Freedom Bound

by dragonpenny

Summary:

Everly Williams, a noble girl from Victorian England, wakes up tightly bound and gagged aboard a pirate ship. Follow her story as she bargains for her freedom with the ship's enigmatic quartermaster, Grayson - but is returning home truly the "freedom" she longs for?

Will update on Tuesdays and Fridays until finished :) If you like my stuff, please feel free to join my Discord server! https://discord.gg/fQCrezuCen

Chapter 1

Sleep was torn from me by the loud crash of waves. My body swayed gently from side to side, and there was a fog blanketing my mind, a halfway-lucid feeling as if I was coming out of a dream that I couldn’t quite remember. A faint ache in my forehead prompted me to try and lift an arm, only to find that I couldn’t move.

Strange. Was I still dreaming? What was the last thing I could remember? A ship. Yes, that sounded right. I was on a ship. Slowly, it was beginning to return to me. I had boarded The Oasis in France, bound for Dover, and had scarcely been a few hours into the journey when…

The memories formed knots in my stomach. It was difficult to recall all the details, but I remembered the entire ship reeling and the sounds of cannons firing. I remembered hearing a panicked cry of “pirates!” from the crow’s nest.

Beset by a burst of panic, my eyes flew open, but I saw nothing. Confused, I began blinking rapidly, frantically trying to make my eyes work before I noticed a small sliver of light just underneath my line of sight, above my nose. Realising that there was something fastened over my eyes and that I had not, in fact, gone blind, I relaxed for only a brief moment before I began to register all the other things that were wrong.

As I had discovered earlier, I could not move my arms; they were tightly bound at the opposite side of what felt like a thick, wooden pole behind me, anchoring me to the spot. My legs, too, were tied together beneath my skirts, with rope coiled and knotted around my ankles and just below my knees. I was rendered immobile.

My first instinct was to cry for help, but when I tried, my voice was muffled into a soft whimper. A wad of cloth had been shoved in between my teeth, blocking sound. Naturally, I tried to push it out with my tongue, and found that not only was it being held in place by several more strips of fabric wrapped around my mouth, but that it tasted so overwhelmingly of salt that it numbed my tongue almost immediately on contact.

The floor creaked with the movement of the water beneath it. Trying my best to hold down the instinct to panic, I listened closely, wondering if any of my captors were nearby. I couldn’t hear anything apart from the crashing of the ocean. Was I alone? The thought somehow made fear rise in my throat even faster. I had an urge to cry out again. Gathering my breath, I let out a high-pitched scream, loud enough to penetrate the layers of my thick gag.

It didn’t take long for me to receive a response. “Jesus Christ,” a voice cut through the air, startling me back into silence. “You don’t need to be so fucking loud. I’m standing right next to you.”

The voice was unmistakably male, and not at all what I had expected to hear; even in clear annoyance, his tone was calm, composed, and almost polite. Recovering, I began to strain as hard as I could against my bonds, and let out a moan to convey my displeasure.

It took a few more moments of whimpering and useless struggling before I heard a sigh, and then felt hands glide around my head until they met in the back. The band around my eyes loosened and then came off completely. As I blinked to adjust my vision, the first thing I saw were two, blueish grey eyes surveying me evenly.

The colour was so startlingly deep that it looked as though one could drown in them. It caught me off guard and I had to rip myself away from them in order to observe my surroundings. The small room we were in was made of grimy wooden boards, with a table towards the back and several barstools and chairs, some of which had been tipped over onto their sides. There were a few metal tankards lying on the ground, and as I glanced to my right, I saw a porthole, outside of which I could make out some rolling grey waves.

My eyes returned to those of my captor, who was crouched before me and seemed to be engaged in a careful assessment. I took the opportunity to study him in turn; as with his voice, he did not look at all how I expected a pirate to look. He was clean-shaven, with only a hint of stubble around his chin, his face surprisingly clean and free of dirt or grease. Thick, black hair fell across his forehead and over his ears, just reaching the nape of his neck.

He stared straight back at me, unabashedly, not breaking his analytical gaze for even a moment. There was something strangely soothing about his eyes; they were like a sky just before a storm, and the more I gazed into them, the easier I breathed. My panic began to subside.

“You look like you have something to say,” he said finally.

I blinked in surprise, but nodded immediately—the salty taste in my mouth was beginning to make me feel sick.

“If I remove that gag and you make a fuss, it’s not coming off again. Understood?”

As though there’s any point in calling for help. I nodded again. He lowered himself to his knees and wrapped his arms around my head, working on the knots that were holding the gag in place. He undid one cloth, and then another, and then a third before he was finally able to remove the wad that had been pushed in between my teeth. As he extracted it, I was overcome by a fit of coughing, trying not to gag from the lingering taste on my tongue. “Why was it so salty?” I asked, once I was able.

“We’re at sea, milady,” he said, with a surprising level of courtesy. “Seawater tends to get into everything. You’d be hard-pressed to find anything around here that doesn’t taste of salt.”

“Would you kindly mind bringing me some fresh water, then?” I asked, matching his unusually polite tone. “My throat is quite dry.”

He paused for a moment, and then exhaled another sigh, getting to his feet and crossing the room to the door. He stepped out for a few moments before returning with a tankard.

“Drink,” he said, holding it up to my lips.

As I drank, my captor slowly tilted the cup, keeping the water flowing, not too fast nor too slow. Never in my life had water tasted so good.

“Better now?” he asked, lowering the cup.

“Yes.”

He raised an eyebrow with me, clearly dissatisfied with my answer. It took me a moment to realise what he was waiting for.

“…thank you,” I added, reluctantly.

Quietly, he got up, setting the now-empty tankard on the table. Turning swiftly, he seized a chair on his way back to me and deposited it so that its back faced me. Catching my gaze once more, he dropped into his seat, unerringly silent, with his legs spread wide to accommodate the position. Another moment of silence passed, and then he spoke. “Listen, I know you’re in a shite position here.”

“How perceptive of you.”

He raised a hand purposefully, making his thoughts on my sarcasm clear. I flinched and braced myself for the impact, but it never came. Instead, he leaned forward and grabbed hold of my chin.

“I’m trying to be nice, which I am not obligated to do,” he said softly. “But if you keep that up, you might just sour my mood, and I don’t think you want that. Do I make myself clear?”

Pressing my lips together in annoyance, I nodded.

He let go of me and continued. “For the record, I was opposed to taking a hostage when we raided your ship,” he said. “Unfortunately, the rest of the crew felt otherwise, and so here you are. I thought the least I could do was assign myself to guard duty.”

“Assign yourself?” I repeated. “Are you the captain?”

“No. I’m the quartermaster. Do you know what that means?”

“You’re in charge of the finances.” That did explain why he seemed to have more than half a brain, contrary to my preconception of the average pirate.

He seemed mildly surprised that I knew this, a smirk playing across his mouth. “Correct. In any case, I’m sure you’re wondering what happens next.”

“The thought may have crossed my mind.”

He shot me a warning look, but let the comment slide this time. “We’ll be sailing to the next freeport,” he said. “Once we get there, we’ll send a ransom letter to your family. All you’ll have to do is behave and sit pretty until they cough up the gold, and then we can all go our separate ways.”

I felt panic beginning to rise in my chest again, but struggled to keep my tone even, swallowing hard. “And by ‘sit pretty’ I assume you mean I’m to remain bound to this post for the entire ordeal?” I asked.

He blinked, and for the first time, looked somewhat apologetic as he grimaced. “That is the standard procedure, yes.”

“Why?” I found myself saying, before I could stop myself. “Tell me, what’s the point in that? Where exactly am I going to go?”

He stared me down hard for a moment before responding. “Those ropes are there to keep you from doing anything stupid,” he informed me. “Damaged goods are worthless goods, and we’re trying to turn a profit.”

I clenched my teeth. Goods. So that’s all I was to them.

Then again, why was I surprised? That was all I was to anyone.

It was becoming harder and harder not to completely give into the fear that threatened to consume me, so I channelled the energy into anger instead, and my mouth began to run away from me. “I’d heard that pirates were dim-witted, but I never realised it was quite to this extent,” I said, before I could stop myself. “I’m curious how you plan to turn a profit once the British Navy blows you all to pieces, because that’s the only way I see all of this ending.”

I didn’t have time to regret saying it before he suddenly rose from his chair and knelt down to be at my eye level, once again grabbing my chin with a firm hand. “You let me worry about that,” he growled. “In the meantime, I'll remind you that you are a prisoner, and speech is a privilege that I don’t have to grant you.”

I scowled and sharply jerked my head away from him. For a moment, he looked as though he might really strike me this time, but he just clicked his tongue in irritation and then picked up one of the bolts of cloth that had made up my gag.

My stomach leapt and I tried to lean away, opening my mouth to protest, but abruptly he grabbed a handful of my hair and pushed my head back. A cry of pain began to rise out of my throat, but the sound was quickly blocked as he shoved the wadded-up fabric back into my mouth.

I moaned in protest, but didn’t have the chance to try and spit it out before he wrapped another bolt around my head, holding the gag in place. He knotted it tightly enough that I felt it pull uncomfortably at the corners of my mouth, and I began to struggle again out of frustration, shooting him as vitriolic a glare as I could manage.

It didn’t seem to trouble him. Shaking his head, he picked up another one of the kerchiefs and tied it over my eyes, robbing me once again of my vision. A moment later, I felt his breath on my left ear, a strand of his hair gently tickling the side of my face. “You might want to consider being a little more well-behaved,” he advised. “There’s a long journey ahead of us.”

With that, he pulled away, and I heard him stand, leaving me with nothing but darkness.

Chapter 2

Unable to speak, unable to see, and unable to move, I lost all sense of time. Had it been an hour? Two? Or only fifteen minutes? I drifted in and out of thought, occasionally giving a half-hearted test against the ropes that bound me, but had no luck in getting any of them to loosen. I was hesitant to struggle too much; the quartermaster was still in the room with me, and he was disturbingly quiet when he so chose.

If nothing else, my figurative isolation gave me some time to try and calm myself and consider my options, few though they were. The wisest thing to do, perhaps, was to behave as the quartermaster had suggested, and simply wait to be returned home after everything played out. I might have done just that, if I was more certain that it would be that easy. I was familiar with some accounts of pirate activities, and had read stories of abductions and ransoms, situations similar to my own. While the victims of these abductions were sometimes returned to their families unharmed, this was not always the case. I felt rather certain that it would not be the case for me either, given my circumstances.

I wondered, did these pirates have any idea who I was? The quartermaster had seemed to know that I was of noble birth, at the least, but that wouldn’t have been hard to discern from my clothing, not to mention the high price of passage on the ship I was stolen from. Were they at all aware of what they had stumbled into? Perhaps, had they chanced to grab some other noblewoman, their plan to ransom her and make a neat sum would have gone off without a hitch. But me…

I let out a shaky exhale. Pirates were no strangers to taking risks, but only to a certain point. If something went wrong, where would that leave us? What would they do with me? Would they simply cut their losses and slit my throat at the first sign of trouble?

Feeling the fear begin to swell up in my chest again, I tried fruitlessly to calm myself down. First things first. Regardless of what happened next, I refused to spend the entire voyage trussed up like this. The ropes were beginning to become painful as they dug into my wrists, and I longed to at least move my legs to get some feeling back into them. But if I wanted to try and convince anyone to untie me, I was going to have to watch my tongue.

After debating internally for a few minutes, I decided that now was as good a time as any, and that I was better off trying my luck with the pirate I already knew rather than waiting for a shift change. Summoning my courage, I began to whimper softly into my gag.

There was no response. Not to be deterred, I got louder, wriggling in my bonds for good measure. I heard him sigh, and after a second, the blindfold was yanked from my eyes.

He looked annoyed. “In case it wasn’t clear,” he said. “I gagged you so you would be quiet.”

I resisted the urge to glare at him and instead lifted my eyes up to try and make them as wide and pitiful as possible, letting out a few more muffled whimpers. His scoff told me that he hadn’t bought the act, but began removing the gag anyway.

“Thank you,” I forced myself to say, as soon as he’d withdrawn his hands.

He only grunted in response, and tucked the small bundle of fabric into his pocket; where he could easily retrieve it if he decided he was tired of hearing me speak again. Racking my brains for something else to say, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “Since we’ll be spending some time together,” I said, “Perhaps you could tell me what I should call you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You want something,” he guessed.

I swallowed hard, thrown off. He certainly didn’t beat around the bush. Even so, I made another attempt. “Yes,” I said carefully. “I want to know your name.”

“Grayson,” he said gruffly. “What do you really want?”

With a sigh of frustration, I abandoned the pretence altogether. “Please untie me,” I said.

He shook his head. “Can’t do that.”

I bit back the sharp retort that was aching to roll off of my tongue, and tried my best to keep my tone as polite as possible. “My arms and legs are starting to feel numb,” I told him. “And I would appreciate a trip to…wherever it is that you relieve yourselves.”

Grayson seemed to consider this for a moment, eyes scanning me, before abruptly getting up and making his way towards the door. “Wait here,” he grumbled over his shoulder, just as he exited the room.

When he was gone, I rolled my eyes. Wait here. As though I had a choice.

It was only a few minutes before he came back, drawing a knife from his belt. “Let me make myself clear,” he warned, holding the blade up in front of me to accentuate his point. “Try anything funny, and you’ll regret it. Understood?”

“Yes.”

With a nod, he reached down and began slicing the ropes from my ankles and legs, and then my wrists. My shoulders burned as I finally moved my arms back to my sides, and I couldn’t stifle a sigh of relief. Eager to move, I tried quickly to get to my feet, only to have my knees wobble and give out.

Strong hands caught me by the shoulders, and I found myself suddenly and unsettlingly close to my captor. “Careful,” he said, with a hint of a smile.

I swallowed hard and pushed away, regaining my balance. My legs were a bit stiffer than I thought they’d be, but this time I managed to stay upright, straightening and smoothing out my dress with as much dignity as I could muster. Discomfited, I tried to step away from him, making a move towards the door on the other side of the room.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Grayson blocked my path with an outstretched arm. He collected both my wrists in one of his hands, bringing them together in front of me; and then, with impressive speed, he produced a small length of rope from one of his pockets and began winding it around them.

I scowled at my hands in dismay as the ropes immediately began to irritate my already raw skin. “Is that truly necessary?” I couldn’t help asking.

He locked his gaze with mine again, and the smile this time was more pronounced as his eyes glinted at me, sparking with something like mischief. “Cautionary measures,” he said, and without breaking eye contact, closed the final knot, inadvertently pulling me closer. Or was it on purpose? I couldn’t be sure, but the upwards curl of his mouth seemed to suggest as much.

A length of the cord still dangled from my wrists, and he took hold of the end and gave it a tug. “This way,” he said, turning back towards the door.

I felt my cheeks turn a shade of bright red as I realised that he intended to lead me like this, like a dog on a leash, but it was clear that I had little say in the matter. As much as my body screamed for me to resist, I had no choice but to play along and follow.

We stepped out of the room that had served as my prison and came into a small, narrow hallway with a low ceiling, which reeked of must, salt, and mould. Grayson took a sharp turn to the left, yanking me along with him. As I glanced over my shoulder, I saw a staircase that appeared to lead above deck, and found myself vaguely wondering how far away from shore we were now. Depending on the answer, freedom was either just at the top of those stairs or miles out of my reach.

He led me through the hallway and past a few openings in the walls, through which I caught glimpses of some other parts of the ship; including what looked like some kind of recreational area and some makeshift living quarters, complete with several bedrolls splayed haphazardly across the floor.

We came to a door at the end of the hallway, and when he opened it, he brought me into a room much larger than the one we’d come from, with a dusty carpet thrown across the floor and a desk towards the far end. A bed was shoved into one corner of the room, and then another smaller door on left wall. Grayson released the end of my leash and opened said door, gesturing mockingly.

I folded my mouth into a hard line. I supposed he wasn’t planning to let me have full use of my hands for this. Annoying, but fine. I gathered up my skirts as best I could before carefully stepping inside. The door closed behind me.

Granted, it was much cleaner than I had expected it to be. I did what I needed to do and then exited the small lavatory. Grayson caught hold of the end of the rope again, turning back towards the door we’d come through.

He didn’t even have time to move before the door burst open, and a man came sprinting through, the echo of distant shouts chasing after him. He better fit the stereotypical description of a pirate, with a kerchief tied over his head and a face coated in a layer of sweat and grease. “Problem up on deck, sir,” he said, out of breath.

Grayson frowned. “What is it?”

“Wilkes and Peter. They’re fighting again.”

“For the love of…” He made a vague gesture back towards me. “I’m busy.”

At this, the pirate seemed to notice me for the first time. He swallowed and gave me a short, awkward nod. “Right. Sorry. It’s just that…” He glanced nervously over his shoulder. “They’ve drawn pistols, and…”

“What?” Grayson swore, looking at the door and then back at me, torn. He made a sound that laid somewhere between a sigh and a growl, and then he suddenly seized my arm, dragging me towards the desk.

I began to protest. “What are you—” my words dissolved into a yelp as he shoved me down into the chair, hurriedly using the loose length of rope hanging from my wrists to bind my hands to the chair’s right arm.

“I’ll be right back,” he grunted, before whirling around and stalking back out into the hallway. The other pirate shot me a furtive glance, then turned to follow.

The door slammed shut behind them. Dazed, I looked down and gave my wrists a tug. They didn’t budge. I spent a few moments twisting and turning in a futile attempt to free myself, but despite the rush he’d been in Grayson still knew what he was doing—all of the knots were out of my reach. I let out a breath, shaking a loose strand of hair from my forehead.

Bang.

I nearly leapt out of the chair. My head jerked up towards the ceiling from where the sound had come. Was that a gunshot? The sound was promptly followed by more shouting, and then the pounding of footsteps over top of my head. The sensation of a thousand tiny needles pricking me all over assaulted my senses, as the reality of my situation began to dawn on me.

This ship was full of men who would shoot each other over something as trivial as a petty argument.

Men who made their way in life by pillaging and robbing others.

Men who would almost certainly toss me overboard the moment they realised who I was.

This time, it was impossible to stop the panic from sinking in. I felt my chest constricting, my lungs caving in on themselves, my breaths shortening, as the shouting continued. These pirates had no idea what they’d done, no idea what kind of trouble they had brought upon themselves, that they had dragged me into. One way or another, I was going to die on this ship.

Trying to breathe, my eyes began to flick around the room desperately, and landed on the desk directly in front of me. A letter opener was half-buried beneath a stack of papers.

Another gunshot prompted me to action. I grabbed hold of the chair as best I could and jerked it closer to the desk, but no matter how much I pulled and strained, I couldn’t quite reach the letter opener. Clenching my teeth to repress the fearful sobs that threatened to rise from my throat, I jammed my knee against the desk, trying to knock the letter opener closer. The impact resonated through my bones unpleasantly, but I repeated the action regardless. The letter opener eventually leapt out from underneath the papers. With some difficulty, I managed to grab it.

I sawed furiously through the ropes holding me down, skin burning. The blade was about as sharp as a butterknife, but somehow, I managed to get it all the way through one of the cords, loosening the bonds enough for me to pull myself free.

I jumped out of the chair and then found myself frozen. Now what? I was trapped on this ship with murderous pirates in the middle of the ocean. There was nowhere to run. Mind and heart racing both, I cracked open the door to check that the coast was clear, and then started back down the hallway towards the staircase that I assumed led above deck. Reaching its base, I carefully peered up.

