptly and shoved it back onto the shelf. Had the Captain really read all of these?
The scope of his success was beginning to impress upon her more and she began to wish she had never set foot upon the ship.
Returning to the bedroom, she peered at Barbossa where he lay, a curiously rested expression upon his features, his lips parted slightly, one hand resting upon his chest and the other flung above him against the silken pillows. Tentatively, she drew the sheet up to his chin but resisted the urge to stroke his brow. Turning to the room once more, her thoughts flew suddenly to the mysterious little box he had acquired a few months ago – what of it? Where was it now? Where would he keep such a thing?
She paced, turning in circles on the plush rug. The memory of its strange chimeras floated back to her as if through a dream and she felt that she must lay eyes upon it again. Her eyes flew to the bed and the sleeping Barbossa – beneath that? Close to him – or – she whirled again and her eyes came to rest upon the huge carved chest that sat beneath a window. It had a lock, a heavy one. Advancing upon it in her stockinged feet she sunk silently to her knees, daring a glimpse back at the Captain before moving her hands to examine the lock. Where would he keep the key? Crouching still further down, she squinted shut one eye and peered into the keyhole with the other into the utter darkness beyond.
Barbossa coughed and, terrified, she leapt to her feet, spinning around with flushed cheeks and trembling shoulders. He was just beginning to awaken – it did not seem that he had noted her – and though her heart beat so heavy she felt certain he would hear it, she darted back to the bed and clambered up besides him.
“So,” she begun, to mask her guilt, “t’would seem the stories of you are true – a grand man indeed.”
He blinked and smiled blearily at her. “Wench, what purpose would it serve me to be spreading tall tales when none can exceed the truth?”
She dropped a kiss upon his lips and slid a hand beneath the sheet to sidle up his thigh. “No, I would – what is a word that means agree?”
He shut his eyes and grinned. “Concur.”
“Well, Capt’n, I would concur that when it comes to your attributes, there’s no need to be twistin’ the truth” and she enclosed her hand around his manhood, stroking it softly, feeling it begin to lengthen beneath her administrations and leaning in to him for another kiss.
A shout from outside interrupted them. It was the Bo’sun, who had returned – and not alone, from the sounds of things. Barbossa arrested her hand, a slight crease forming between his brows as he listened to the voices that rose and fell with the rocking of the sea – and then his face relaxed into a smile.
“Ah, he comes bearing gifts. “
Barbossa favoured fresh seafare to salted meats and it was this the Bo’sun brought back for them, great trays of lobsters and crabs, prawns and whatever fish swam native to those waters. His holds had plenty of wine and rum but gin had been fetched for her, along with fresh bread and some fine sauces. But he had also brought back with him another member of the crew – an older man with a defined limp and a gummy smile and each had a whore upon his arm – Jasmine and Giselle – who guffawed at the immensity of the ship and laughed to feel its lurch – the Bo’sun and his companion had already been making merry in the taverns on shore and the whores were more than a little tipsy.
Barbossa quickly buttoned breeches and shirt and declared Evie’s shift sufficient for the weather was fine. Thusly underdressed, they met the small party upon the decking and the ladies shrieked to see their associate already aboard.
“We tawt you might be here,” Jasmine said with a lazy grin and elbowed Giselle who tittered. “De Cap’un given you your sea legs yet?”
Evie pantomimed an awkward gait in response to this, as though her hips had been set at odds, and a roar went up from the little crowd as they clapped at the innuendo, Barbossa included. He sat her upon a stair and turned to survey the feast the Bo’sun had supplied with enormous satisfaction.
“As befits a King, mate, and no better.”
And they all fell to with relish. Gluttony was easily accomplished in the company of the Captain, as he had no hesitance with his feast. He ate heartily, though not carelessly and Evie tried not to lick her fingers, though it was hard with such deliciously flavoured butter upon them. Her belly was not so used to the richness of the food, however and she soon felt queasy from her indulgence and the amount of good wine she’d put back. Barbossa was unflappable, if inebriated, and polished off what she couldn’t while she sat back against the stairs, wincing at the sight of it.