The brightness of the sky was nearly blinding, but I could hear men shouting over one another. I didn’t care much to listen to exactly what they were fighting about; the only thought going through my head was that they were all distracted.

I inched my way up the stairs, trying to steady my breathing. My heart was pounding so loudly that a part of me was foolishly afraid they might hear, but none of them were so much as looking in my direction, let alone listening. They all seemed to be crowded towards the end of the deck. Beyond them stood two men, with pistols drawn. I arrived at the top of the stairs and took stock of my surroundings. The side of the ship was just a few feet to my right; behind me, the quarter deck, and in front of me, the intense standoff.

I cast my gaze back to the right. It was my only real option. I hesitated a moment, as the logical side of my brain tried to take over and informed me that this was a bad idea; but, I argued in return, there was no other escape. I could either stay on this ship and face whatever awful fate awaited me—and let’s be honest, I told myself, I won’t like it—or, I could take my chances and swim.

I didn’t leave time to feel afraid. I bolted for the side of the ship and, holding my breath, threw myself over it.

The plunge was painful in more ways than one. The sheer distance from the deck to the water had to have been at least fifty feet, and the impact stung my skin. Then, there was the cold. It seeped immediately through my clothing, sinking watery teeth into my skin and chilling me directly to my bones, paralyzing me for several crucial seconds before I was finally able to move. I forced my arms to action, eventually propelling myself to the surface, fighting against the raging waves. I was a good swimmer; years of growing up in a city near the shore had given me that much, at least. Gasping for air, I threw a glance over my shoulder towards the ship.

Unsurprisingly, the men had heard the splash and come running. I couldn’t hear them over the roar of the waves and the slosh of seawater in my ears, but I knew that I had to move fast. With any luck, I could flag another ship down; surely, we weren’t terribly far from Calais, where the Oasis had left port. This time of year, there were plenty of transporters and merchants sailing back and forth. All I had to do was hold out until…

A surface wave crashed on top of me and forced me back into the water’s icy jaws. I fought to come back up, coughing up as much saltwater as I could before trying to swim once more. The current fought back more than I expected, my arms and legs growing tired until I was struggling to remain afloat more than I was swimming.

There was a splash from somewhere behind me, but before I could even think about looking, I was pulled under once again. My eyes stung and blurred, and I struggled to get back to the surface. This time, no matter how hard I seemed to work my arms, I couldn’t feel the air. I couldn’t see. My body screamed for oxygen and finally, unable to hold my breath any longer, my mouth opened and water flowed into my lungs.

I tried to cough, my vision already darkening and the entire world spinning impossibly fast around me. I made one last feeble attempt to propel myself upwards before finally, the dizziness overtook me, and everything began fading away.

Something clasped itself around my right wrist and pulled hard, and that was the last thing I felt before I lost consciousness.

Chapter 3

I awoke with a start, and rolled onto my stomach to choke up several mouthfuls of saltwater.

Coughing and gasping, I blinked rapidly, but my vision was so blurry that I couldn’t see anything aside from the hard, brown surface that I was heaving onto. There were some distant-sounding voices, but I couldn’t have even begun to guess what they were saying.

The retching began to subside, and suddenly there were arms around me. I felt myself being lifted into a bridal carry. Dazed as I was, I made no effort to resist, still trying to regain my senses and eject any remaining water from my lungs. As I continued blinking, my eyes finally began to clear, and I regained some semblance of sight just in time to watch the main deck disappear as I was carried below.

Grayson kicked a door open and brought me into a cabin, but I didn’t have time to take stock of it before he had dumped me unceremoniously onto the floor. “Have you lost your bloody mind?” he demanded.

I looked up at him blankly. Like me, he was dripping wet; he must have been the one who had rescued me from the water. I sat all the way up, trying to make some gears in my brain turn again as Grayson loomed over me, fuming. “That’s got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever witnessed,” he berated me. “Did you honestly think you could swim for it? Outrun a ship? Or were you trying to drown yourself?”

I couldn’t remember what I had been thinking. I had been thinking very little, it seemed, and truth be told it hadn’t been a very calculated move. For a second, I considered that I might have even expected to die.

Grayson looked at me for several long moments, as though waiting for me to give him an answer, but I could barely string together a coherent thought, let alone offer an explanation.

Finally, he heaved a large breath, running a hand through sopping black hair. “Christ,” he muttered, and without saying another word to me, turned on his heel and all but stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Still stunned, I sat, soaked and shivering, and reflected on what was quite likely the dumbest thing I’d ever done in my life. Of course there had been no way for me to outswim a ship. And even had I managed to, I would have certainly worn myself out and drowned before coming upon any sort of rescue. Then again, had that been what I wanted?

After all, surely drowning was better than whatever fate had in store for me here.

I exhaled, looking around, and then down at myself. My dress was entirely ruined, to no surprise. Slowly, I began gathering handfuls of the skirts to wring the water out, fingers stiff and slightly blue with cold. The dress was thick and had several layers; I had chosen it to protect myself against the wind during the voyage. I had not counted on swimming in it. It would take ages to dry, I realised with an inward groan, and until then I would be stuck wearing it.

My head felt heavy, and I had just begun to think about what I would give for a change of clothes when the door suddenly swung open again and Grayson re-entered, carrying a bundle of cloth in one hand and a metal cup in the other. He approached and thrust the tankard into my face. “Here,” he grumbled. “Drink.”

Surprised, I reached up and took it. After confirming that it was water inside, I took a sip, rinsing the seawater out of my mouth. As I drank, he dropped the fabric on the ground in front of me.

I glanced down at it, swallowing and breathing a small sigh as the coating of salt in my throat was washed down. A dress; blue, worn, and faded, with tattered edges. I also realised when I looked back up at Grayson that he’d also brought with him another coil of rope.

He nodded at the dress. “Unless you’d like to catch pneumonia, I suggest you put that on,” he said. “And don’t complain about it, because it’s all we have.” He promptly turned his back on me, positioning himself squarely between me and the door. It took a moment to register that he expected me to get changed now.

I scowled. “You’re just going to stand there?” I spat, the kindness he’d just shown me completely forgotten.

He shot me a glance over his shoulder. “I can’t leave you alone after a stunt like that.”

Arsehole. I ground my teeth, setting the cup down and getting to my feet. Grayson faced the door again. “Don’t get any smart ideas,” he warned me.

For a few moments, I stood there and glowered at the back of his head, but it seemed as though he truly had no intention of leaving the room. My face flushed, stomach churning with displeasure, but I had little choice but to start disrobing.

I turned myself to the opposite wall so I wouldn’t have to look at him, but even still my skin prickled as I peeled off the layers of my soaked dress, struggling to maintain some shred of dignity. No matter how hard I tried to ignore him, his mere presence stripped all feelings of privacy from me, whether he could see me or not.

It came as no shock to discover that my underclothes were drenched through, and after some consideration, I decided that they would have to come off too. That meant, of course, that I’d have nothing to wear under the new dress. As I held up the article of clothing, I found myself reddening further as I saw how…inappropriate it was for a woman of my station. It did appear to be relatively clean, though I shuddered to think who might have worn it before me.

But I could hardly afford to be picky. With an uncertain glance over my shoulder to make sure that Grayson still wasn’t looking, I swallowed my pride and put it on. The skirts were rather short, though if this was by design, or if the edges had just worn away over time, I was unsure. It clung tightly to my body, especially since I had no underclothes to pad it out, and outlined my shape—except in the chest area, as it had clearly been made for someone who was more well-endowed than I. Despite this, it still exposed an indecent amount of decolletage.

My cheeks seared with embarrassment just looking down at myself, but at least it felt better to be in dry clothes. I had yet to say anything, but Grayson seemed to sense that I was finished regardless. “Done?” he asked.

I cleared my throat awkwardly and nodded, before remembering that he was still facing away from me. “Yes,” I mumbled.

He turned, and my heart immediately began to race. I clutched my arms to my sides and tried to pull the fabric of the dress away from my skin. However, his appraisal of me was surprisingly brief and he quickly met my eyes again, letting out an exhale. “Now,” he drawled. “Let me explain how the rest of this is going to go. You’re going to sit very still and not make a fuss while I tie you up. And then, provided you behave yourself for the rest of the voyage, we won’t have to do anything unpleasant.” His eyes flashed dangerously.

I felt another surge of panic as he made a move towards me, and instinctively took a step back. The thought of being restrained hand and foot again and left helpless as I was dragged to what would certainly be my death was too much. “Please don’t,” I found myself pleading, backing away from him further.

He looked exasperated. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked. “I can hardly let you try and get yourself killed again, can I?”

“I didn’t—”

“Stop,” he snarled. “This is for your own good more than anything. You pull something like that again, and the captain is like to decide that you’re more trouble than you’re worth.” He took another step closer to me, expression darkening. “And I don’t think you want to know what will happen after that.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I asked, voice quivering.

“No. It’s just the truth.” He stared back at me evenly. “I told you this before. All you have to do is cooperate, and you’ll be returned home within a few weeks.”

“I won’t!” I blurted out. My teeth clenched together in frustration, and no longer able to contain myself, the question that had been burning on the back of my tongue since I’d landed in this situation burst out of me. “Do you even have any idea who I am?”

That gave him pause. He raised an eyebrow and stared at me for a moment, clearly trying to determine what I was getting at as I did my best to keep from trembling. “Of course,” he said, slowly. I looked at him expectantly, and seeing this, he turned and went to the desk over by the door, shuffling through a few papers and leather-bound books until he finally pulled out what looked to be a ledger. He opened it to a bookmarked page.

“Penelope Haywood, passenger aboard the Oasis bound for Dover,” he read aloud. “Your father is Henry Haywood, businessman and owner of several successful textile factories in London.” He lifted his head to look at me, frowning. “Knowing these things is part of my job.”

Of course. Of course. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry. A bitter smile rose to my face, and I shook my head, turning my eyes to the ceiling. “Penny Haywood came down with a bad fever on the day of the voyage,” I told him. “The captain feared it was typhoid, and wouldn’t allow her to board. I took her spot at the last moment.”

My words hung in the air between us. Grayson’s brow furrowed, plainly trying to determine my candour. For several seconds, there was no sound, apart from the crashing of waves against the side of the ship.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Who are you, then?” he asked, carefully.

I faltered, the initial confidence of my outburst fading. There was no point in hiding it. They were going to find out sooner or later, and what was the use in dragging this nightmare out? “My name is Everly Williams,” I said. “My father is Admiral Benjamin Williams.”

Grayson’s eyebrows shot up. Slowly, he began to repeat me. “Your father is…”

“I believe your kind usually refer to him as ‘Admiral Hangman’,” I finished his half-formed thought. “Or so I’ve heard. Not only does he have countless naval ships at his disposal, but he harbours a particularly strong dislike for pirates.” I let out a shaky breath. “You can bring me to port and try to ransom me back to him, as you plan. But it won’t end well for any of us.”

Grayson’s expression did not change, save for a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. For the first time since meeting him, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

I pressed my lips together, trying to keep them from trembling and utterly failing. “Perhaps you should have just let me drown,” I mumbled.

There was a prolonged silence.

Grayson quietly closed the ledger in front of him and ran a hand through his hair, squeezing a fistful of it hard as he turned away from me and muttered what sounded like a stream of curses under his breath. Suddenly, he swung the door open. “Wait here,” he said gruffly over his shoulder before leaving the room.

For several long moments, I stood there, not sure what to do. Now that everything was out in the open, I doubted they would attempt the ransom, but they weren’t going to just drop me off in Dover either. Anxieties churned in my stomach. Had that been the right move? Should I have lied about my identity instead? In my mind, the most logical thing these pirates could do next was get rid of me and any trace that I’d ever been aboard this ship in order to avoid drawing the ire of my father. The mere thought made my chest begin to tighten again.

Trying to distract myself, I began fussing with my hair using the grimy mirror on the wall. It was a complete mess, of course; the carefully placed ringlets had fallen out, strands of chestnut-coloured hair escaping the confines of their tight bun and choosing to hang limply around my head, sticking to the sides of my face. I began digging my fingers into the tangles to pull out the pins. It took a great deal of time and effort, but it helped me to evade thoughts of all the ways these pirates could have me quickly and easily killed.

I managed to release my hair from the updo and combed through the worst of the knots with my fingers, leaving it loose and hanging around my shoulders, which at least helped cover up some of my exposed skin. As I stared at my blanched, exhausted reflection and tried to tame my hair, I began to feel foolish for stewing over my appearance when it wasn’t like to matter in a few hours.

Grayson returned just as another round of fearful nausea came upon me, expression grim. I braced myself, glancing at his hands, but he wasn’t holding any weapons or sandbags. Instead, he held the door open and gestured for me to come through. “Come with me,” he instructed. “The captain wants a word.”

Chapter 4

A small table had been set up inside the captain’s quarters, upon which were various foods; including fruit, a loaf of dry bread, and some manner of roasted bird. It wasn’t until I laid eyes on the food that I realised how empty my stomach was. My mouth watered at the sight, but I quickly swallowed and lifted my eyes up to the captain, who was seated in a wooden chair behind the desk.

He certainly looked the part, if nothing else, sporting a short and sandy bush of a beard and a cocked hat, which served to flatten and hide the tangled mess of hair atop his head. He was an older man, with a face that had been hardened by years at sea and seen its fair share of battles—this, I could tell from the faint outlines of scars that lined his features. Still, he had a pleasant smile for me when I entered, rising to offer me a meagre bow.

“Milady,” he said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Miss Williams, was it?”

I straightened myself, trying to muster as much dignity as possible despite the obscene dress I was wearing. “Yes,” I said carefully. “And you’re…”

“Captain Nicholas Manderly, at your service,” he said. “And of course, you’ve already met Grayson.”

I glanced at Grayson, who had planted himself by the door. His eyes flicked towards me, but other than that he kept a stony, unreadable expression plastered across his face.

I turned back to the captain, eyes snagging on the food for a moment, but I was quick to redirect my attention. Captain Manderly noticed the look, and gestured to the table. “I’m sure you’re hungry,” he said. “Please.”

I longed to comply, but stayed where I was, eyeing the food uncertainly. Perhaps this was how they would get rid of me? Would I take a bite only to find that the food had been laced with arsenic?

As if to assuage my fears, the captain emerged from behind the desk and sat at the table before me, helping himself to a carving of the bird. With an anxious swallow, I took the seat across from him. Captain Manderly shot me a big, toothy smile before very deliberately scooping a generous serving of meat onto his fork and putting it into his mouth.

Reassured, I began taking some food for my own plate. For a few moments, there was silence, apart from the clinking of the silverware as we ate. I was endeavouring to restrain myself, but it was difficult; I was unsure how long it had been since I had last eaten, and my brisk swim earlier had left me rather famished. Everything seemed to taste normal, and as I got some food into my stomach, my brain began working a bit more logically; leading me to decide that it didn’t make much sense for them to try and poison me anyway. If they truly wanted me dead, I reasoned, I would not be sitting here now.

“So,” Captain Manderly began, finally. “Grayson filled me in on the…mix-up.” His smile faded, ever so slightly. Swallowing, I lifted my eyes to look at him, doing my best to banish all fear from my expression. “This puts us in quite a difficult situation,” he told me. “As I’m sure you realise.”

I nodded, with a shaky exhale. “I do.”

“Well.” His chair creaked softly as he leaned backwards in it. “Then I’m sure you also realise that by now, the attack on—what was it?”

“The Oasis,” Grayson grunted from behind me. I jumped, and had to stop myself from whirling to look at him. I had nearly forgotten he was there.

“Yes, the Oasis,” Captain Manderly agreed. “The attack has been reported in England, and your father is well aware of what has happened to you. So, you might say, we’ve reached the point of no return.”

The appetite I’d discovered just a few minutes ago vanished almost instantly. I had suspected as much, but it was disheartening to hear it said out loud. Somehow, a part of me had still been hoping that I could be quietly dropped off at port, and we could pretend that none of this had ever happened. But that would have been too easy. “Then,” I began, straining to keep my expression even. “What are you planning to do with me?”

Captain Manderly spread his arms wide, giving me a grim smile. “That’s the question,” he said. “I can think of one or two solutions, but—” His eyes wandered behind me, towards Grayson. “Grayson and I both agree that we’d rather not do anything…drastic. We have no desire to make your father any angrier than we’ve already made him.”

Again, I resisted the urge to look back at Grayson and swallowed, closing my eyes for a brief moment as I processed this thinly veiled euphemism. I grasped for a good way to respond. “You’re familiar with my father’s reputation, then?” I asked, finally.

At this, he let out a laugh. “Ain’t a pirate alive without a healthy fear of Admiral Hangman, milady,” he said. “He’s hung more than a few of my men who were stupid enough to get caught.”

This was no surprise to me. My father was known to favour and give out promotions to any man who captured a pirate for the gallows. And if someone were to capture one of the pirates who had abducted his daughter? Knowing him, he’d probably let that man marry me.

Captain Manderly drummed his fingers against the table. “I had Grayson bring you in here because I thought some cooperation might be in everyone’s best interests.”

Now with a mild confidence that they weren’t interested in murdering me, I shifted and sat upright in my seat. “Cooperation?” I repeated.

Grayson appeared on my left, giving me another start. “You know your father better than us,” he said. “If we allowed you to pen a letter to him once we reached port—a letter which very delicately explained the situation and emphasised how well you’ve been treated—would he be willing to come to some kind of arrangement?”

I blinked at him, and then at Captain Manderly. They both stared back at me expectantly. Grayson was presenting the idea as the solution, but my first instinct was to tell them that it would never work. I had no idea what I could possibly write that would convince him not to fire all cannons at the pirates’ ship the moment it came into view, but my alternative was…well, “drastic”, as Captain Manderly had put it. With those words ringing in my head, I swallowed the refusal.

“Supposing that I agree to this,” I said, carefully. “I imagine I would not be kept bound to a post for the remainder of the voyage?” I glanced pointedly at Grayson, who shifted his weight back and looked vaguely uncomfortable.

Captain Manderly’s mouth twitched into an amused smirk. “Apologies for that, milady,” he said. “I promise that from here on out, you will be treated as a guest. You will be free to roam the ship as you please, so long as you are not in the way, and you will be kept well-fed and provided for.” He leaned forward “In return, however, you will write that letter when we reach port.”

His tone was pleasant, but the flash in his eye spelled a clear warning for me. If I refused, they could just as easily slit my throat and toss me overboard, and then hope that my father never caught up with them. No, there was no real choice here—I was in too deep now, and there was nowhere to go but deeper. Swallowing, I nodded. “You have yourselves an agreement,” I said.

Captain Manderly broke into a smile. “Well, then. Allow me to formally welcome you aboard the Libertas, milady.” He stood, moving behind the desk to grab a bottle of wine, which he brought back to the table. I cast a sidelong glance at Grayson, but he was lost enough in thought that he didn’t seem to notice. The captain poured two glasses of the wine and offered one to me. “We’ll see to it that sufficient quarters are prepared for you. Grayson?”

Snapping back to attention with a grunt, Grayson nodded and turned to leave the room. I accepted the glass the captain had handed to me and took a sip, more out of politeness than thirst. To my surprise, it was rich and flavourful, almost like something my father would have had served at dinner. It occurred to me suddenly that it had likely been stolen off the very ship from which I’d been abducted.

Perhaps it was due to nerves, or simply pure exhaustion, but this was somehow funny to me. I couldn’t hold back a smile.