The Bo’sun slipped a muscular arm around the bountiful waist of Jasmine and laid a hungry kiss against her plump neck to which she giggled and made as though to slap him.
“You shuld know better dan to disrupt me while I dine!” she exclaimed and when his fingertips sought out her generous breast, she did whack him and twisted away – it made Evie marvel a little to see if, for she would never dare spurn one of Barbossa’s advances, not wanting to displease him – for many reasons.
Barbossa, however, seemed amused by Jasmine’s impertinence and quipped:
“Ye not be payin’ her enough, or payin’ her too much – which is it, eh?”
The Bo’sun did not seem to mind but laughed, his mood tempered by rum, and continued to playfully grasp at Jasmine who did not hesitate to slap him away.
Giselle sat upon the lap of her fellow – a Master Weatherby – and fed him from her fingers, chewing small mouthfuls of her own and watching the proceedings with a grin. She caught Evie’s eye and dropped her a wink. Evie looked to Barbossa, who had by now finished his meal, and sat back upon a barrel, contentment quieting his features. He caught her eye as she gazed at him and snapped his fingers to her, and she went, arranging herself upon his knee.
He slipped a hand down the front of her chemise and caressed one breast, his fingertips rough against the soft flesh. He rolled a nipple gently between his fingers and she felt him stiffen beneath her, right where her buttocks cleaved. His other hand slid down her thigh to grasp the cotton of her shift and he began to edge it upwards as his lips pressed softly to her ear, then her neck. Much higher and all she had would be exposed to the ship. She arrested his hand before it could reach its destination and he stopped kissing her and looked at her curiously.
She tossed hair back over her shoulder as though it were nothing and slipped her hands about his neck, pressing her lips to his and he yielded to it. Once again his hand sought to lift her shift, swifter now but once again she grasped his fingers and stopped him. Now his look was sharp, irritation creasing in the corners of his eyes.
She nipped his earlobe and whispered: “Let’s go somewhere else, eh? Just the two of us.”
Before he could answer, Jasmine let out a guffaw – the Bo’sun had succeeded in pulling her bodice down all the way, so that her large breasts tumbled out of them, and both the Bo’sun and Giselle laughed and begun pinching at them as Jasmine shrieked with merriment and tried to bat their hands away. Barbossa grinned as he watched, and his hand on Evie’s breast tightened.
“Hey now, Cap’un Barbossa,“ Jasmine managed between fits of laughter, “You and yer wench goin’ ta be joinin’ us den?“
He glanced at Evie and she felt herself shrink inwards, suddenly full of dread, for his look was dangerously canny. She attempted a smile, she knew it came off weak, and said in a wavering voice:
“I’d need a lot more gin, first, my darlin’”
For a moment he looked as if he were about to throw her into the mix anyway. But then he rose, lifting her up into his arms and bore her upwards, towards the bow, calling back over his shoulder as he did so:
“I have a need to be limberin’ this one up first” and laughter followed them into the darkness of the forecastle, lit bleakly by a sickle moon.
She was placed none too gently upon the boards again and then he drew her close against him to kiss. His tongue, rough and warm, probed her mouth and a soft moan escaped her throat and she clung to him, to his arms feeling them flex as he wrapped them around her and pulled her against his hardness. She kissed him back rapturously, feeling every bit as young as her nineteen years, and twice as giddy. The scratch of his beard, the sureness of his mouth, the masterful way he kissed her both rough and tender at once, his firm grasp on her, shifting her body to suit him – all of it had her aching for him to take his fill of her. He sensed her readiness and broke the kiss, as abruptly as he had begun it, then wrenched her shift up and over her head in one fierce movement. She did not protest now, but allowed her bare flesh to be bathed in the moonlight, gooseflesh rising almost instantly with her sudden nakedness. He threw the garment aside and then drove her up against the foremast, his hand seeking out her sex, pressing his palm against it so that the heel of his hand ground against her clitoris and she gasped at the pleasure of it, as yet unfulfilled desire, so delicious in its anticipation. His mouth closed around one breast, lips drawing together against her nipple, teeth scraping it in a manner that threatened to cease being gentle. Rapture, and she dug her fingers into his hair and then he did bite down. It was glorious.
“Hey Captain!”
The shout broke her reverie of passion and she glanced back toward the main deck, a faint laughter floating their way on the warm glow of the lanterns.
“Hey Captain! Do ye wish to make sport with us?”
She saw that her two friends were naked and danced together, Jasmine’s dark supple flesh gleaming against Giselle’s alabaster white. They parted, Jasmine to Weatherby and Giselle to the Bo’sun and she felt Barbossa shift against her, pushing against her bud again, sliding a finger deep inside her.
“They wonder about ye,“ he whispered, rough against her ear. “Wonder what lies beneath those petticoats that lures me back to ye again and again.”
She did not look at him, but fixed her gaze on the scene before her, feeling his hand tease her, wishing she could simply surrender to this and finding it impossible. Her stomach tipped up and she thought of all the crab and wine she had consumed.
“Should I let them find out?” His breath was so hot, a tickle in her ear and she shivered and cast her eyes to the ground, taking hold of the arm he had about her waist.
He waited, and she could feel his gaze intent upon her face. Finally, a quick jerk of the head and she gave her answer.
“No? How did ye come by such a luxury?” His voice was venomous with sarcasm and his grip tightened on her.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please understand.” But she didn’t quite understand herself.
“Whose gold lines your purse, wench? Do I not recompense ye fairly and more?” He shook her and she turned her face away. He always paid her well beyond her asking price – a small purse of gold. She felt he did it as much to impress his lucrative circumstances as out of some genuine regard.
“Don’t play coy with me wench. I know such games not be new sport for ye.”
“It’s not coyness,” she was wretched, the thought of being touched before his eyes made her squirm in desperation, and she could not find the words to say it. “I just don’t want to.” He grasped her chin and turned her to face him, pushing her head back violently when she lowered her eyes.
“Why? It be me coin that has thus far indulged ye, my generosity that has spoiled ye, why should I not be granted me request?” He had cooled the emotion in his enquiry, making it seem nothing but a reasonable question. “Or is it not enough for ye? What is your price for such a thing?”
She recoiled at that and swallowed against tears that rose suddenly. Of course she’d done such things before, and thought nothing of it – even enjoyed it on occasion, when the wine was flowing and the coca leaf crisp and fresh. But now, here, under the unblinking stars and the wide dark sky, here with Hector Barbossa, she couldn’t bear the thought. Not to have him watch as another man spent himself upon her breast. Not to be urged to kiss and fondle Giselle or Jasmine. Not to have him look upon her laid bare and vulnerable beneath another… no, and she could not fathom why, but it made her stomach churn and her heart clench. And she threw herself upon him and pushed her face against his neck.
“You can have any part of me – any – any that you fancy. But please, just have me alone. Have me to yourself. “
He was silent a long while as she clung to him, not daring to raise her face from his shoulder in case he should espy the tears that rolled down her cheeks.
Grasping her hair, he wrenched her head away so that he could stare upon it and his look, though vexed still, was final.
“Ye be fortunate, and no doubt, that I have a mind to cast back amongst the many hours of pleasure ye’ve given me, or I’d make ye do me biddin’ whether willin’ or not.” Abruptly he loosened his grip and instead cupped her face in both his hands, his expression suddenly gentle. “Don’t weep, wench. ‘Tis not worth the spendin’. I’ll be lenient with ye this eve, because ye be young yet, and so lovely and yer smile cheers me.”
They kissed and Evie felt the slow trickle of relief move through her, replaced with once again mounting passion. Moving her now from the foremast, all the way up to the bow stern, where the ship’s mighty head pointed out of the port, out to open sea, and pushed her against the railing so that her hair dangled over the side, over into empty air.