It was a few minutes before Grayson returned, and he jerked his head at me in a brusque indication to follow him. As I stood, Captain Manderly did as well, gracing me with another one of his halfway serious bows before I took my leave.

Grayson said nothing as he led me down the hall, and it was impossible not to feel discomfited by the tension in the air. Compared to Captain Manderly, Grayson’s expression was exceedingly difficult to read, and I honestly wasn’t sure if he was altogether pleased with the arrangement or if he would have rather trussed me up again and tossed me in some closet to keep me out of the way. I supposed it didn’t much matter how he felt about it—as Captain Manderly had pointed out, they had few choices if they wanted my help in avoiding the wrath of my father.

He led me back to the room he’d dumped me in earlier, where I had gotten changed. I noted with mild surprise that it was slightly cleaner than when I had first seen it, and the bed against the wall had been made. “You’ll sleep in this cabin,” he told me. “These are my personal quarters—no one will bother you here.”

I turned to look at him, throwing my brows up. “Your quarters?” I repeated. “Then where will you sleep?”

Grayson shrugged. “I’ll find an empty spot somewhere in the common area,” he grumbled. Abruptly, he turned to leave, but then stopped, as if remembering something. “Oh.” He faced me. “As the captain said, you’re free to roam the ship, but if I may offer a suggestion…” His hands slipped into his pockets. “You should mind yourself. The only types of women the men on this ship see are hags and toothless prostitutes whenever we stop at ports. I’d wager that many of them have never seen a woman like you in their lives.” Grayson’s eyes swept my figure, and it was hard not to shield myself from his discerning gaze. “If you do happen to fancy a walk, find me first and let me know.”

I tried to keep my face steady, clenching my jaw, but the obvious look at the dress I was wearing made my skin flush red. “Are you trying to frighten me?” I asked sourly.

“Not at all.” The corner of his mouth turned upwards, however, relishing my unease. “I just think we’d all feel a little better if you were chaperoned.”

A flare of irritation rose in my chest at the suggestion. Grayson gave me a small smile and then a short bow, taking a step back towards the open doorway. “Enjoy your stay, Miss Williams.”

Chapter 5

Though I was exhausted, sleep did not come easily. I tossed and turned the whole night: several times, I came close to drifting off, only to be jerked awake by the rocking of the ship or the sound of a wave hitting the side. Incessant reminders of where I was, and the precarious situation in which I found myself.

My stomach churned as I laid awake and stared at the ceiling. Even given the current arrangement, I still had plenty of anxieties about what was to come. Convincing Father not to bring the hammer down on my abductors was going to be a challenge, and even if I managed to get out of this ordeal alive, I was certain that I would never be allowed out of the house again. The only reason Father had agreed to let me go on this voyage was because Mother had insisted that I visit her in Calais. He’d use this incident as an excuse to prevent me from setting foot on a ship ever again, I was certain.  

When I eventually closed my eyes, I was greeted by an endless barrage of nightmares. I wasn’t sure which were worse—the ones where I was being thrown over the side of the ship and left to drown, or the ones where my father locked me in my bedroom for years on end before forcing me to marry some older man with a large wad of money.

I woke the next morning to a sharp knock on the door. Feeling sick to my stomach, I pulled myself out of bed and went to open it, only to find a small tray with some hard bread and fruit preserves sitting on the floor just outside.

I brought the food into the room and tried my best to nibble on it, thinking it might help settle the butterflies in my stomach. Part of me wanted to simply curl up and go back to sleep, in the hopes that when I awoke, I would be back in my own bed in southern England. But I knew better than to set myself up for a disappointment like that. Besides, I was just too restless. I glanced out the small porthole over the bed, longing for a breath of fresh air, but Grayson’s warning last night kept ringing in my ears.

I scowled to myself, jaw clenching. I was almost certain that he had said those things for no other reason than to frighten me, but even more annoying was the fact that it had worked. Regardless, I convinced myself that it would do me good to step outside for a few minutes. The area below deck reeked of rotting wood and growing mould, and while it had been bearable at first, it was starting to get to me—and certainly not helping my upset stomach.

I opened the door and actively decided not to seek out Grayson; he would, I felt, only ruin my morning further. Perhaps I was trying to regain some control over my situation, or simply petty spite, but the thought of finding him just so he could follow me all over the ship put an uncomfortable tension in my chest.

I made my way down the hallway towards the stairs, catching a whiff of the salty air travelling down from up above. I had never been particularly fond of the smell, but it was better than the inescapable stench that filled the space below. I climbed the staircase and squinted against the glaring sunlight as I emerged on deck, almost immediately feeling several pairs of eyes turn on me.

Suddenly remembering how I looked, my cheeks began to burn. I clutched at the ruffles on the sides of the unseemly dress: I was not unused to being stared at like this. Back home, I’d often gotten looks and whispers from my father’s men. As the unmarried twenty-two-year-old daughter of Admiral Williams himself, any outing I made was something of a spectacle, whether I intended for it to be or not.

But this…this was much different. I’d had the luxury of knowing that my father’s men would never dare lay a hand on me—save the ones I allowed, of course. What my father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. But here, eyes were drawn to me for different reasons altogether, and no matter how hard I tried to put it out of my mind, I kept hearing Grayson’s words playing over and over again in my ears. Tendrils of regret started creeping their way into my head, but I was far too proud to turn around and go back down the stairs, not with everyone watching my every move. I swallowed and lifted my chin, crossing my arms awkwardly over my chest and looking for somewhere to go.

My eyes landed on the railing and locked on, trying to ignore the stares of the pirates on deck as they whispered amongst themselves. As I reached the edge of the deck, I focused instead on the blue waves on the horizon, which stretched for miles upon miles ahead of me. Though the rocking of the ship was nauseating from below deck, it was somehow comforting to watch the water roll lazily back and forth from up here.

I heard voices to my lower left, and peered further over the side of the ship to look down. Much to my surprise, there were two men on the hull. They seemed, at first, to be floating over the water, but I quickly realised that they were actually being suspended by a complicated system of ropes secured around their waists. Curiously, I followed the trail to another man on deck just a short way from me. He stood near some kind of pulley, which supported the weight of the two pirates.

Looking back over the side, I watched them with great interest. One of them had various tools hanging from his belt while the other was holding several pieces of scrap wood, seemingly there to make repairs to the ship’s hull. The wooden surface of the Libertas, as Captain Manderly had called it, was rather splintered and broken up, and I could just barely see some small bullet holes scattered across.

I only vaguely recalled the events of the attack on the Oasis, but I did remember hearing gunshots and the sounds of cannons firing. I turned my gaze over my shoulder to take a brief stock of the rest of the ship—unsurprisingly, it had sustained a fair amount of damage. There were tears in the sails, a few broken mizzenmasts, and some general debris laying around on deck—though the crew was hard at work cleaning it up.

I leaned over the railing to take another look at the men making repairs. All that damage done, all the trouble and effort to repair it, and all they had to show for it was me: the only person on that entire ship whom they would be unable to ransom.

“Not thinking of going for another swim, are you?”

I stifled a gasp, and whirled around. Grayson was moving purposefully towards me, shooting warning glares at a few crew members who were still staring. I couldn’t keep the scowl from my face as he approached. “I just needed some air,” I muttered.

Grayson let out a grunt, leaning forward and drumming his fingers against the wood. “Don’t know if you noticed, but you’re drawing quite a lot of attention out here,” he informed me, casting another glance over his shoulder.

I very much had noticed. Even though I was avoiding eye contact with the other pirates at all costs, I could still feel them staring holes in my back. I straightened my shoulders and pressed my lips together, trying to look like I was unbothered. Grayson opened his mouth to say something else, but then his gaze was drawn to the two men suspended from the side of the ship, and he suddenly leaned further over the railing. “Oi!” he shouted.

The two pirates who I had just been watching had begun shoving at each other, and were now swaying back and forth against the hull. “Bloody fucking idiots!” Grayson yelled, taking a few steps closer to where they were hanging. “If one of you falls, no one is coming to fish you out!”

The pirates steadied themselves and looked up at Grayson, grumbling to themselves but resuming their work. Grayson exhaled and shook his head with a measure of exasperation, muttering a swear under his breath. I observed him for a moment, brow furrowing. Now that I was hearing him alongside everyone else on deck, I couldn’t help but mark a difference in his speech when compared to the rest of the crew. There was a cadence in his voice that didn’t quite fit with the bits and pieces of conversation I could hear around me. Was it an accent? It was faint, of course, likely faded with time, but there were still traces of it; just enough to make me raise an eyebrow, but not enough to place it.

I was forced to quickly put my curiosity away as his attention returned to me. He threw another glance sideways before suddenly grabbing hold of my wrist. “I think that’s quite enough fresh air,” he said, pulling me away from the railing.

I was surprised enough to stumble, but recovered and managed to resist, trying to rip my arm away from him. “Let go of me,” I protested, but with a swift yank he dragged me in close to him. The palm of his hand was rough and leathery, and I could feel hard callouses pressing against my skin as he tightened his grip. I found myself much nearer to him than I wanted to be and had nowhere to look but into his stern, grey eyes.

“I meant what I said yesterday,” he said, voice low. “We’d all feel a lot better about this little arrangement if you kept yourself out of trouble and did as you were told.” His brow twitched. “Unless, that is, you’d prefer to have a bunch of slack-jawed pirates leering at you. If you keep walking around dressed as you are, it won’t be long before one of them loses control.”

Colour rushed to my cheeks and I clenched my jaw, trying to extract myself from his clutches again, but he held tight. “Sooner or later,” he continued, softer still, “one of these men is going to rip that little dress off and have his way with you, and he’s not going to care what you have to say about it. Is that what you want?”

Before I could stop myself, I raised my free hand and slapped Grayson hard across his left cheek.

Everything above deck went dead. Several pairs of eyes turned to us, and I took a step back, feeling the sting in my hand and fear once again rising in my throat. Grayson looked stunned for a moment, but slowly rotated his head back to face me. Now I’ve done it, I thought to myself. He’s going to kill me.

It felt as though eons were passing as no one moved or said a word. Grayson’s eyes met mine again, now burning, and I braced myself for him to strike me back, slit my throat, throw me overboard, or all of the above.

Instead, however, he took a deliberate step towards me, leaning close to my ear. I tried not to flinch as his breath skittered across my cheek. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he murmured.

With that, he whipped around and stalked off.

Chapter 6

I spent the next few days defying Grayson by exploring the ship as much as I could, determined to show him that his attempts to scare me weren’t working. There was some kind of stubborn satisfaction in letting him think that I was gallivanting around the vessel without a care in the world; though in reality, I mostly only ventured to less populated portions of the Libertas. Fortunately, it wasn’t hard to maintain a wide berth from the pirates I did happen upon, especially since they seemed somehow warier of me than I was of them.

Still, my anxieties began to fade and paved the path for morbid curiosity as I observed the workings and procedures of the ship. It wasn’t a fact I was eager to admit, but I’d always found pirates somewhat…fascinating. Something about having the freedom to sail the seas as they pleased and making their livings by raiding and “taxing” merchant ships unlucky enough as to sail too close was exciting. Of course, I wasn’t naïve enough to believe it was truly so romantic in practice, but since I had this unique opportunity to see what real piracy was like up close, I was doing my best to take advantage.

I caught a few glimpses of Grayson every now and again, but he normally didn’t spare me more than a glance before moving on. Out of everyone, he always seemed to be the busiest, as opposed to Captain Manderly—who I often saw laughing, talking, and drinking with the crew. From what I understood about pirates, this was not unusual. The captain’s job was to keep the crew happy, which he seemed to be doing efficaciously, while Grayson did the logistical work behind the scenes.

They suited their roles quite well; Captain Manderly was much more the personable type, whereas I hardly saw Grayson talking to any of the other crewmates unless he was giving orders or scolding them.

Inevitably, this led to a certain level of grumbling from the crew when Grayson wasn’t around. Back home, I’d often overheard men making similar gripes behind my father’s back; things that they would never have dared speak whilst he was within earshot. I had no doubt that, had my father ever caught wind of such unkind words, the men involved would have been quickly made to regret them.

Here, it was…different. The pirates never seemed truly resentful of Grayson; there was something light, almost joking in the way they complained about him. And in the event that Grayson did happen to hear one of these insults, he would shrug it off, or turn around and sling a wittier one back.

The few times I had witnessed one of these berating lectures, I was still struck by the odd way he spoke compared to the others. I had difficulty determining exactly what it was, but the difference seemed to be most pronounced whenever he was visibly angry or annoyed.

Although I was slightly more comfortable being out and about on the ship, I still took all of my meals in the cabin Grayson had prepared for me. One of the crew members would punctually bring food three times a day and leave it outside the door, scurrying off before I could thank them. Captain Manderly extended the occasional invitation to dine with him in his quarters, which I always felt obliged to accept—not that I terribly minded. He was friendly enough, and it was my only option if I wanted human interaction since none of the crew dared to say a word to me.

I tried not to be out when it got dark just for caution’s sake, instead spending my evenings at Grayson’s desk trying to draft a letter to my father. Unfortunately, I had yet to write anything satisfactory. There was no sugar-coating the fact that I had been abducted by pirates, and this alone was enough to send my father into a rage. For as long as I could remember, Father had harboured a burning vendetta against pirates, and had made it his life’s mission to purge them completely from British waters. I couldn’t imagine a situation in which he would be willing to negotiate a peaceful solution.

On one particular night, I sat with several crumpled scraps of parchment and the itch of frustration gnawing away at me, until I suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of being shut in this room for another second. Abruptly, I stood, throwing the cabin door open. I paused for a moment, listening: raucous laughter echoed from the mess hall further in the ship’s depths. At this time of night, most of them were drinking or playing dice. It was probably safe for me to step out for a few minutes.

I made my way above deck, breathing the cool sea air in the hopes that it would clear my head. I walked to the edge of the ship and peered over—though the sun was long gone, the moon alone provided enough light for me to see water crashing against the ship’s hull.

I watched the sea foam, still trying to dictate that blasted letter in my mind. Was I wasting my time? Was it foolish to think that I could truly make this work? Deep down, I knew that success was highly unlikely; but I couldn’t very well let my captors know that, lest they decide to simply dispose of me. Then again, killing me would only make things worse for them when my father eventually found out what had happened.

And he would find out. Father was uncannily good at tracking down pirates, even when no one else could. Somehow, somewhere, someone on the Oasis saw something during the attack. Father would find out whatever that something was. And he would use it to determine exactly who it was who had wronged his family.

My thoughts were broken by the creaking of deck floorboards. I glanced over my shoulder and found a rather large figure approaching; one that must have stood over six feet tall, and perhaps a third as wide. I had seen this pirate once or twice around the ship and recalled that he was one of the more…stare-y ones. While most of the pirates avoided me like the plague, there were one or two whose eyes would linger whenever I went by.

He was upon me before I could think about moving away, stopping a short distance from me and towering over me like a massive, immovable wall. His expression was hard for me to decipher in the dark, and I could do nothing but press against the railing as a knot formed in my stomach.

There was only silence for what felt like several minutes. He just stood there, nearly unblinking, watching me intently. My heart pounded as I waited for him to do something or say something, and just as I began to wonder if I should scream, a voice cut through the silence behind me.

“Oi, James. You all right?”

A hand appeared and clapped the large pirate on the shoulder. My stomach turned over in panic, thinking wildly that I was now outnumbered—as if it mattered—but much to my relief, it was Grayson who appeared at the man’s side. His eyes flicked towards me, noticing my presence. He gave the large man a pat on the back and turned to say something quietly to him. I strained to hear what it was, but it was drowned out by the sloshing of the water just below.

After a moment, the pirate retreated towards the stairs, presumably to return to the mess hall, while Grayson faced me. Despite being currently perturbed with him, it was hard to conceal how grateful I was that he had appeared. There was a bottle clutched in his hand, half-empty—much to my surprise. Drinking was certainly a favourite pastime of the majority of the crew, but I had never seen Grayson partake.

Further subverting my expectations, he smiled and moved towards the railing, resting his elbows on the side. “You don’t have to worry about him,” he told me. “He’s a bit slow, is all.”

I frowned and glanced back in the direction he had gone. “Why didn’t he say anything?” I asked, before I could think better of it.

Grayson hopped up onto the railing and sat himself there, with one leg dangling over the side of the boat. I felt dizzy just watching him do it, but he was completely unfazed. “Hard to speak when you’ve got no tongue,” he said.

“He has no tongue?” I repeated, incredulous.

Grayson nodded. “Had it cut out a long time ago.”

I felt slightly nauseous, and turned out to the dim horizon to try and hide the colour draining out of my face. There was another question burning in my mouth, but I held myself back, not sure whether or not I really wanted the answer. Still, Grayson seemed to sense it and chuckled. “It wasn’t anyone on this ship who did it,” he reassured me.

I let out a small, quiet breath. Grayson took another drink, and then, as if he’d just thought of it, held the bottle towards me in offering.

I stared at it in surprise. The glass was tinted, so I couldn’t tell what colour the liquid was inside, and while my instincts were telling me to refuse, the pestering tickle of curiosity in the back of my mind lured me in. I’d never had the chance to try much hard liquor, apart from sips of whiskey here and there that I’d snuck from Father’s cabinet. I truly had no idea what sort of thing pirates might drink daily. But the way he was offering it to me, with half a smirk on his face, it almost felt like a challenge.

Tentatively, I took the bottle and gave it an experimental sniff. My immediate urge was to recoil from the nearly rancid scent that wafted up my nostrils, but resisted underneath Grayson’s hawklike gaze. Bracing myself, I lifted it to my mouth and took a drink.

It tasted even worse than it smelled. I pressed my lips together and tried my hardest not to choke as the liquor left a trail of fire down the back of my throat, but after a moment was unable to hold back a fit of coughs. Grayson’s smirk widened into a grin and he took the bottle back from me with a laugh. “Not what you’re used to, I take it,” he said.

I felt my cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. “How can you drink that?” I asked, watching him take another swig.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” He glanced at the bottle. “We don’t drink it for the taste. Don’t often get high-quality liquor, and whenever we do, it goes fast.”

I frowned at him. “You don’t strike me as someone who drinks much.”

He chuckled again. “I do quite a lot of things that you might not expect.” Turning his eyes upwards, he suddenly looked over at me again and tilted his head. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” he asked, leaving me no room to wonder what exactly that had meant.

I hesitated before answering. I didn’t want to open the can of worms that would come with telling him about my resignations regarding the letter, so I said instead, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Grayson stared at me for a few moments. I always had trouble reading exactly what was on his face, and with only the moonlight to illuminate his expression, it was even harder. He let out a long breath, leaning back against the mast again. “Well,” he said. “How about we play a game, then?”

This caught me entirely off guard. I stuttered for a moment, blinking in surprise. Grayson smiled at my confusion. “Here’s how it works,” he said. “I’ll ask you a yes or no question. If the answer is yes, you have to drink.” He shook the bottle of bile at me gently. “If the answer is no, then I have to drink.”

I didn’t respond for a moment, glancing between him and the bottle. A part of me wanted to tell him to shove off, but I was semi-intrigued by the concept, as well as his rather sudden and decidedly uncharacteristic behaviour. “All right,” I agreed, reaching out and taking the bottle from him.

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard at me, eyes glinting thoughtfully. “Are you married?” he asked.

Silently, I stretched out my arm, holding the bottle in his direction. His eyebrows shot up. “No?”