Roughly he parted her legs and freed himself from his breeches before thrusting deep into her. She sucked in a great breath and clenched around him, now alive with desire, the sea breeze dancing along her skin and whipping her nipples into hard little nubs he pressed his lips and teeth around, grasping her buttocks.
Beneath her she could hear the slow, wet lap of the waves breaking against the bow forward and it leapt to her mind she knew not how to swim and suddenly clung to his shoulders, the smell of sea salt stifling in her nostrils. Before them, the great Siren figurehead loomed, her spear yet aloft and, below her, the now frighteningly black ocean. A long drop to a cold, dark abyss.
“I will hold onto ye,” He whispered, “Have no fear, my sweet.”
His eyes remained fixed hard upon her throughout his pleasure, a fierce and intent need burning there, a hunger that could only be satiated the harder he drove into her, the more relentlessly he pounded her bare buttocks into the ship. With him still fully clothed she felt vulnerable, in a way she had never known – shy of her body which had long been her fortune, helpless to all he sought to take from her – as possibly did those women he must’ve taken, many a time, on board ships he had fought, overcome and plundered. Did he share those women with his crew? What became of them?
His blue eyes glittered in the moonlight and one hand moved from behind her to her sex, to rub and caress her gently, maddeningly. The thrust of him inside her, filling her up, to the torturous scrape of his thumb against her greatest pleasure and his eyes ever upon her, drinking in her every twitch and shudder.
Stayed by his indulgence and earlier spending, he lasted a great while, long enough for her to climax, knowing he would feel the grip of her cunny hard on his cock as she did so, throwing back her head to the emptiness and letting out a low, long moan. And the faint ghost of a smile passed over his lips as she rolled her head back and slumped further onto him.
He pressed his mouth on hers when he climaxed, his groan swallowed into her throat, his sweat cooling her brow.
She donned her shift, feeling the wetness of him sticky between her thighs and together they went back down to the main deck, where by now the revellers were in various indelicate situations. Barbossa ignored them, grasping hard of her hand and led her into the Gallery and down, down deep into the belly of the ship, past the quarters of the crew (a humble affair compared to the Captain’s, indeed, yet comfortable enough) and below, into the hold. He pushed her forward and Evie exclaimed at what she saw there, her eyes growing round as saucers.
Gold, gold everywhere. Vast piles of it, heaped high and glittering brilliantly in the glow of the lantern he lit and held aloft so that she might see better. Gold in medallions, coins, plates, rings, buttons, chains, beads, jugs, cutlery, bowls, goblets, dishes, ornaments, statues, heavily embroidered fabrics, the hilt of swords, shields, ornamental dresswear and embellishments and amongst it all winked the brilliant hue of jewels and pearls, the occasional sheen of silver. Evie staggered forward and knelt at the edge of it all, her breathing hard, and tentatively, as though it might burn, ran her fingers across an elaborately embossed plate and then, bolder now, gathered up a handful of medallions and coins and watched them slip through her fingers, tinkling prettily together as they rejoined the swell. From above her came Barbossa’s voice:
“This be the stuff we don’t wish to sell or spend – just yet. We gather it all together and divide it, equal, between us. Some amass all they have and retire to live the life of Kings.”
She gathered together now two great handfuls and watched them spill, gasping with delight. Never before had she seen such riches amassed and it quickened something within her she had not known before… a hunger that was as keen as it was alien.
Barbossa made a noise of amusement, watching her with interest where she played. Bending over the spoils, he pulled out a beautiful strand of rubies – a necklace – and then dropped it into her lap. She looked down upon it, in silent admiration. The pirates on Tortuga only ever sold the semi-precious jewels – keeping the finest for themselves.
“We all have a hundred such pretties to not notice one missing. Ye can keep it, or sell it, as ye wish.”
Speechless, she delicately traced the lovely stones in their gold settings and knew she would never sell it, not even if she were starving and too old to earn a bowl of soup. But then he grasped her hand and hauled her to her feet, his smile a study in curious satisfaction.
“Come now, Bo’sun will row ye back with Dawn but I have a mind to see ye with that trinket about ye throat.” Evie followed him willingly enough, yet could not resist a glance back at the riches and wonder what it must feel like, to possess such things and looked at the man who did, his sea-weathered face regal, contemplative, and hard, and felt her heart swell. How had one so great come to favour one so humble as she – and how could she hope to ensure he still would?
Back in his quarters, she wore the necklace, and nothing else, and watched the jewels wink conspiratorially at her in the glow of candlelight and felt them quicken her pulse as much as his touch did.
As the night drew to a close and the sky began slowly to lighten its hue, she felt her heart sink where she lay, encircled in his arms. The warmth of his body, the rich scent of him, his sharply turned words and soft, hungry kisses – all this would be taken from her and she knew not when he would return – two months – six, perhaps – and each day would tick over, the same as its previous, without her Captain to brighten it. Evie did not know what it meant to be in love, all she knew was that to not see him would be agony and to tell him would be folly.
So she stroked his chest and rubbed her foot against his leg and whispered into his ear: “I were unwell last night. If you wanted again to make sport with your mates, I’d be willin’”
He threw his head back and roared with savage laughter. “The necklace were a gift,” he mocked her, “ye need not pay for it.”
She flushed hot and miserable and pulled away. “Not so clever then, are you?” She bit back and turned away and his next words were amused, if somewhat underscored in confusion.
“What are ye, a whore or a sweetheart? Why do ye take offence so readily?”
And she couldn’t answer – after all, he was a paying customer. By rights it shouldn’t distress her so to have him leave, or to have him tease her as it shouldn’t thrill her to have him smile gently upon her or pleasure her body and yet –
“It’s nothin’,” she smoothed hands over her hair and tried to laugh. “I ‘aven’t slept much is all. And once you’re off, I’ll ‘ave only louts and boys to look forward to. “
He stared searchingly at her for the briefest moment before chuckling and drew her back to him. Readily she went, delighting to be pressed against him, taking his face into her hands and looking deep and contentedly into his eyes, which had begun to show the faint tinge of jaundice and yet were no less brilliant for it. And even that gaze amused him, he smiled and kissed her. “What a pleasing little thing ye be, I’ve half a mind to keep ye by my side this venture – “ and her heart did a mad leap “ – but what quicker way to make a nuisance of somethin’ otherwise enjoyed. No, this port be yer home and here is where ye must stay, so that I might continue to look forward to dropping anchor here.”
And she knew she must be content with that.
The Bo’sun rowed them back, sobriety once again making him terse and reticent. Giselle looked somewhat the worse for her night of indulgence and Jasmine’s mood was sour from the same. Between the three of them they were a grim lot and there was, thankfully, not much call for conversation, as Evie’s thoughts were fixed firmly elsewhere. She looked back at The Siren, beautiful and silent in the early Dawn and felt her heart very heavy in her breast, right where the necklace was secreted, it’s cold stones warmed by her flesh.
Wearily, the three women ambled through the soggy streets, Jasmine leaving them with a surly nod of farewell at one junction and Giselle and Evie continued on to the Maison Rouge arm in arm, huddling together against the crisp chill of the morning.
Their home was dark and silent, but the girls knew the staircase well enough not to trip on its uneven boards, and ascended as quickly as their tired bodies would allow.
As they stood, unlocking the doors of their respective rooms, Giselle sighed and surprised her friend by speaking.
“Evie, he’s a pirate and a brutal one at that.” Evie stopped, startled and turned to her friend. Giselle was looking at her, with a worried crease in her forehead, a tinge of exasperation in her eyes. “Don’t go fallin’ in love with ‘im.”
Without another word Giselle entered her room and clicked shut the door leaving Evie to stand in the dimness of the corridor, the necklace suddenly cold and sharp against her breast.
© 1998, 1999 Truffle