I just gave him an expectant look. True to his word, he took the bottle back from me and drank from it. “That’s rather unusual, for a woman your age,” he said, once he’d swallowed the mouthful. “What’s the problem? Not enough suitors?”

Counting this as a question, I gestured towards the bottle again. “Believe me, there are plenty,” I informed him.

He scoffed lightly, but took another drink regardless. “I didn’t realise you were in such high demand,” he remarked.

“Of course I am,” I told him. “I’m the daughter of a high-ranking British Naval officer. I’m still young, so plenty of time for me to pop out children. Whoever marries me will be given a sizable dowry and most likely secure for himself his own high-ranking position in the future.”

“All very good reasons,” Grayson said, with a nod. “But you’ve forgotten one. Surely, your beauty counts for something, doesn’t it?”

It was a clear attempt to fluster me, but I instead gave him a coy smile back. “Less than you might think,” I told him. “Just look at yourself. Beauty means nothing when your personality isn’t as attractive as your face.”

He was taken aback for a moment, and then quickly burst out laughing. “I see what you mean,” he retorted. “With a sharp tongue like that, it’s no wonder you aren’t married yet.” He returned the bottle to me. “Next question, then.” Grayson paused, narrowing his eyes at me in what was clearly a deep consideration. Then, his face lit up, and I caught a note of mischief in his smile. “Have you ever been with a man before?”

My heart leapt into my throat. It was hard not to look affronted by the question—he’d asked it so bluntly, the same way one might ask about the weather or the day’s events. I knew a few ladies back home who might have fainted on the spot from being asked such a thing. But it had been his intention to get some sort of reaction out of me, judging from the way he was watching my expression so keenly. I swallowed hard, determined not to give him the satisfaction, and pressed my mouth into a thin smile. “If you mean in the more traditional sense,” I began, “then the answer is no.”

That gave him pause, and he blinked. “And what if I meant it in a non-traditional sense?”

With a steady gaze and a quiet exhale, I took a drink, and managed to keep my face from scrunching up in disgust.

Grayson’s mouth opened, no doubt to press me further, but I swirled the liquor around in the bottle and cut him off. “I think I’d like a turn,” I said, and handed the bile back to him.

He snorted, and though his eyebrows remained raised, he took the hint. “As the lady wishes.”

“Are you from London?”

The smile faded from his face, and he said nothing, blinking at me for several seconds. It was hard not to break into a triumphant grin as his silence all but answered my question, and tilted my head at him expectantly.

“What makes you ask that?” he said, finally.

“Your accent.”

“I don’t have a London accent.”

“Not anymore,” I conceded. “You’ve lost most of it, or perhaps you’re trying to suppress it. But I still hear it every so often.”

Grayson studied my face carefully. I did the same back, and quickly became locked into some kind of unspoken staring contest. His eyes held me in place; I couldn’t have broken my gaze even if I’d wanted to. There was a flicker in his eyes, ever so slight, before he hopped off the railing with a heavy sigh. “It’s getting late,” he said, dodging the subject entirely. “Some of us have work to do in the morning.”

He breezed past me, much to my own astonishment. With a flare of irritation, I turned and called after him. “Can’t even follow the rules of your own game?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

Grayson stopped, and though he was still faced away from me, I could see him considering. After a moment, he looked at me over his shoulder, held up the bottle, and took a long, deliberate drink from it.

“Good night, Miss Williams,” he said, giving me a lazy wave before sauntering off.

Chapter 7

Grayson did not acknowledge our conversation from that night, offering no explanation or apology for his unusual behaviour. I was beginning to wonder if he had been a bit drunk—although, thinking back to the way he had balanced himself so easily on the ship’s railing, it seemed unlikely.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure what had gotten into me. Perhaps the alcohol had affected me more than I thought; whatever was in Grayson’s bottle had been quite strong, so even the few sips I’d taken could have clouded my judgement. I had occasionally flirted with my father’s low-ranking men in the same way whenever I was bored, or when Father had annoyed me in some manner. It was harmless, and had never resulted in anything more than a few minutes of fooling around in an empty storage room or a secluded section of the gardens. What exactly was I hoping to gain by applying that attitude towards Grayson? The same?

Try as I might, I couldn’t quite put that idea out of my mind. Then again, perhaps it was only because I knew how much it would infuriate my father to know that I had fraternised with a pirate.

The majority of the crew continued their unspoken agreement to avoid me. I suspected this was, in part, thanks to some well-placed threats from Grayson. I caught him scolding them once or twice for staring too long at me. I was loathe to admit it, but it did make me feel better to know that the pirates weren’t likely to follow through on any of the ideas I knew they had in their minds.

It was an afternoon less than a week later when I made my way above deck to find it busier than usual; weapons were being sharpened, barrels were being moved, and several of the crew were hoisting a Spanish flag onto the mast. I stood watching them for a few moments before a hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump. “Morning,” Grayson said in my ear, uncharacteristically cheerful.

I swatted his hand away, fighting the blush that rose to my cheeks. “What’s going on?” I asked, nodding towards the flagpole. “You’re going to attack another ship, aren’t you? That’s why they’re putting that flag up?”

A small smile found its way to Grayson’s face. “Aren’t you clever.” He stuck his hands into his pockets. “I’d like a word with you in private, if you don’t mind.”

His tone was polite enough, but it wasn’t really a request; he didn’t even wait for me to respond before turning to head below deck. Reluctantly, I followed, stepping aside on the staircase to narrowly avoid another crewmate as he came bounding through.

Grayson led me down the hallway and opened one of the doors, reaching around to give me a nudge inside. I recognised the room immediately—it was the same one I’d woken up in on the first day of this nightmare.

Grayson followed, and closed the door with a sigh. “Right,” he said. “This isn’t going to be pleasant, but it’ll be easier for both of us if you don’t give me a hard time.”

I furrowed my brow and started to ask what he was talking about before I noticed multiple coils of rope by the door. My eyes widened as he picked one up. “What are you doing?”

“There’s going to be a bit of excitement today,” Grayson told me. “And there is a chance it could get messy. The captain has asked me to ensure that you stay well away from the action.”

“I can just stay in your cabin,” I argued. “You don’t need to—”

He shook his head, swiftly cutting off my protest. “I might have fallen for that, if I hadn’t witnessed you attempt to drown yourself just a few weeks ago. I can’t take any chances with you.” He took a slow step towards me. “And even if all does go well, I don’t want to risk anyone becoming aware of your presence here. I’m sure you understand how disastrous that would be.”

My eyes flicked instinctively towards the door. It did not escape his notice, and he let out another long-suffering sigh. “You’re going to insist on doing this the hard way, aren’t you?”

Grayson moved almost before I could think. It was only after he had already seized my left arm and forced it behind my back that I began to struggle, scrambling to either push him away or pull from his grasp, but he spun me around with ease and captured my right arm next. I felt a rope loop around my wrists, and with a burst of adrenaline and heat rushing up my neck I jerked backwards and drove my elbow directly into his stomach. Somehow, the manoeuvre succeeded. I heard him grunt—more out of surprise than real discomfort, but his grip on my arms loosened, allowing me to slip free.

My freedom was short-lived. The next thing I knew, I hit the ground hard, air abandoning my lungs for several crucial seconds. Grayson made full use of those seconds, hands closing around my arms and planting his knees on either side of me, trapping me against the floorboards.

He was impossibly fast and completely impervious to my struggles as he folded my arms on top of one another against my back, with my wrists touching their opposite elbow, and before long he had them snugly bound there. Stunned, I tried to separate my arms. My arms were trapped at ninety-degree angles, rendering both of them useless. Grayson, still with a length of rope, took advantage of my momentary distraction and slipped a hand underneath my waist, passing a loop around my torso just below my chest.

His fingers came dangerously close to my breasts, and I yelped in surprise, twisting around to try and look up at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I spat.

He didn’t spare me so much as a glance, focused intently on the web he was weaving as he made yet another pass around my waist. “Like I said,” he grunted, “I’m not taking any chances with you.” I felt the cords tighten around me, and then he wound the rope again, this time right beneath shoulder-level.

A tug. The ropes pulled hard on my chest, and a sound came out of my mouth that I didn’t recognise.

It was somewhere between a yelp and a gasp, high-pitched, but not quite the sound of displeasure I had expected it to be. Blood immediately rushed to my face and I froze, a feeling of absolute mortification washing over me as I realised what had just happened. I felt Grayson pause above me.

Heart pounding, I waited to see what he would do, keeping my head angled towards the ground so he couldn’t see how badly my cheeks were burning. I prepared myself for some kind of remark from him; surely, he had a witty comment sitting on his tongue, ready to roll off so he could further relish my utter embarrassment. But there was only silence, and after another moment, his hands once again picked up where they left off and finished the tie. I pressed my lips together as the ropes dug into me to prevent any more unbidden noises from escaping.

My arms became inextricably glued to my back—when Grayson hooked a hand around them and pulled, and the entire top half of my body rose a few inches off the ground. Satisfied, he lowered me, whilst I strained to no avail. The knots were not budging, and the floor started to spin underneath me as I realised just how vulnerable I found myself.

We hadn’t even reached the worst of it. Grayson leaned closer to my ear. “I apologise in advance for this next part,” he said.

Something about the way he said it made shivers run down my spine. I twisted to look over my shoulder at him again, but he had already moved off of my back, and one of his hands clasped around my ankles while the other grabbed the hem of my skirt and pushed it up.

I shrieked. Evidently, he had anticipated the attempted kick at his head and leaned back, holding my legs down. Air touched my very bare calves, and an instinctual horror took such strong hold of me that it took a moment to realise that he hadn’t actually pulled the skirt past my thighs.

In that moment, he had already begun winding yet more rope around my ankles, neatly coiling and then wrapping it vertically in between, forming hempen cuffs. He moved up to my knees and applied rope just below them in the same fashion, fingers grazing my skin almost teasingly. It was hard to keep myself from shuddering with each pass he made; the more he brushed against me, the more hyperaware I became of his touch, the more my skin prickled in what might have been anticipation. I nearly had to remind myself to struggle, now that I was doing it more out of spite than any actual hope to get free.

As he pulled the last knot closed, his hand lingered on my calf for just a tad longer than necessary, and an unsettling warmth shot through my body. Strange thoughts began intruding upon me, forcing their way into my head. I was bound and entirely helpless, powerless to stop him should he decide to do anything else.

Touch me anywhere else.

Anywhere he wanted.

Such ideas should have upset me. I should have been afraid.

My thighs were clenched. Why were my thighs clenched?

I was quickly snapped out of the daze when Grayson tugged at a length of rope he had attached to my ankles, forcing my legs to bend backwards. I resisted out of instinct, puzzled, until I felt him attach the other end of the rope to my bound arms.

“Are you serious?” I hissed, unable to contain the comment.

Grayson did not deign to respond, swiftly closing the knot and then giving the tether an experimental tug. It held fast, limiting my range of movement even further. I clenched my teeth together so hard that my jaw ached. There had been little chance of me escaping as it was, and so the least he could have done, I thought, was allow me the small luxury of stretching my legs.

He checked each one of the knots that held me immobile before leaning back with a sigh. “That should keep you out of trouble,” he said. “Won’t be more than an hour.”

“Oh, only an hour?” I snarled, thrashing, but only succeeded in rocking my body from one side to the other. I heard him rifling around in his pocket, and craned my neck to see what he could possibly be doing now.

Without warning, his hand appeared in front of my face and forced what felt like a large, fabric knot between my teeth, filling my mouth. The ends of the cloth were pulled against my cheeks and tied together at the back of my head, and just like that, he’d robbed me of any further objections. I let out a muffled protest and glared over my shoulder, but it only made him smirk, grey eyes glinting in amusement. “Behave yourself,” he told me. “I’ll let you out once it’s over. Maybe.”

He added that last “maybe” with a mischievous grin, and although it was clearly just an attempt to rile me, it pushed me over the edge. I shouted some unladylike things at him through the gag, struggling harder as he stood and walked away. He didn’t even look back as he threw the door open and left, slamming it shut behind him.

I struggled feebly for a few minutes out of principle, but not only was there absolutely no chance of escape from the bonds he’d put me in, I had already exhausted myself. I had no choice but to give up and sulk, reflecting on the humiliation I’d just endured, on how easily and effortlessly he’d overpowered me and bound me like a neatly-wrapped package. My resistance had barely even hindered him.

Perhaps more frustrating, however, was the fact that my body was continuing to have entirely the wrong reaction to all of this.

The ropes pressing down on my chest and keeping me tightly restrained were not as uncomfortable as they should have been. Waves of a strange, tingling sensation kept ripping through my lower abdomen and settling into the space between my legs. My heart was pounding, and I couldn’t seem to make it stop. What was wrong with me? I had just been held down and tied up by a pirate, I reminded myself; something that any sane person would describe as unpleasant at the least. So why was there an increasingly insistent yearning in between my thighs?

I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that would help. I tried to focus on my anger at Grayson for treating me like this, but the irritation was fading alarmingly fast as I couldn’t help but notice that, despite all that had transpired, he hadn’t actually hurt me. The ropes weren’t even particularly rough or chafing.

This struck me as odd, and shifting, I carefully rolled onto my side, wincing as the movement put more strain on the muscles in my arms and shoulders. When I looked down at myself, I was able to confirm that the rope I was bound with looked soft—different from the rough, nautical type that had been used on me when I was first been abducted. This was much gentler against my skin, and I couldn’t imagine that it was anything they used for rigging on deck, not with the amount of rain and seawater flying around. The fabric in my mouth, too, was softer than I would have expected, which I discovered when I began trying to push it out with my tongue. It also seemed to be clean, as opposed to the one filled with salt and dirt that I’d been gagged with before.

I blinked myself back to my senses. What did it matter? The fact remained that I had once again been trussed up and left alone, which was enough to warrant more distress than I currently felt.

Before long, I heard men’s voices shouting. I strained, but couldn’t make much out, and I remembered what Grayson had said about things getting “messy”. Anxiety prickled at my insides, as I tried to imagine what might happen if this situation did become violent. Was it possible for someone to make their way down here and find me? And would that be a good thing, or a bad one? Perhaps, were I to be found and rescued, this whole ordeal would finally end. I could be returned home, safe and sound…

…and then likely never be allowed to leave the estate unaccompanied again.

The thought immediately put a damper on the entire fantasy, and I discarded it.

Thump. Something struck the deck above me, and my head jerked upwards, staring at the ceiling as though I could somehow see through it if I looked hard enough. No luck, but the shouting increased in volume, above it all rising the unmistakable booming voice of Captain Manderly. Another thud, then a crack that pierced through the floorboards, so loud and clear that I might have thought it had come from this very room had I not known better.

My blood ran cold. A gunshot.

Chapter 8

Voices rose, and the ceiling shook with the pounding of running feet. My heart raced as I struggled feebly against my bonds. What if someone really did wind up down here? Panicked, in the heat of battle, and finding a bound woman alone below the ship’s deck…my chest seized realising what was most likely to happen. I listened for the sound of someone coming down the steps, waiting breathlessly, but no one came. After several moments, there was another gunshot, and the shouting began to die down. I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Was it over? So quickly?

The seconds slid by agonisingly slow as I listened, strained to hear what was going on. They were talking again, in lower registers, too quietly for me to make out from where I was. A short growl of frustration escaped my throat as I wrenched at the ropes holding me again, not expecting anything to come of it. Naturally, Grayson’s knots held fast.

The voices continued above, and before long, I heard more footsteps, pacing back and forth, but now with less urgency. There were a few more thuds, like something heavy being dropped onto the deck. Had they been successful after all? I could only imagine that they were now dragging loot over from the poor merchant ship that had been unlucky enough to cross their path. Recalling the gunshots, nausea brewed in my stomach, and I wondered if anyone had been hurt.

I wasn’t sure how long I waited, listening to the noise from above and desperately trying to decipher what was going on, until the sound of footsteps coming down the hall grabbed my attention. I ended my staring contest with the ceiling and looked at the door, heartrate once again quickening, but it was only Grayson. His eyes locked with mine and he shot me what seemed to be a forced smile. “Still sitting pretty, I see,” he said, making his way over to me.

It took me a moment to remember that I was cross with him, and struggled against the ropes to express as much.

“You’re going to have to hold still if you want me to untie you,” he said, kneeling on the floor beside me. “Unless you’re trying to tell me that you’d like to spend more time like this?”

I furrowed my brow into a glare and let out an exasperated sigh through my nose. Grayson caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my gaze to meet his. “Well?” he prompted me. Begrudgingly, I shook my head, clenching my teeth against the knotted cloth in my mouth and trying to ignore the way his touch made my skin tingle.

“Didn’t think so.” He released my chin and then gave a tug on my arm, pulling me back onto my stomach so he could free me. I noted that although he had a perfectly good dagger at his side, he was instead undoing each of the knots by hand.

The pressure the ropes had been applying began to ease, and I squirmed impatiently, releasing a few insistent muffled noises until he finally undid the gag with a sigh of exasperation. I was quick to spit it out, letting out a breath of relief. A stream of obscenities sprang to my tongue that I itched to let loose, but I bit them back. If I started swearing at him, I was sure Grayson would take no issue with putting the gag back in my mouth and leaving me tied up to stew for a few more hours.

He finally released my arms and I was able to push myself to my knees and stand, stifling the groan of painful relief as my shoulders finally relaxed. I raised myself onto the balls of my feet to stretch my legs, casting a furtive glance at Grayson over my shoulder. He didn’t look at me, instead seeming rather focused on coiling up the rope that now laid in heaps and tangles on the floor around him.

A blush rose to my cheeks. I angrily turned away from him, clenching my teeth and willing it to go away. “Go back to your cabin,” Grayson said suddenly, without looking up. “It’s still a bit messy on deck.”

Before I could wonder what he meant by that, a sound cut through the air from above us, a scream so full of pain that it made my chest seize in distress. “I heard gunshots,” I remembered. “Is someone hurt?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Grayson grunted, slowly pushing himself off the ground with the coiled rope in one hand.

Another scream, followed by a chorus of voices. What were they doing? Had one of them been shot? My mind raced to imagine what kind of remedy pirates would apply to a gunshot wound. I highly doubted any of them had the knowledge to administer an even remotely proper treatment.

My instincts took over and I made my way purposefully towards the door, throwing it open. Grayson seemed to detect my intention before I got very far, and I heard him start to follow. “Don’t—”

Before he could try to stop me, I broke into a run down the hallway, making my way for the stairs. “Everly!” he shouted.

I burst out on deck already breathless with anticipation of the scene laid out before me. Sure enough, there were a few pirates gathered around one of their crewmates lying on the deck, with spatters of blood staining the wooden planks underneath him. Groans and cries of pain rose from the man on the ground, and I saw one of the pirates approaching with a large blade, glowing orange with heat. A streak of horror ran me through: they’re going to amputate. Of course, they would resort immediately to amputation. After all, limiting the chance of an infection this way was better than one of them trying to remove the bullet without knowing how. My eyes flickered back down to the victim, quickly identifying his right leg as the source of the bleeding.

My feet moved on their own, and I was unable to stop myself. “Wait,” I found myself saying, and then said it louder when no one seemed to hear me. “Wait!”

Several of the pirates turned, and Captain Manderly’s gaze was drawn to me in surprise as I approached the scene. I only made it about halfway before a hand snatched my arm from behind and yanked me backwards.

Grayson looked utterly exasperated. “Everly,” he repeated, as I tried to pull away from him. “You don’t want to see this.”

“Get off me!” I protested, and gave him a shove. To my surprise, he actually reeled backwards a few steps, but was quick to seize me again to keep me from going any further. “I can help!” I insisted, raising my voice to be heard above the moans of pain. My mouth moved faster than I could think, as I quickly tried to spit out my arguments before they could do anything stupid. “I might be able to get the bullet out safely, you don’t have to—”

Grayson opened his mouth to say something, but it was Captain Manderly who cut me off, voice rising above all the rest. “Grayson,” he said sharply. “Let go of her.”

Grayson complied, furrowing his brow. I turned to look at Captain Manderly, who had put out a hand to stop the man with the heated knife. “You think you can get the bullet out of his leg without him having to lose it?” he asked, eyebrows knitting together.

I swallowed hard, faltering. With several pairs of eyes on me, my confidence in the subject matter was rapidly dwindling, but it was hardly the time to start doubting myself now. I took a careful step towards the man to get a better look at the wound. The bullet had entered through his calf, leaving behind a hole that continued to ooze blood. “From this angle, the bullet shouldn’t have struck any bones,” I said, looking back up at Captain Manderly. “If we remove the bullet and clean the wound thoroughly, the leg may still heal.”

A few of the pirates started to mutter sceptically under their breath, but Captain Manderly was silent, fixing me with a stare of deep consideration as he appeared to assess the credibility of my words. I must have succeeded in sounding somewhat competent, because after a moment, he motioned for the others to clear away.

Feeling slightly nauseous, I looked down at the man who had just become my patient. I recognised him vaguely, and I was sure I had seen him around the ship on various occasions, but my brain was too much of a frantic mess to find his name. Something Irish, I thought, looking at the wisps of red hair that poked out from beneath his bandana. I took a deep breath to try and calm myself and looked around, organising my thoughts. I need to sterilise the wound. “Alcohol,” I blurted out, jerking my head up towards Captain Manderly. I cleared my throat and tried again to express myself more eloquently. “I need alcohol,” I said, and eyed what appeared to be a tankard of ale in one of the crew member’s hands. “Something strong, like rum or whisky. And I need a knife. A small one,” I added, with a wary glance at the cleaver another one of the pirates was still holding.

Captain Manderly looked to one of his men. “Get her a bottle of rum,” he instructed. The pirate gave a quick nod and scurried off. Beside me, a pocketknife was held out in offering.

I turned to accept it, pausing when I saw that it was Grayson who had given it. While a moment ago he had been clearly annoyed with me, he now regarded me with interest as he handed over the knife. Beyond that, his expression was hard and blank like a stone; turning a blade over to me, a woman he had recently pinned and bound against her will, as if it were nothing, patiently awaiting my next move.

Clearing my throat again softly, I took the knife from him and then knelt beside my patient. I glanced up at the man’s face, and found him regarding me with some apprehension. Very understandable apprehension, I decided. I had every reason to hate these pirates, and while I wasn’t sure how much about me the crew knew, it was easy to see why he might feel uneasy with his fate in my hands.

In the back of my head, I began to wonder why I was doing this, but I quickly pushed the thought away. I didn’t have room for anything other than concentration. “This will hurt quite a bit,” I warned him, and then looked up at the others standing around me. “Does anyone have something for him to bite down on?”

After some shuffling, one of the pirates produced a worn leather belt and knelt down to brace it between the man’s teeth, while another returned with a bottle of rum—though calling it such was perhaps generous, I thought, as I caught a whiff of it when it was passed over to me. Still, it was at least potent, which would serve well in this case.

I splashed the rum overtop of the blade, then reached in and held the wound open with two fingers to carefully insert the knife. The man seized and let out a strangled cry, and I barely kept from further damaging his insides. I opened my mouth, but Grayson had already anticipated my next request and was kneeling beside me. “I’ll hold him still,” he said.

I gave him a nod, feeling a flutter in my chest, but I suppressed it as best I could. I needed a steady hand if I was going to manage this. I dug the knife in deeper. Grayson held the man down while another pirate kept the leather belt lodged firmly in his mouth, preventing him from biting his own tongue. My mouth wrinkled in focus as I pushed further, blood welling up out of the wound the deeper I went and pooling around my fingers. Finally, the blade struck something hard. There. I used the knife to inspect the bullet as best I could, trying to ignore the way the man was heaving and wailing. It seemed to still be whole.

My eyes flickered up towards Grayson, and caught him watching me intently. I swallowed hard and, once I had determined the best angle to do so, wedged the point of the knife underneath the bullet and set to work digging it out.

The man shuddered, but Grayson managed to keep him from writhing too much as I painstakingly shimmied the bullet up towards the surface of his skin. Frankly, I was rather surprised that the man had managed to remain conscious at all.

It might as well have taken hours, as each second dragged on in utter silence apart from the muffled moans of my patient. After eons of careful and miniscule manoeuvring, the bullet finally came within sight, slick with blood and pus. With a heavy sigh of relief, I popped it out, taking hold with my fingers.

The man gasped as if he’d been drowning, utter relief washing over his expression, but unfortunately, I wasn’t finished. I dropped the bloody bullet and then picked up the rum again, and without giving him time to react, doused the wound in it.

That time, he did pass out.

Chapter 9

Once someone managed to find and bring me a needle and thread, I closed the bullet hole without issue. Captain Manderly shot me a sideways smile before instructing a few of the crewmates to take my unconscious patient down below deck for some rest.

The pirates cleared the area as their crewmate was carried away, leaving me behind with Grayson. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, jerking his head at me.

I blinked as though coming out of a dream. I felt numb. I looked down at myself: the palms of my hands were almost entirely stained red, smatters of blood rapidly drying down the front of my dress. I nodded and followed him to one end of the ship, where he hoisted up a bucket of seawater for me to wash my hands in.

I felt his eyes fix on me as I scrubbed the blood away. I was hesitant to meet his gaze; my heart was pounding, and the longer he looked at me, the worse it got. Why was this happening? This was all wrong. I had been angry with him just a few minutes ago. Hadn’t I?

Truth be told, I couldn’t put a name to what I’d been feeling, but ‘anger’ didn’t seem to fit. Vexed, perhaps. This man was so utterly vexing, the way he went from flirting to treating me like a prisoner at the drop of a hat, the way he was kind to me one moment and then aloof and stoic the next. Even now, I knew he was analysing me with those hypnotic eyes of his. Most likely wondering why a delicate noblewoman knew how to remove a bullet from a man’s leg.

I removed my hands and shook away the stray droplets of water, after which Grayson grabbed the bucket and dumped the contents over the side of the ship. I caught him wince as he did, as though the movement had pained him somehow. I frowned, but he was quick to take hold of my arm to guide me back below deck. I hadn’t noticed earlier in the midst of everything else, but as we walked side by side now, I realised there was something off in his gait. Was he…moving a little slower than usual? Come to think of it, I had managed to outrun him earlier when I’d come above deck, and I suddenly recalled the way he’d staggered when I’d pushed him away from me.

I traced my eyes up his leg with a frown, and that was when I noticed the blood staining the side of his shirt.

I drew in a sharp breath and stopped in my tracks, taking several steps back from him. “You’re hurt,” I blurted out.

Grayson paused and looked down at his side, almost nonchalantly. “It’s not serious,” he said.

“I heard two gunshots,” I remembered suddenly. “Were you—”

“No,” he interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Someone thought they’d be a hero and stuck a knife in me. The second shot you heard was the bastard being taken care of.” His tone darkened, and a chill travelled down my spine.

Still, I clenched my teeth in annoyance. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked. “Were you planning to just leave it that way?”

“I thought the bullet lodged in Finn’s leg was a bit more pressing than my minor scratch,” he told me, with a sardonic smile. I caught the hint of pain behind it, now that I was looking for it.

“That ‘minor scratch’ is an infection waiting to happen,” I insisted.

“And why do you care?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you be the first to celebrate if I dropped dead?”

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words didn’t come. As nonsensical as it was, I was insulted that he would think that, though it was a perfectly reasonable assumption; and one that, quite frankly, should have been true. I knew somewhere in my mind that I should just leave it be, and let him go on believing I would be happy if he died. But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “At least let me clean it,” I offered, before I could reconsider. “I’ve seen men with smaller cuts that have landed them in the hospital.”

He regarded me with his brow raised for several long moments. The wound had to be more painful than he was letting on; of that much I was positive, but he was almost certainly too stubborn to admit it. After a minute, he rolled his eyes again. “Go down to your cabin,” he told me gruffly, then turned and stalked off. I watched him walk for a moment, noting with mounting frustration how clearly he favoured his uninjured side, and let out a huff. Idiot. Fine, if he wanted to let the hole in his body fester, that was his prerogative. Given the cleanliness of this ship, I doubted it would take very long.

I did my best not to dwell on it as I went back down the stairs and returned to my quarters. There, much to my surprise, I found that a large wooden chest had been deposited in the middle of the floor. I paused. Was this from the ship they had just robbed? Why was it here? Warily, I knelt and undid the latch.

The lid was quite a bit heavier than I expected, but when I pushed it up, I discovered neatly-folded women’s clothes within; all relatively new, from the looks of them. I blinked, puzzled. Why had they taken a trunk full of women’s clothing off of the ship? As I understood, pirates were usually only interested in gold and alcohol when they raided. Unless these had been brought aboard specifically for me?

Whatever the reason, I was grateful for the opportunity to change into something fresh—not only was my current dress far too revealing, but it was also getting quite dirty, tattered, and now bloodstained. I rifled through the dresses for a few minutes and settled on a modest but form-fitting one that seemed about my size. It was a dark red, and still not something that I would have ever been permitted to wear back home, but at the very least it wasn’t obscene.

I had only just finished getting changed when there was a short knock on the door, though I didn’t have the chance to answer before I heard the creak of the hinges as it opened. I turned to see Grayson crossing the threshold, glancing at the trunk. “I see you found my gifts,” he remarked.

I smoothed out a few stray wrinkles in the dress, mouth compressing into a line. “Seems a strange thing for you to steal,” I retorted, once again allowing my mouth to act before my brain. “Couldn’t find anything better?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Grayson said, with a grimace. “We got plenty of gold off of them, especially after they decided to be uncooperative. Just thought you might appreciate a change of clothes.” He eyed the old, bloodied dress I had been wearing, lying on the floor a few feet away. “Plus, it makes things easier on me if you aren’t walking around dressed like an expensive tavern whore.”

I flinched, irritation welling up in my chest. “It was hardly my choice,” I said weakly.

Grayson looked amused by my discomfort, eyes glinting, and my irritation grew upon realising that I’d let him get a reaction out of me. I ground my teeth together. “What are you doing here, anyway?” I snapped.

At this, his teasing smile faded, replaced by mild confusion. “You’re the one who insisted,” he reminded me.

I blinked at him, and then noticed that he was carrying the half-full bottle of rum from earlier and the sewing supplies. I faltered, caught off guard, as he looked back at me expectantly. He was going to let me treat the wound, then. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy about this, or annoyed that he’d chosen to be so ornery about it. “Right,” I said slowly, glancing around the room, and nodded at the bed. “You can sit there.”

With an affirmative grunt, Grayson made his way to the bed and sat down, taking a swig from the bottle and then relinquishing it to me. “I’ll do my best not to pass out,” he said, smiling grimly.

I took the bottle, but remained standing. His wound would be simple to close and bandage, I knew—not nearly as difficult as removing a bullet, at least—but I found a tightness building in the pit of my stomach and an inexplicable quickening of my heart. I turned and grabbed one of the spare dresses out of the chest, one that was too large for me anyway, and tore a strip of fabric from the hem to use as a rag. “You should…” My voice broke, and I cleared my throat, quickly looking back at Grayson. “You should remove your shirt,” I said, fighting down the blush rising to my face.

Swiftly, silently, Grayson pulled his shirt over his head, peeling it away from his skin where the blood had dried. I forced my eyes away from his chest, flicking them upwards and around the room as I carefully took a seat on the dusty mattress beside him and tipped rum into the fabric. It wasn’t long before I had no choice in the matter.

It came as no surprise to see that his chest rippled with clearly defined muscles, flexing ever so slightly in anticipation as he waited for me to begin. It was almost unfair. A part of me had hoped he wouldn’t be as attractive as I’d suspected he would be. Now, however, there was no denying that he was handsome in both face and body, and I was left fighting the urge to reach out and touch him.

I bit down on my lip and gently pressed the rum-soaked rag against the wound. Grayson tensed, drawing in a sharp breath through his teeth. I started wiping away the dirt and dried blood around the outside, desperately trying to keep myself from staring too hard at places that I didn’t need to be looking. I snuck a glance at his face and saw his jaw clenching, but he seemed determined not to give anything away, remaining intensely focused on keeping himself still.

I splashed more rum onto the fabric and resumed my task, trying to steady my hands. My heart raced faster every time I felt the cords of his muscles stiffen, and I could no longer stop my eyes from wandering. I followed the outlines of more than a few scars decorating his torso, one of which stretched all the way from the tip of his shoulder to his waist on the other side. Some of them could have come from minor injuries, accidents, but others were clear reminders of battles past.

When I began trying to flush out the inside of the wound by trickling rum into it, Grayson finally let out an audible grunt of pain and broke the silence. “What were you doing in France?” he asked, in a strangled voice.

I paused and frowned up at him. “What? Why—”

“Because this bloody hurts, and I need you to distract me,” he said through gritted teeth. “So?”

“Um…” I looked down at my moving hands as I considered this request. “I was visiting my mother,” I admitted.

His brow creased. “She doesn’t live with you and your father?”

“No.” I shook my head and swallowed, choosing my words as carefully as I could manage while still focusing on my task. “She works as a nurse.”

“A nurse?” His jaw clenched harder. “Is that why—fuck,” he swore suddenly as I put a bit more pressure down on the wound. “You’re really making me regret coming down here.”

A smile slipped onto my face. His London accent had come through just then more than I had ever heard it, but I decided not to mention it. Still, he glanced over at me and caught the expression. “I think you’re enjoying this a bit too much,” he complained.

I couldn’t help myself. “I won’t deny that it’s rather satisfying to see you squirm,” I said, setting down the rum and then reaching for the sewing needle.

Grayson’s mouth twitched, looking very much like it had a response, but he was holding it back. I began to stitch the hole in his side closed, and vaguely wondered again why I was doing this. Just a few hours ago this man had pushed me to the ground and bound me against my will, yet here I was cleaning and treating his wounds. Was there something wrong with me?

There must be, I decided, as the recollection of him pulling the ropes tight around me brought a warm feeling to the area between my legs.

I expelled a gust of air from my nose, slowly. Had I truly become so starved for company over the course of this voyage, that even the slightest interaction was making me feel this way? Or was it just that, somehow, as I watched Grayson wince and stifle grunts of discomfort, he seemed much more vulnerable and human than ever he had before?

Finally, after an eternity of struggling to stay focused, I tied off the last stitch, and then tore another strip of fabric from the dress to use as a bandage. I could feel Grayson’s eyes watching my every move and had to actively avoid crossing his gaze as I wrapped the bolt of cloth around his waist.

His stare burned into me as I knotted off the makeshift dressing, and even though a part of me knew it would be a mistake, I slowly lifted my head to meet his eyes. I was much closer to him than I’d meant to be, his face mere inches away from mine, and although my instinct was to pull away, I was frozen in place with my breath stuck in my throat. My body became uncomfortably warm, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand why. Grayson’s eyes bore into mine, nearly unblinking.

Silence. Just as inexplicably as he’d started this staring contest, he ended it, smiling and leaning away from me before slowly getting to his feet. “It appears that I’ll live another day, then,” he said.

I released the breath I’d been holding and stood, legs trembling. “As long as you don’t aggravate it and tear open the stitches,” I told him, trying to clear the haze that was still accumulating in my head.

“No promises on that front.” He glanced at the door. “I’d better go and deal with the rest of the mess up on deck. Good night, Miss Williams.”

He turned to leave. I felt a pang in my chest, and with a frown and a burst of impulsivity, took a chance and called after him. “So, we’re back to ‘Miss Williams’, are we?” I asked.

Grayson stopped. He looked over his shoulder, brows knitted together, and I watched the gears in his brain turn for a moment.

Then, half a smile trickled onto his face. “Good night, Everly,” he corrected himself softly, before leaving me alone and somehow more breathless than before.

Chapter 10

There was an impatient knock on my door.

Head still clouded with sleep, I roused slowly. When I didn’t reach the door fast enough, there was another knock, louder and more urgent than the first. With an annoyed sigh, I threw the door open and found, much to my surprise, Grayson on the other side.

The words “What are you doing here?” made it only halfway out of my mouth before he crossed over the threshold, took hold of my head in both hands, and pulled me close. I nearly stumbled, stunned, but he had a firm hold on me and assaulted my lips with his in a desperately hungry kiss. He took several steps forward, backing me further into the room towards the bed behind me.  

I awoke with a start.

I was sweating. I sat up, heart racing, glancing through the dark at the door and then raising a hand to feel my lips. It had taken hours to fall asleep at all, my mind awhirl following the events of the afternoon. I kept thinking back to Grayson pinning me to the floor in the storage room and rendering me helpless, and each time a blush rose to my cheeks. I couldn’t shake the tingling feeling that twisted in my core whenever I thought of how close his hands had come to my chest, how his fingers had grazed my bare legs. And if I managed to tuck those thoughts away, the ones that came to replace them were of how close I’d gotten to him after I’d finished treating his wound, close enough to see the flecks of blue in his eyes, close enough for his breath to warm my face.

Exhaling, I shook my head. No. No. No. I should have been furious with him. It was completely inappropriate, what he’d done, and I should have let the hole in his side fester. I stared up at the ceiling, frowning at the cracks in the wooden boards as I tried to calm myself. It had been a strange moment of weakness, and nothing more.

With my head swimming, I eventually drifted back into a fitful sleep.

I awoke again to the steady rhythm of the ship rocking back and forth, and then spent far too long fussing with my hair at the tiny mirror before wondering why I was bothering. It had long since lost its curl and shine, and now for the most part hung limply around my shoulders, with only a vague saltwater wave. Still, I kept combing my fingers through it absent-mindedly as I contemplated the prospect of seeing Grayson again.

Though I wanted nothing more than to forget last night’s dream, my brain stubbornly rebelled against me and wandered to it every time I let my guard down. I kept catching myself thinking of him, of his enthralling eyes and the defined muscles in his chest and abdomen. Even worse was the fact that I genuinely couldn’t tell whether or not he was just playing with me. My prior escapades had always been with soldiers or recruits under my father’s command; eager, starved young men that I’d had eating out of the palm of my hand within days. Grayson was an entirely different beast. In fact, it was wrong to describe him as a “beast” at all; a wave was a more apt comparison, impossible to pin down, dangerous one moment and calm the next. No matter what I did or how I tried to approach, he had the advantage, able to crash down and overwhelm whenever he pleased.

I’m doing it again, I realised, and scowled to myself.

After much rumination, the practical side of me won over and I decided to leave the cabin after all—I wanted to check on that Irish-looking pirate whose leg I’d saved. “Finn”, as I remembered Grayson calling him.

Pushing down another bout of hesitation, I exited the cabin and glanced towards the mess hall. I had been on this ship for a number of days that I had long since lost count of, and yet the thought of going in there where the majority of the pirates slept and ate still made my stomach churn. I had no reason to believe that any of them would be ill-behaved towards me; on the contrary, the few that I had briefly interacted with had been shy and overly courteous. Trying to convince myself that I had nothing to fear, I made my way to the large room that was just at the base of the staircase and peered inside.

There weren’t many of them there—no surprise, considering most of them woke up as soon as the sun rose and got to work on deck. There were a few hushed voices from a back corner, however, and I spotted three still lingering. One I had seen frequently around the ship, and knew from listening to chatter that his name was Peter; a rather dull name for a pirate, I thought. The second I also vaguely recognised, though I knew him only in my head as “the Spanish one”, as his dark, olive-coloured skin and Iberian accent stood out to me whenever I encountered him. The third was Finn, who was sitting upright against the wall on top of his bedroll, looking rather dazed.

The other two noticed me in the entryway immediately, and got to their feet. Finn didn’t seem to see me at all. I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Sorry,” I said, voice breaking. “I wanted to see if…”

I trailed off, unsure how to finish my sentence, but I looked pointedly at Finn. The Spanish one turned his head towards him, and blurted out, “He is drunk.”

I blinked in surprise. “He’s—?”

Sure enough, I looked at Finn again and saw a glass bottle sitting beside him, with only a small amount of liquid left in the bottom. Peter shifted backwards on his heels. “He kept complaining about the pain,” he explained. “So, Grayson told him to drink until it was gone.”

Well, that’s one way to handle it. I glanced again at Finn, who now appeared to be dozing off. Though I pity his liver in the long run. “May I…?”

It took them a moment to register that I was asking permission to approach, and after exchanging a glance, they nodded, stepping backwards to keep a respectful distance as I came closer. I bent down to examine my patient, at which point he finally took notice of me.

“Who brought me such a pretty whore?” he slurred. “Ya shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Peter muttered.

Trying to ignore his drunken staring at my chest, I made my assessment. There were no signs of gangrene, but I wasn’t surprised to hear that he’d been in pain; this was to be expected, after having a bullet removed without the proper surgical tools or anaesthesia. Were he a patient on land, he might have been given a better painkiller than alcohol, but I doubted there was much in the way of medicine lying around on this ship.

I leaned back with an exhale, and realised that both the Spanish pirate and Peter were watching me intently. They averted their eyes the moment I looked up, and so I pretended not to have noticed, getting to my feet. “It looks all right,” I told them. “But the next time he’s in pain, you could try turmeric rather than alcohol.”

“Tur-meric?” the Spanish one repeated, puzzled.

“It’s a spice,” I explained, patiently. The two of them continued to look at me with blank faces, and I wondered if that was too exotic for them to have access to. Surely, they robbed spice merchants every now and again? “Or cloves,” I offered. “If you have them?”

A voice cut into the conversation from behind. “There might be some in the kitchen.”

I turned. The moment I saw Grayson standing at the threshold, my mind flashed back to last night’s dream, and my cheeks instantly began to blotch. Peter and the Spanish pirate jumped to explain themselves, talking over one another so that their words blended together; “She came in here on her own” and “We didn’t touch her, I swear” were among the excuses made.

Grayson waved a hand at them, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you two have work to do?” he asked.

Peter looked down at Finn. “We thought—”

“He’s fine,” Grayson interrupted. “And even if he wasn’t, the two of you gawking at him is hardly going to do him any good.” Grayson stepped further into the mess hall and then moved aside to clear the doorway, giving them a short jerk of his head. “Go on. Get to it.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, each shooting me a nervous nod as they hurried out of the room.

Silence. I swallowed hard, and Grayson’s eyes flickered to Finn behind me and narrowed in annoyance. I looked over my shoulder and caught him very much ogling me from behind.

Grayson let out a breath, and then turned. “Come on, then,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“Turmeric. Cloves.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “You think I know what these things look like?”

Grayson whipped around and started back into the hallway, clearly meaning for me to follow. With a quick final glance at Finn—his moment of lucidity had faded and he was now drifting back to sleep—I quickened my feet to catch up.

Having never been to the Libertas kitchen, I relied on Grayson to lead the way, down through a hatch and a narrow staircase that descended further into the bowels of the ship. The cookpot as well as the cautious fire they would light underneath of it was up on deck, so it was more of a storeroom for foodstuffs than it was an actual kitchen. There were several heavy-looking crates pushed up against the walls, and various leaves and strips of meat and fish hanging from drying racks on the ceiling. A table stood in the centre of the room, with a few utensils and carved wooden dishware scattered about, as well as a square wooden box about a foot wide and six inches deep.

Grayson grabbed the box and lifted the lid to confirm its contents before sliding it towards me. “Have a look,” he said. “Don’t know if it’ll have what you need. I’m pretty sure that Jaime just throws whatever he wants into the food without really knowing what it is.”

Having eaten that food for the past few weeks, I was inclined to agree with this assessment. The inside of the box was disorganised, filled not only with small jars and vials of various sizes, but also pouches and wrapped paper packages, with a smattering of seemingly random dried leaves collecting at the bottom. I chose one of the jars and opened it, then lifted it to my nose. Ginger. I set it aside, and tried another.

As I rooted around for anything that looked like turmeric or cloves, I could feel Grayson watching me closely. His presence, though unsettlingly silent, was heavy in the room, and I found with irritation that my hands were shaking slightly. I breathed in quietly to try and steady myself.

After I discarded a third container of cinnamon, he finally spoke up. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

It was a fair question. Some part of me had asked myself the same once or twice, but it was always a distant thought, never getting close enough to the front of my mind for me to seriously think about. Still, I knew the answer. “My mother always told me,” I said, with a brief glance at him, “that on the battlefield, a nurse tends to the injured, no matter what colours he wears.”

It was something she’d said to me when I was very young, but it had stuck with me all these years, so deeply ingrained in my brain that it was impossible to shake. I began carefully unwrapping one of the paper parcels. Grayson watched me curiously. “You said your mother was a nurse,” he recalled. “But you didn’t say that you were.”

There was a question somewhere in that observation, but I chose to ignore it, inhaling with surprise as I opened the package and found several whole cloves inside. Grayson was quiet, perhaps waiting for me to respond, but my head went somewhere else as I took a quick stock of the room and spotted a mortar and pestle collecting dust in one corner. I retrieved it and brought it back to the table, dumping the cloves inside before once again lifting my eyes to look around.

“What do you need?” Grayson asked after a moment.

This brought my attention back to him, and I blinked. “Water,” I said.

Nodding, Grayson picked up a stray wooden bowl and took it over to a barrel on the left side of the room. He lifted the lid and dipped the bowl inside, then offered it back to me. “So?” he asked.

I accepted the bowl of water and trickled a few drops into the mortar. “So what?”

“Are you also a nurse?” he asked more directly, as I began to mash the cloves.

I gripped the pestle harder, and felt my knuckles begin to turn white as I channelled the flare of frustration I felt into the work. “No,” I admitted, keeping my voice even. There was a pause, and I crushed one of the cloves hard against the side of the mortar, watching it smear against the smooth stone. “I wanted to be,” I found myself saying, after a moment of consideration. “I was going to be. But…” I smiled humourlessly. “My father didn’t think it was an appropriate profession for a lady.”

Grayson’s head tilted backwards slightly. “Then what is an appropriate profession for a lady?”

I shot him a sideways glance, but of course a brief look was never enough to properly read his expression. I shook my head and looked back down to the bowl. “Keeping the household,” I said. “Child-rearing. Pleasing her husband.” It was difficult to refrain from rolling my eyes.

“Ah, of course.” Grayson nodded in understanding, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in mischief. “And do you think your future husband will be pleased when he one day finds you grinding up the food stores to smear on cuts and scrapes?”

My hand stopped moving, and I looked fully at him for the first time in this exchange. His smile had widened, entertained by his own joke, and as much as I wanted to be annoyed by it, the grin was somehow contagious. “Very funny,” I muttered, trying to hide my own reluctant smile as I ripped my gaze away with no small amount of effort. “And here I thought I was the one with the sharp tongue.” The cloves and water had now emulsified, forming an unappealing paste, and I laid the pestle down on the table. It was not as good as what Mother could have come up with, certainly, but it was better than nothing.

“I don’t know about sharp,” Grayson replied. “But I’ve been told that it’s quite talented.”

I furrowed my brow, and without thinking, looked at him again. It was only when I saw him watching earnestly for my reaction that the innuendo sunk in. My stomach jerked, a blush rising unbidden to my cheeks.

It was exactly what he had wanted, and I was immediately annoyed that I had given it to him. Unable to let that stand, I swallowed and tried to fight down the tension building in my chest. “Not so talented when it comes to hiding your Cockney accent, innit?” I shot back in a highly exaggerated version of the dialect.

Some of the smugness faded from his face, and he clicked his tongue, averting his eyes. Not quite satisfied, I pushed further. “Why do you try so hard to hide it?” I asked.

“Maybe because I don’t want nosy hostages asking me too many questions,” he replied, raising a playful eyebrow. The London cadence leaked through mid-sentence, and then vanished just as quickly as he caught himself and corrected it.

“I don’t see the point,” I told him. “Surely, you’re not the only urchin who clawed his way out of the gutters of London and turned to piracy.”

Grayson’s mouth hardened, and the eyebrow he had raised at me plummeted. “What makes you think that was the case?”

All at once, the game we’d been playing evaporated into thin air. Startled by the sudden change in atmosphere, I stumbled over my words. “I…” I blinked twice, wondering if he was about to grin at me again and tell me he was only joking; but instead, he stared at me, expectant of my answer. I closed my mouth for a moment, and then opened it again. “I just assumed…I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant.” He tore his eyes away from me, glaring at something indeterminate off to his left. “You shouldn’t make assumptions about things you know nothing about.”

Why did I feel as though I had just been slapped in the face? I wanted to say something, feeling words akin to an apology rising to the tip of my tongue, but my mouth couldn’t seem to release them. At once, he turned away. “If you don’t need any more help, I have work to do,” he grumbled.

He moved towards the exit. Finally, I got sound to come out, and tried to stop him. “Grayson—”

Too late. He let the door swing shut behind him, leaving me there with a phantom sting in my cheek.

Chapter 11

After bringing the clove paste back to the mess hall and smearing it on Finn’s leg, I returned to my cabin with a strange, remorse-like feeling sitting in the pit of my stomach.

I had clearly said something wrong, and in any normal situation, I would have immediately gone to find Grayson and apologised. But this was not a normal situation. I was a captive on a pirate ship—one currently being treated with courtesy, but a captive nonetheless—and Grayson was a pirate. There was absolutely no reason for me to worry over whether or not I had offended him; it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

But still, I grappled with it. Grayson was one of the only people on this ship with whom I had really spoken, aside from Captain Manderly. Strange as it was to say, I couldn’t deny that I had garnered a very delicate, tentative friendship with him over the course of my time here. Perhaps I was entirely mad, I thought, as I sat down heavily at the desk and looked at the discarded drafts of my letter. Why did I care so much? I had more pressing matters to spend my time on, better things to do than flirt with the ship’s infuriating quartermaster.

This blasted letter. The more I stared at the half-written pages, the more dismay began to build in my chest. Flirting with Grayson had been a far more preferable way to pass the days, but I couldn’t put this off for much longer. I was going to have to come up with something to write, for better or worse. Dear Father, as you may have surmised, I have been abducted by pirates. But would you mind terribly not being cross about it and maybe we can just have them drop me off at port and we can all forget this ever happened?

If only.

I wasn’t sure how long I spent leaning over the desk scribbling notes, with progressively worsening handwriting. I was going to run out of parchment at this rate, but every time I put something down, I hated it mere moments later. I leaned backwards to relieve the ache forming in my back, letting out a heavy sigh.

It grew late quicker than I expected, and I lit one of the half-melted candles sitting on the desk to continue working for a while before giving up and collapsing into bed. I flexed my dully aching hand as I drifted off to sleep, trying to clear my head, but I was utterly unable to shake the image of Grayson, and the look on his face when he’d stormed off.

For the next few days, I occupied myself with looking after Finn and working on the letter as much as I could without sinking completely into a panic. Finn was significantly more pleasant to be around when he wasn’t drunk. It had taken some time to convince him that he would not, in fact, be thrown overboard just for speaking to me; but once I had, he was surprisingly friendly and cooperative, and listened intently to my instructions for treating his leg. He had begun to move around a little bit on his own and was performing light duties on deck, but I had told him not to overdo it, else he might reopen the wound.

Grayson, on the other hand, was a different matter. Not only was he stubbornly avoiding me, but he was making no effort to pace himself, doing just as much if not more of the manual labour that he normally did. Every time I saw him, it crossed my mind that I ought to make sure his stitches hadn’t torn, but could never bring myself to approach him. It appeared as though he had no interest in talking to me anyway; in which case, I thought, he could care for the hole in his side himself.

A petty thought, perhaps. But no pettier than he was being by suddenly acting as though he wanted nothing to do with me.

I failed to find Finn in the mess hall one afternoon, and went to look for him above deck for our daily check-up. As soon as I stepped out into the open air, my eyes were immediately drawn to something on the normally-empty horizon—a ship. It was still a distance away, but close enough for me to make out the flag it was flying; the colours red, white, and blue jumped across the ocean at me, forming the unmistakable pattern of the Union Jack.

I turned my gaze up towards the mast on the Libertas, and saw that they had the Spanish flag flying again. A trickle of nausea found its way into my stomach. They weren’t going to rob another ship, were they? I looked around. It certainly didn’t seem as though they were preparing for battle, though a few of the crew members did seem on edge, casting the occasional furtive glance out at the British ship. And surely, if there was going to be another confrontation, Grayson would have fetched me to make sure I stayed out of the way, right?

I spotted Finn over by the prow, whistling cheerfully to himself as he swabbed the deck. Grayson was nowhere in sight.  Swallowing, I picked my way across the deck, dodging the pirates out of lingering wariness.

Finn noticed my approach and gave me a hesitant smile. He still seemed a bit nervous whenever I came near him, but it was an improvement over refusing to even look me in the eye. “Afternoon, your ladyship,” he said, dropping into his best attempt at a bow. I winced at the title, but the one time I had asked him to simply call me Everly, he’d looked as though his head might explode. “Not much pain today,” he informed me, before I could even ask. “Just a bit whenever I lean on it wrong.”

“That’s good,” I said distantly, and cast another glance out at the approaching British ship. “Er, tell me, are you going to…” How did one ask this question? Will you be robbing that ship today? Somehow, it seemed rude to outright say. I cleared my throat and tried again, Finn tilting his head quizzically at my trepidation. “Why do you have the Spanish flag raised?” I asked, opting for an indirect approach.

Finn’s eyes flicked up to the flagpole, before turning to look out at the ship on the horizon. “I think the Captain wants to play things safe, in case that ship gets too close,” he said.

“You won’t…attack it?”

Finn shook his head. “Nah. Got a pretty good haul from the last raid, so I think Grayson was satisfied.” He glanced down at his bandaged leg. “Plus, don’t want to invite more trouble.”

I nodded, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. At least there was no chance of Grayson trying to tie me up again.

Though, would that be such a bad thing?

The thought popped into my head uninvited. I shoved it back down into the recesses of my mind as quickly as possible and distracted myself by examining the ship moving across the water. The Union Jack was clearer now, but I could at least see that it wasn’t one of my father’s ships. A merchant brig, perhaps.

Finn lifted his mop and dunked it into the bucket he had sitting beside him, content to continue his work. For a moment, I considered turning and going back below deck to work on my letter some more, though the idea made my chest tighten. How much time did I have left to write the bloody thing? Sparing another glance at Finn, I suddenly found the courage to voice a question I hadn’t dared to ask before. “About how long do you think it will be before we reach port?”

Caught off guard, Finn blinked and looked back up at me, expression blank for a moment. “Er…” He lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck, appearing to do some calculations in his head. “I’d say…a few more weeks? Depends on the weather, really.”

With this forthcoming answer, I decided to press further. “Which port are we sailing to?”

At this, he averted his gaze, lips pressing together in discomfort. “I’m not sure that I’m meant to—”

Finn’s words were consumed by a thunderous boom, followed a split second later by the entire deck jerking to one side. I was thrown hard to the ground. I remembered opening my mouth to shriek, but was unsure if the sound had actually made it out.

All at once, a chorus of shouts rose up around me, and somewhere I heard Captain Manderly bellowing orders to load the cannons. A hand landed on my shoulder, and distantly, I heard Finn asking me if I was hurt. Was I hurt? I didn’t think I was—there was a slight ache where I had landed on my hip, but nothing felt broken. Dazed, I began to lift my head in an effort to understand what was happening.

Another crash of thunder, and the Libertas again swayed to one side. I struggled to maintain my balance, trying to push myself off the ground, only for someone to shove me back against the deck.

Though everything else was muddled and drowned out by the ringing of my ears and the general panic, Grayson’s voice somehow reached me loud and clear from above. “Take her below,” he ordered. “And you’re to stay down there with her. You’re still in no condition to fight.”

Finn gave an affirmative, and I looked up in time to see Grayson releasing me. You’re in no condition to fight either, I wanted to tell him, but any hope I had of being heard was lost when there was another boom, this time resonating from the depths of the Libertas as it spat out its retaliation.

Just as quickly as he’d appeared, Grayson vanished. Finn wrapped an arm around my shoulders to help me off the ground. He was saying something in my ear, but the words didn’t register. My brain was only now catching up with the present circumstances, and I fixed my attention on our assailants. Had I been wrong? Was it a naval ship after all? Had my father tracked us down sooner than I’d anticipated? I was certain that if it had been one of my father’s brigs I would have recognised it, but now there was no way for me to double check. A thick haze of smoke and gunpowder clouded the air, making it hard to differentiate friend from foe; let alone discern the details of the attacking ship.

My thoughts were a mess of terror and doubt as Finn guided us across deck, keeping as low to the ground as bullets whizzed over our heads. Captain Manderly was still roaring nearly incomprehensible commands—load the cannons, pistols at the ready, full speed ahead—all of which ran together as the pirates struggled to coordinate a response. Finn suddenly pushed me flat to the deck as a bullet cracked past, but he was quick to pick me up again and keep us moving towards the stairs.

For a third time, the Libertas lurched sideways. Finn’s grip turned to iron around my arms as he struggled to hold onto me, fingers digging into my arms hard enough that I was sure they would leave bruises. There was a roar that could have only been water crashing against the hull, likely caused by a cannonball hurled in our direction. The deck rocked nauseatingly as the entire ship made a hard turn to the left, intending to face the attacking vessel head-on.

Somehow, we staggered below, fighting to maintain our footing. Finn was doing his best to keep hold of me, not only for my sake, but for his own as well, as he was still favouring one leg. He turned to look down the hallway in consideration, but then opted to lead me towards the much closer mess hall instead; for good reason, as I felt his weight bore down on my shoulders more and more the longer we were upright.

He must have asked me if I was all right two or three times as he brought me to the back of the room where several bedrolls were situated, but not only could I barely hear him, I couldn’t formulate the thoughts necessary to construct a response. The ship jerked again, and another cannon fired from somewhere inside the hull. This time, Finn lost his grip on me, and I collapsed to the ground from the force of the movement. My fall was cushioned by a pile of bedding, protecting my knees from the splintered wooden floorboards.

Finn asked me again if I was hurt. The sound came through a little clearer, as the ringing in my ears finally began to fade, and I managed to shake my head. He lowered himself halfway to the ground then fell the remaining distance, as another boom sounded from inside the Libertas. I could hear Captain Manderly’s voice above all the others on deck, and the ship was pushing forward fast enough for me to feel it. Were they going to ram the attackers? Wouldn’t that only destroy both ships? I felt myself tense at the thought, pre-emptively bracing for the impact.

It never came. Several more cannons went off, but the ship remained relatively steady, and the panic above slowly shifted into that of organised chaos. After several agonising minutes of waiting breathlessly with Finn, a roar of whoops and laughter resonated from overhead.

I looked at Finn, who began to stand up. “I’ll go and see what’s happened,” he said.

He started unsteadily towards the exit, moving as though he was unsure the ship wouldn’t start rocking back and forth again. He reached the entryway of the mess hall before he was met at the bottom of the stairs by a sweaty, ragged Grayson.

Grayson said nothing to Finn, brushing right past him and making eye contact with me for the first time in several days. “Need you on deck,” he said, and held out his hand.

Chapter 12

The scene that greeted me was less dire than I anticipated, given all the noise and commotion that had occurred minutes earlier. The smoke had only just begun to settle.

Grayson was quick to direct my attention to several wounded crew members who were gathered at one end of the deck, as though waiting for me. I turned back to shoot him a look of surprise, but he had already stalked off to deal with the aftermath of the skirmish. A flare of annoyance bubbled up in my chest. I’m just the ship physician now, am I? It was strangely presumptuous to put me in front of wounded men and expect me to treat them, without so much as a word. Even more frustratingly, I couldn’t refuse. I had never been able to ignore a person in pain, not with my mother’s words about colours on the battlefield ringing in my ears.

There was nothing but fog and empty water ahead, still churning after swallowing all that gunpowder. Had the other ship fled? Or been sunk? If I thought about it too much, I wouldn’t have a steady enough hand to treat the injuries, so I directed my attention instead to my patients.

Thankfully, they weren’t in bad shape—no bullets to extract, this time—and Grayson had already laid out the few medicinal supplies they had, so it didn’t take long to treat them all. My jaw remained clenched in focus, keeping my eyes fixed on my work, though I couldn’t help but overhear Captain Manderly loudly celebrating along with the others behind me. Slowly, they all began to trickle below deck, presumably to drink themselves into a triumphant stupor.

A few stitches and some makeshift bandages later, my patients were ambling their way downstairs to join the rest. As the last one mumbled an awkward thanks and scurried off, heavy footsteps sounded, signalling someone’s approach from behind.

I turned to find Captain Manderly practically dragging Grayson towards me by the arm. Grayson didn’t resist, but he nevertheless looked reluctant, his brows knitted together in what might have been sheepishness. “Got one more for you,” Captain Manderly grunted, giving Grayson a nudge.

I blinked in surprise, but my eyes were almost immediately drawn down to where I knew the hole in his side to be, and I glimpsed the unmistakable spotting of red on his shirt.

I recoiled, my head snapping up to pin him with a glare. “When were you planning on telling me?” I blurted out.

Captain Manderly loosed a stifled chuckle before releasing Grayson’s arm, departing to wordlessly wobble his way back downstairs. Grayson’s eyes flickered to the side. Silence hung heavy between us, and I swallowed, unsure of what to do. Frankly, I was surprised that it had taken this long for his stitches to tear, given all the manual labour he was wont to do. Clearing my throat, I turned to see how much thread I had left. I’d been hoping to save the remaining length of it in case Finn needed a restitching, but I supposed that was no longer an option.

I glanced over my shoulder at Grayson, but he was already removing his shirt, anticipating what I was about to say. My throat tightened as I once again faced the chiselled outline of his bare chest, but I managed to rip my eyes away from his abdomen to examine the wound instead.

It was immediately apparent that this wasn’t the first time the stitches had burst after all. “Did you try to resew this by yourself?” I asked, looking up at him with a furrowed brow.

Grayson nodded, the corners of his mouth pulling downwards. “Didn’t seem like something I needed to bother you with,” he muttered.

I blew a loose strand of hair off of my forehead as I assessed the damage. Blood oozed from the wound, and while it certainly looked smaller than when I had last seen it, his constant aggravation wasn’t helping it heal. My tongue itched to tell him as much, but I bit the words back and got to work cleaning the cut so I could close it up again.

Grayson sat in self-imposed silence as I worked, once again doing his utmost to hold very still and give no indication that he was in pain. I tried to keep focused, but my mind kept drifting. Should I say something? He wasn’t acting as though he was still upset with me, but then again, he was such a firmly closed book that it was impossible for me to glimpse any of the pages within. I ground my teeth as I dabbed away the last remnants of grime from the wound, sneaking peeks at him every chance I got. He gave away nothing; in fact, he seemed to be deep in thought, eyes glazed over as though he wasn’t really here. Was he trying to suffer through the pain in silence? Or did he hate me so much now that he didn’t even care to acknowledge my existence?

With a breath, I decided that I could tolerate it no longer. “Erm…” My breakage of the silence as I searched for words startled him, as his head whirled towards me. “This may seem a strange thing to say,” I began. “But I…think I offended you the other day, and so I…apologise.”

The words felt awkward and wrong, but Grayson’s mouth quirked into a hint of a smile. “That is a strange thing to say,” he agreed. I frowned, but as soon as I picked up the needle to start redoing his stitches, he spoke again. “You didn’t offend me,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

I blinked. Grayson’s eyes flicked over to meet mine, and I furrowed my brow, searching his expression. My mouth burned to ask him why, in that case, he had been spending the past several days avoiding me, but the air between us was strange enough already; I had no desire to make it worse by forcing an explanation out of him. Swallowing, I began the first stitch in lieu of further conversation.

Grayson’s chest expanded as he drew in a breath. I worked hard to keep myself from looking at it. “I…” He started to say, then faltered. For the first time since I had met him, he was struggling to find words. “I’m the one who owes you the apology, really,” he decided on, finally. “I don’t normally talk about these things, and so my response was…poor.” I looked back up at him, trying to catch his gaze, but his eyes were drilling holes in the floor.

Unsure what to make of this sudden attitude change, I said nothing, my hand frozen for several moments before he glanced down at it and cleared his throat. “Are you going to…?”

“Um, yes,” I stuttered, dropping my gaze and hastily moving to continue the stitching. My hand moved faster than I meant it to, and I wound up pricking him with the needle just above the cut. Grayson flinched in surprise. “Sorry,” I said, pulling back and pressing my thumb over the pinprick to wipe the blood away.

Grayson chuckled softly, and I pressed my lips together in embarrassment, trying to shake the trembling out of my hand before I moved back in. The needle glided back and forth across the wound and slowly drew it closed, and just when I found a rhythm, Grayson startled me again. “You asked me why I hide my accent,” he said. Thankfully, I managed to keep my hand steady this time, but I paused and glanced up at him. His eyes were intense, examining, and I came dangerously close to losing myself in them again. “Do you still want to know?”

There was something about the way he said it that made my heart pick up speed. Cautiously, I nodded.

He let out a soft exhale through his nose, and shifted his gaze out towards the stern. “You weren’t wrong to think I grew up in the gutters,” he admitted. “But I didn’t stay there. My father was a hard worker; when I turned eleven, he landed a job at a bank. Started making a name for himself. Of course, we were still filthy mongrels compared to you, Lady Williams, I’m sure.” His mouth twitched into a playful smile as he cast a sidelong glance back at me.

I rolled my eyes at the jab, and he continued. “By the time I was fourteen, we were able to move out of the slums and into a proper house. It was no manor, mind, but better than anything we’d ever had before. A few of my father’s colleagues and clients also lived in the district, and many of them had daughters. I often…amused myself with them.”

The hint of smile that had lingered on his face finally faded away, and I noticed his brow creasing as he worked to wrap his mouth around the words. “I started chasing after a girl a few years older than me, who was far, far above my social standing. One thing led to another, and she fell pregnant. Her family was furious, of course, and to save face they claimed that I had raped her.”

It was strange to hear him speak this way—the confession was stilted, awkward, as though it was something he hadn’t spoken out loud in a very long time, or perhaps ever. His mouth moved to suppress a grimace as he went on. “My parents disowned me immediately. I don’t really blame them. My father had worked hard to get us to where we were, and what I had done had the potential to ruin us in an instant. So, I ran off before the London police could get a hold of me, and hopped on the first ship I saw at the first port I could find.”

The words hung. I was frozen as I took that all in, having made absolutely no progress on sewing his wound closed; I was too busy grasping desperately for a response. I felt as though I needed to say something, but condolences or sympathy would have been too hollow. “I suppose you never went back?” I found myself asking.

He shook his head. “What would be the point? No one was going to believe me over them. Especially not after Captain Manderly plucked me off the streets in Livorno.” A humourless smile played across his face. “Any chance I had at clearing my name vanished the second I became a pirate.”

I knew better than anyone that he was right. I had seen more than a few men come under suspicion for trading with pirates, even unknowingly. “I began to hide the accent as best I could to not draw attention,” he informed me. “It’s been over ten years since all of that, so I doubt anyone would recognise me regardless, but old habits die hard. And it at least ensures that I don’t get too many questions about where I’m from.” He shot me a pointed look.

Despite myself, my cheeks flushed in guilt, but he just chuckled. “I’m kidding,” he said, before I could try to apologise. “But…I’d appreciate it if you could keep all of that to yourself.”

I nodded, clearing my throat and quickly tearing myself away from his eyes before I got trapped in them again so that I could finally finish with the stitching. Still, there was another inquiry sitting on my tongue, and I was too curious to stop myself. “Do you know what happened to…”

I hesitated, suddenly wondering if it would be rude to ask, but he picked up the question easily. “The child?” he finished for me. “No idea. Probably for the best.” He shifted his weight backwards, wincing as I pulled another stitch closed. “Poor kid is already a bastard. But finding out you’re a pirate’s bastard—that would only add insult to injury, don’t you think?”

I wasn’t sure how to properly respond as I pulled the wound fully closed, breaking the thread and carefully knotting it off. I was cursing myself silently, goading myself to say something, anything; this was the most personal thing I’d ever heard come out of his mouth, and I couldn’t just sit here and say nothing. I had to reciprocate, at least. “I…” I started the sentence unsure of where it was going, and my mouth was forced to take over where my brain was failing to fill in the gaps. “I’ve poisoned almost all of my potential suitors since I was nineteen years old,” I heard myself saying.

That got his attention. His head snapped around to look at me, eyes going wide. “You what?”

“I-I mean,” I stumbled over my words. “Not actually poisoned. I would, um…” I felt my cheeks darken. This was also something that I had never admitted out loud. “I put castor oil in their tea,” I told him, sheepishly.

Grayson’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t that…”

Heat bloomed across my face. “It’s a laxative,” I muttered.

This stunned him into silence, but not for long. So abruptly that I jumped, he burst into laughter. “You…you…” He could scarcely get the words out, his entire body shaking with amusement.

I pursed my lips together. “It…isn’t funny,” I said, half-heartedly. It was the first time I’d heard him laugh like this, and even though it was at my expense, I found it annoyingly contagious.

“Are you kidding?” he gasped, finally catching his breath. “I think that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in months.”

I turned my face away from him, in an attempt to hide the way my lips were trying to twitch into a smile. “The point is,” I muttered, “now you know my secret, and I yours. So, we’re even.”

I stood up and started to dust myself off, intending to walk off in a huff, but he was quick to rise to his feet and catch hold of my wrist to stop me. “Wait,” he said, his guffaws dying down to chuckles. With one tug, I was face to face with his penetrating stare. Perhaps it was only the light, but strangely, his eyes looked more blue than grey for once. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you,” he said, with his smile softening. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Once again, he had managed to throw me off balance. I mumbled some kind of affirmation, head dipping down so he wouldn’t see the flush creeping its way up my neck.

A pause. Then, he reached forward and brought his fingers up under my chin, gently tilting my face back towards him.

I was too surprised to resist. His touch sent tingling, electric waves into my skin, travelling all the way down my body before settling in my lower stomach. I met his eyes in confusion, but they were focused intently on my mouth.

For once, I knew exactly what he was thinking.

My heart leapt into my throat. Goosebumps rose on my forearms as a tiny voice in the way back of my head told me no, absolutely not; nevertheless, my gaze glided down, watching his mouth twitch in consideration. The voice became too quiet for me to hear, and it died entirely when he bit his bottom lip. All I could think was how it might feel for him to bite my lip instead.

The tension heightened the longer we stood there. I could practically see the gears turning in his brain as he seriously contemplated closing the distance between us, but he never reached a decision. A firm and purposeful “ahem” cut the air behind us.

Grayson’s hand dropped away from me, and we both turned. The sight of Captain Manderly standing there, with both hands in his pockets and a small but dangerous smile underneath his beard was enough to drain the flush out of my face.

“All is well, I trust?” he asked, glancing at the freshly-stitched wound in Grayson’s side. My throat felt as though it was closing, but I mustered a nod in response.

“Good. You ought to get some rest, Miss Williams. It’s been quite an exciting day.” I deduced that this was not really the suggestion it sounded like, as his attention shifted towards Grayson. “Walk with me, Grayson,” he said. “I’d like a word.”

Chapter 13

The dream of Grayson appearing at my door returned that night in full force, and this time, with much more indecency than before.

When I awoke, my entire body was hot in a way that it had never been after a mere dream; I had to throw the covers off just to cool down, closing my eyes and trying to clear the thick haze that had settled over my brain. I lifted a hand to my forehead and pushed strands of hair away, finding them damp with sweat. I couldn’t get a hold of myself. Ever since what had nearly happened between us, my head had been filled with almost nothing but him; the eyes, shining that blueish grey, the muscles rippling across his scarred chest and arms, the lips that had so clearly longed to meet mine. I kept wondering what they tasted like. They were probably nothing like the soft, boyish lips I was used to kissing back home; no, they’d be rough, salty, dry from the constant battering they received from the wind and seawater. Their coarseness against mine might even hurt.

The thought excited me. Twisted deep in my stomach, and coiled down between my legs, where I felt myself growing warmer.

Exhaling, I threw both hands up to my forehead and rubbed at my eyes furiously, as if to scrub the thoughts from my mind. No. No. No. But I couldn’t keep from imagining it, and I couldn’t keep the stirring out of my chest or the quickening out of my breath.

With my head swimming, I eventually returned to a fitful sleep, waking later that morning to the insistent creaking of the ship. The dreams had been relentless; even with my eyes open, I still felt as though I had one foot in them. They threatened to overtake me again before I was interrupted by a short knock on the door.

Jerked back to reality, I dragged myself out of bed to open it, expecting to see my breakfast sitting just outside, like every morning. Much to my surprise, however, I found one of the crew standing there—Thomas, I thought his name was, but I was unsure.

The pirate who was possibly named Thomas looked rather anxious to be standing there, swallowing as I pulled the door all the way open. “Mornin’, your ladyship,” he said, unsuccessfully trying to keep his eyes from wandering towards my chest. “Captain Manderly invites you to breakfast in his quarters.”

My stomach twisted. I had been trying not to consider how much Captain Manderly might have seen, or what he might have thought, but it seemed I would be forced to confront it sooner rather than later. Giving a short nod, I tried to push down my anxiety. What did it matter if he’d seen us? Nothing had happened. There was nothing to be ashamed about.

I changed into one of the other stolen dresses, a simple one made of dark blue linen. I had been enjoying the feeling of loose-fitting clothes over the course of this voyage, savouring my freedom from corsets while I had the chance. Dread took root in the back of my mind at the notion that I’d be forced to dress properly again once I was returned home. If I was returned home.

With that cheerful thought, I made my way to Captain Manderly’s quarters, doing my best to disguise the apprehension in my face. Following my gentle knock, I heard a call from within to enter. I let myself in, smoothing out my dress.

As was usually the case when I was invited to his cabin, Captain Manderly had a variety of food laid out on his table, and was already sitting down to eat. Today’s selection included a loaf of bread, preserves, some sun-dried meats, and a few precious citrus fruits. Captain Manderly looked up at me with a toothy grin. “Good morning, Miss Williams,” he said, ever polite. “You’re looking well.”

I forced a smile and had a seat at my place opposite him, eyeing the oranges. I was surprised to see them—fresh fruit was rationed carefully whenever they had it, and I had assumed that the majority of their stock had either been eaten or rotted by now. Captain Manderly noticed where my gaze had gone and gave a nod. “Help yourself,” he said. “They’re like to turn in a few days. May as well eat them.”

I took one. It was just a tad too soft, but certainly still edible, and I placed it on the table beside me before reaching for a slice of bread.

“I wanted to thank you for your help with the crew’s injuries yesterday,” Captain Manderly said. “Been a long while since we had a proper surgeon on board.” His eyes came close to glinting as he raised them towards me. “I trust everyone was agreeable?”

Unconsciously, my heart began to pound as I thought back to the moment I’d had with Grayson last night, but I did my utmost to keep it from showing. “Agreeable enough,” I said stiffly.

Captain Manderly’s smile remained plastered across his face, though it somehow appeared less genuine the longer he wore it. “And I hope your letter has been coming along?”

I nearly flinched. Truth be told, I hadn’t touched the damn thing in days; I was still at a loss for what to write. I paused before responding, looking up at Captain Manderly warily. He raised a thick, quizzical eyebrow at me, bringing a slice of bread to his mouth and tearing off a chunk with his teeth.

“Yes,” I said finally, for lack of anything else.

“Good!” The smile widened. “We’ll be reaching the freeport in ‘bout a week. I expect you’ll be finished with it by then.”

A pit dropped into my stomach as I reached for the glass of water sitting beside me. A week had never sounded so short. Despite my efforts to hide behind my cup, my anxiety must have shown plain, because Captain Manderly took note of it with a chuckle. “Don’t look so worried, milady,” he said. “I have every confidence in you. I’m sure you’ve got quite the way with words.” He reached for one of the oranges, giving it an experimental squeeze. “It’s not just any woman who can charm Grayson, after all.”

I nearly choked but managed to keep the sound to a quiet cough, setting the glass down and struggling to maintain an even expression as I racked my brains for some way to respond. Captain Manderly almost looked amused, a smirk hiding behind the bushy beard, but the tension in the air suggested otherwise.

I excused myself some minutes later, trying to calm the tumultuous storm of thoughts in my head. One week to write a letter that would ensure my own safety as well as that of my captors. One week to convince my father to, for once, choose a peaceful solution over a violent one. One week to keep myself from doing something stupid the next time Grayson looked at me with those brooding grey eyes.

Returning to my cabin, I sat down and looked over my latest draft, scowling at the words on the parchment. It was still unsatisfactory. There was no good way for me to write this, I thought despairingly.

The rest of the day seemed to pass very slowly as I sat in my little room and glared at the letter, writing and rewriting and searching desperately for the right words, all while fighting the nausea threatening to wash over me as I realised how pointless this all was. These pirates knew my father by name, but they didn’t understand him. They had no idea what he was like, not the way I did.

This was going to end in blood. The only question was whose.

Before I knew it, the entire day was gone. I had to tear myself away from the desk in order to stretch and relieve the ache in my back. I didn’t feel as though I had made much progress, but I knew that if I continued to stare at the parchment, I was going to lose my mind. I let out a breath and dropped my arms back to my sides as I looked at the door. Finn’s leg was healing well enough that I probably didn’t need to check on it again until tomorrow morning. But Grayson…

I needed to make sure he hadn’t torn his stitches again, as he was so prone to doing. But the mere thought of going to find him made my heart flutter.

I bit my lip in a futile attempt to force myself back to my senses. This was ridiculous. Grayson was a bit rougher around the edges than what I was used to, but underneath all of that, he was no different from any other man I’d encountered. So why did my heart pulse like a sixteen-year-old girl’s every time I thought of being alone with him?

Shaking my head, I threw the door open, freeing myself from my self-imposed prison. I was just going to check his stitches. That was all.

At this time, the place I was most likely to find Grayson was up on deck. That was where he often sought some solitude while everyone else was drinking, sleeping, or playing cards in the mess hall. I made my way down the corridor and up the stairs, and was immediately greeted by a cold gust of air.

Clutching my arms against my dress, I looked up. The sky was covered in a thick shroud of ominous clouds, which not only dimmed the moonlight but gave distinct weight to the air around me. The sky looked as though it might open up at any moment to unleash a torrential onslaught of rain and winds. Lowering my eyes, I scanned the deck and found no sign of Grayson. Perhaps he was down below with the others after all?

I was about to retreat to the safety of the ship’s belly when movement caught my eye above; I glanced up and, when I squinted, could just make out a figure up in the ship’s rigging among the sails.

There was only one person who would be up there at this time in the evening. My teeth clenched in annoyance. It wasn’t the first time I had seen him working up there, held up only by the dubious tangle of nautical ropes and masts that always looked as though they needed fixing. I wouldn’t have been surprised if that was how he’d ripped open his stitches the first time.

Before I could think, I found myself marching towards the mast and calling his name up into the wind. “Grayson!”

He twisted around and looked down at me. Seeing his torso move like that made me wince, a sympathetic ache forming at my side as I imagined how the movement must have felt. Still, if it bothered him, he didn’t show it as he raised a hand to give me a wave.

I let out a huff, already mentally drafting the scolding I was going to give him. He didn’t make any move to descend, instead turning back towards the sail, so I could only assume he planned to disregard my obvious displeasure. What was he doing? I didn’t know what the typical division of labour looked like on a pirate ship, but I was at least certain that manning the rigging was not the quartermaster’s job. I could have waited for him to come down, but the chill in the air made me hesitant to stand still for much longer.

As I glared up at him, I noticed the crow’s nest not too far from where he hung. My eyes travelled to the ladder trailing from it, the base of which was just a few feet away from me. I swallowed and glanced back, but another distant bout of laughter confirmed that everyone was still down below. We were alone.

My heart fluttered again, which only heightened my annoyance.

I approached the ladder and began climbing as quickly as my feet would allow, lest I start to think harder about what I was doing and change my mind. Hand over hand, I cleared each wooden rung, trying not to wonder about their structural integrity, and by the time the next gust of wind hit me it was too late to start regretting.

I hoisted myself to the top, grabbing the railing that encircled the nest to steady myself. Grayson turned from where he was on the mizzenmast, with his feet entangled in the mess of a rope ladder that was still somehow holding him up. “Patience isn’t your strong suit, eh?” he called over to me.

I frowned at him. “You’re one to talk. Can’t you sit still for a few days to let your wound close?” I shot back.

“So that’s why you’re here.” He turned back towards the sail that he was in the midst of tying up, looping an arm around the yard. “And I thought you just wanted to see me.”

I pursed my lips. I hated to admit it, but I was impressed by his athleticism; he kept himself well balanced up there, hardly swaying at all, even with the harsh wind.

However, this only reminded me of the strain that he was putting on himself, and I scowled.  “Could you come down from there before you tear the stitches again?” I asked. “Assuming you haven’t done so already.”

Grayson scoffed. He was no longer facing me, but I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “One moment.”

Grayson pulled the knot tight, and then, with surprising speed and grace, pushed himself off the mast, swinging towards the crow’s nest. He stepped deftly off the ladder and onto the railing without missing a beat. I took a step backwards in surprise, feeling dizzy just watching the manoeuvre, but he was wholly unbothered as he hopped down into the nest and lifted his shirt, turning his side towards me. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

I blinked. Much to my surprise, the stitches were still intact. I stepped closer to examine them. “Don’t look so shocked,” Grayson remarked. “I am being careful.”

With a breath, I lifted my gaze back towards him. “Isn’t there someone else who ought to be doing this?” I asked, with a nod towards the sail he had just finished rolling up.

He shrugged. “I enjoy doing it. Besides, no one’s knots are as good as mine.” There was a hint of pride in his tone as he informed me of this, glancing up at the sky. “Has to be done before the storm comes in, and there’s no reason to disturb the others when I can finish the job quicker and better on my own.”

In a way, this came as no surprise to hear, but I bit back the comment working its way to my tongue and straightened. He didn’t lower his shirt, a devious smile creeping onto his face. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked.

“Enjoy what?”

“The view.”

It took a moment to understand what he was getting at. Trying to make me blush again. Determined not to let it work, I cleared my throat dismissively. “Charming,” I deadpanned. “London women must be truly starved for affection if half-cooked words like those were enough to swoon them.”

The retort flew out of my mouth before I could really think about it, but luckily, Grayson didn’t seem to mind and laughed, finally lowering his shirt. Once again, I found his smile bleeding onto my own face; but remembering my conversation with Captain Manderly this morning quickly chased it away. I chewed on the inside of my lip. “I…” I hesitated a moment. “I hope I didn’t…get you into any trouble, last night.”

Grayson’s smile faded as he cocked a brow, puzzled. “Trouble?” he repeated. Then, he seemed to understand. “Ah,” he said, and shook his head. “No, no. Nothing like that. We just discussed a…change in strategy, is all.” He pressed his lips together with something that seemed vaguely like discomfort. “That ship that attacked us yesterday wasn’t well-equipped enough to be a military vessel. We can only assume it attacked us because your father has placed a bounty on the Libertas.”

I had also suspected as much. I swallowed and nodded. “I’m not surprised,” I said.

“Well, it just makes your role all the more crucial,” he commented. The letter. It was difficult not to cringe. “In the meantime, we’ll have to make adjustments to our route.”

Seeking a change in subject, I cleared my throat and looked up at the sails, now neatly folded and bound against the yard. “Why did you chase noblewomen, anyway?” I blurted out. “Why didn’t you just…I mean, surely there were…” I knew the word for what I was trying to describe, but was struggling to find a more ladylike way to say it. “I’m certain that London has no shortage of…women of the night.”

Grayson shook his head, mouth curling into an unapologetic smirk. “I don’t like to pay for it. Where’s the fun in that?” He leaned towards me ever so slightly, a movement that wouldn’t have even been noticeable had we not been sharing a very small space. “Chasing after them was half the fun.”

A snake in my lower stomach stirred, and I swallowed. “Spoken like a true pirate, I suppose,” I said. My eyes landed on the leftover rope he had brought down from the rigging, and I continued to speak without considering what I was saying. “Is that why you’re so good at knots, then?” I asked. “Was that how you ended your chase?”

It had been a joke, but Grayson’s expression shifted, and I saw something in his eyes change as he followed my gaze to the rope and answered. “The knots we use for sailing are quite different from those you would use on a person,” he told me, in all seriousness.

“And you know both types?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Why? Would you like a demonstration?”

My breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t able to come up with a witty response before his hand whipped out and scooped both of my wrists together, giving them a tug to stretch them outwards. He paused and locked eyes with me, my arms captured in one hand, while the other had already grabbed hold of the excess rope. His grip wasn’t tight; I could have pulled away. In fact, from the way he had stopped so suddenly and begun watching my face, I had a feeling that he was waiting for me to pull away, giving me the chance to put an end to this strange game. Somewhere deep in my mind, I knew that I should. But the thought was soon dulled by a haze settling over me.

Reassured that I wasn’t going to object, he brought the rope to my hands and in one swift movement, looped it over my wrists. “If I were tying down a sail, for example,” he said, “I’d do it like this.” His hands moved with such speed and precision that it was hard to follow their movements. A few moments later, I was bound with a complex-looking knot; but I only got to examine it for a second before he immediately began to undo it with deft fingers. “If I wanted to tie someone up,” he continued, “then, I’d do it like this.” He released me briefly while he folded the rope in half, then wrapped it around my hands, threading the ends through the loop and pulling it taut. He made several more passes around and then wound the rope vertically in between my wrists, cinching the bonds snugly and finishing them off by knotting them underneath, well out of reach of my fingers.

My skin pulsed as I gave an experimental tug. The rope chafed slightly but wasn’t too uncomfortable; at the same time, it was secure. Grayson looked pleased with his work, face affixed with that mischievous smile when I looked up at him. “See the difference?” he asked.

I swallowed, suddenly finding that my mouth had gone dry. “Should I be concerned about your apparent skill in this area?” I asked, trying half-heartedly to make light of the situation. “How many other noblewomen have you abducted over the years?”

“Not as many as you think.” His smile widened. “It does come in handy for subduing unruly captives, though.” He gave the ends of the rope dangling from my wrists a playful pull, jerking my hands towards him.

“If I were truly an unruly captive, I could just push you over the side of the crow’s nest,” I pointed out, tugging back.

His eyebrows shot up in what almost seemed to be delight. “First of all, you are an unruly captive,” he remarked, but then let go of the rope. “Second, you’re more than welcome to try.”

He took a backwards step towards the edge of the crow’s nest, taunting. I stared at him bemusedly as I wondered if he was serious; the way he was standing there and grinning at me like a fox suggested as much. I glanced down at my bound hands, and then back at him. His smile twitched. “Go on,” he prompted.

Perhaps he didn’t think I would really do it. My own stubborn nature got the better of me and I took an uncertain step towards him, determined to call his bluff.

I didn’t get far. In fact, I didn’t even touch him before his hand shot out and grabbed hold of my wrists, pulling them up and over my head. I stumbled in surprise, and before I fully understood what was happening, I found myself landing on my rear end with my back against the railing. Grayson had the end of the rope in one hand, and was using it to pull my hands up and backwards, so that they were locked behind my head.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Surely you could have done better than that?”

I pulled instinctively, but he kept my hands trapped in place. I made the mistake of looking up and meeting his gaze; I was once again, as I so often was, much closer to him than I had intended to be, and I had to fight to keep the blood from rushing to my face. I let out a breath of air, forcing myself to frown. “I don’t think that was entirely fair,” I said weakly.

He chuckled. “I never said I was fair.” I felt his hand moving, and suddenly he pulled away with a grin. I tried to draw my arms back in front of me, but they remained stuck.

I twisted around and caught a peripheral glimpse of the end of the rope, now bound to the railing behind me. I heard Grayson stifling a laugh as he watched me come to this realisation, and I turned back to face him, pressing my lips together in what was partly annoyance, and partly another feeling that I couldn’t quite describe.

“And just like that, my unruly captive has been dealt with,” he said, unable to keep the smile from his face.

“Very funny,” I muttered. A sensation that I wasn’t sure I cared for was forming in my lower stomach, creeping its way into the area between my legs and telling me that it was time for this to stop before I did anything I might regret. “You’ve made your point,” I told him, giving a tug on my wrists. “Would you kindly release me, now?”

“All right, all right.” He reached back towards me.

Then, there came a shout from below, freezing us both in place.

Chapter 14

“Oi, Grayson! You up there?”

All at once, the game was over. The hand that had been moving to untie me instead clamped down over my mouth. Grayson’s eyes changed from mischievous to panicked in an instant, colour draining from his face before he turned over his shoulder and called back down. “What is it?”

A shaky exhale fled my nose as it dawned on me just how bad this looked. Whoever was down below shouted something else to Grayson that I didn’t hear over the sound of my heart beating in my ears. Grayson’s hand stayed pressed over my lips as he gave his response. Surely the crew member wouldn’t come up here, right? Unless…had he seen me? Another wave of panic crashed over me as I wondered what angle one might have to stand at in order to spot me. Given how high up we were, and with scarcely any moonlight to speak of, it seemed unlikely that anyone would be able to make out what had happened up here. At least, I thought, Grayson was almost certainly blocking out any view the crew member might have had of me.

This small comfort lasted only for a moment. My ears thundered, but I somehow heard Grayson shout a final reply of “be right there!”

He removed his hand from my mouth, but then quickly raised a finger to his lips when I tried to protest. Obediently, I silenced myself, instead staring at him with eyes wide in horror as he began to descend the ladder, shooting me one last look of apology before he vanished from sight.

It took several stunned seconds before I recovered enough to start rifling through the multitude of emotions in my head, in an attempt to parse out which one I ought to be feeling.

Anger was the first that came to mind, though I didn’t know towards whom to direct it. I could hardly be angry at Grayson when I was the one who had allowed this in the first place. Terror, then, perhaps. That seemed logical enough, considering that I currently sat a hundred feet in the air with my hands bound, and no hope of getting free on my own. The most reasonable notion, at the moment, was that of calm. After all, Grayson would almost definitely return to release me when he was able.

A distant rumbling rolled in from above. I quickly abandoned calm in favour of terror. I had no idea how long it would be before Grayson got back. How far away was the storm? I looked at the sky, but I couldn’t tell. Another low thunderclap caused me to jerk my arms. They scarcely moved an inch.

Twisting, I strained in a futile effort to scrabble at the knots holding me captive, but they were out of reach. I gave up after only a few moments, cursing Grayson silently and trying to control my breathing. In. Out. There was no use in panicking. I would simply have to wait.

I tried to relax my arms, tense and anxious though my muscles were, knowing that they would ache something awful if I kept exerting them. Some part of me was still grasping for a reason to feel angry, but it was as much my own fault as it was his. He had given me ample chance to put a stop to this, and I hadn’t.

It was strange and humbling to remind myself of that fact. I could have stopped him. I felt certain that, had I expressed any displeasure with the situation, Grayson would not have gone as far as he did; we’d only arrived at this point because I’d allowed it. All I would have had to say was “no”.

Why didn’t I? I struggled to answer that question. Some kind of fog seemed to envelop me whenever I was alone with him, clouding my judgement as though I was in a trance. Why couldn’t I think straight whenever he looked at me with that devious glint in his eye?

And for the love of God, why, despite everything, was there still a dull ache persisting between my legs?

I shifted, drawing my knees closer to my chest. The wind kept ruffling my skirts and I longed to pull my arms down and adjust them, but each time I absentmindedly tried I was sharply reminded of my predicament. I focused on calming the nerves in my chest, but never managed to get far before a new terrifying thought occurred to me. What if I was up here all night? What if the storm really did start coming in? What if one of the other pirates clambered up here and found me like this?

Seconds slid into minutes. I arranged and rearranged my legs, kicking at my skirts to fix them, anxiously watching the dark clouds build over my head. They looked heavy and ready to burst at any moment. It wasn’t long before my neck began to ache nearly as much as my arms. Perhaps a part of me was feebly hoping that I could somehow stare the clouds into staying intact for just a while longer.

I couldn’t be sure how long it was before, faintly below, I heard the deck floorboards creaking. Footsteps. My head snapped back towards the ladder, heart picking up speed as I waited breathlessly to see who would appear at the top.

Grayson hoisted himself hurriedly into the crow’s nest, face white, and immediately began to spew a profuse stream of apologies.

My chest loosened in utter relief at the sight of him. Grayson leaned over me to start undoing my bonds. I heard the sound of his voice, but didn’t absorb a word he was saying. My ears rang as I was overcome with a strange, light feeling. His hands fumbled over the knots, struggling to untie them as quickly as he could; a stark contrast from the lithe fingers that had constructed them in the first place. The ropes finally came loose, and with an audible sigh I pulled my arms back down.

Grayson leaned backwards, and it took a moment of watching his mouth move before I actually managed to focus on what he was saying. “Are you all right?” he was asking me. “Everly?”

My mouth had dried up again. What was wrong with me? Unable to form words, I just pressed my lips together and nodded, fascinated by this rare, flustered version of him that I was meeting. He swallowed visibly as he looked at my hands in my lap and muttered another apology regarding the marks left behind by the rope. I could see from my peripherals that there were indeed a few red welts on my wrists where the bonds had pressed too hard, but I didn’t care. I was too fixated on his face, on eyes that had somehow become more blue than grey in the darkness.

A single strand of black hair on his forehead brushed against his eyebrow, out of place. My eyes were drawn to it, and my hand moved on its own. Without a thought, I reached out and brushed it aside.

Grayson stiffened and locked his gaze with mine. The eye contact brought me partway back to my senses. Feeling my heart seize, I began to withdraw.

His hand whipped up and caught my wrist before I could pull it away.

Another roll of thunder, but it didn’t seem nearly as loud as my heart was in my ears. Grayson had fallen silent, and was now assaulting me with his analytical stare, eyes piercing right through mine. I felt vulnerable, as though he could see every thought in my head. When I looked closely, I could almost see his, too. In what was normally a hard to read, stony expression, I now caught a glimmer of uncertainty; uncertainty that was being drowned out by something carnal.

He bit his lip. Unconsciously, I mirrored him. Slowly, he lowered my arm away from his face, with his fingers still closed around it, and leaned towards me until our noses nearly brushed.

His breath caressed my face, hot and heavy. “Tell me to stop,” he said quietly. Pleaded, almost.

Words caught in my throat a moment as he paused there, waiting. I found my voice, but it came out barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you to stop.”

He exhaled, and his palm suddenly nestled itself on my cheek, fingertips settling on the back of my neck. A resigned, muttered curse of “damn it” escaped his lips before he closed the gap between us and locked his mouth with mine.

My entire body began to pulse. I parted my lips to reciprocate, and all the voices in the back of my head that had been telling me to stop went silent as I leaned into him, shuddering when his thumb brushed against my jawline. The kiss was soft, cautious—experimental, as though he wasn’t sure how far he should go. I was impatient. I drew his bottom lip further into my mouth and, taking this as an invitation, he deepened the kiss, shifting so close that I felt body heat radiating from his chest. His teeth grazed my lip, and a soft moan threatened to rise from my throat.

I only barely managed to stifle it, though my thighs immediately pressed together in an attempt to relieve the feeling that was building in between them. It wasn’t even close to enough. Where only minutes ago I had been shivering, now I was warm all over, feeling as though the very blood in my veins was afire. He was hardly touching me, I thought. Why wasn’t he touching me? The hands of other men would already have been searching for ways to get beneath my clothes, but not his. Not him. One hand cradled my cheek, the other still gently clutching my wrist, all the while his mouth explored mine with meticulous purpose.

The heat coursing through me was overwhelming, and when his teeth came down on my lip a little harder than before, I could no longer stand it. I needed to touch him. I needed to entangle my fingers in his thick, black hair until they were stuck there. I had only just started to lift my free hand, when he stiffened and abruptly pulled away from me.

I opened my eyes, bewildered, lips aching, while he looked back at me with an expression that had once again been washed of feeling. Every ounce of transparency, vulnerability, was gone as he pressed his lips together and withdrew his hand from my cheek.

“That was…” His voice was strangled, barely recognisable. I watched his face in confusion, searching for answers, but he broke his gaze before I could find them. “That was a mistake,” he muttered.

Taken aback, I furrowed my brow, and tried to summon the words to respond. “I—”

“This storm will be coming in any minute,” he said, swiftly cutting me off. “We should get down from here before it starts.”

Chapter 15

A few minutes later, I was alone in my cabin, breathlessly wondering what had just happened.

My entire body was aflame. My skin still tingled where his hands and mouth had been, and I kept reaching up to touch my lips, feeling numb. There was a sharp, persistent sting in my chest, one that had been present since he’d abruptly pulled away from me.

I dropped onto the bed and chewed absentmindedly on my fingernails. Why was this affecting me so much? Had my captivity truly made me so starved for human interaction? Or was it something more? Some other reason that I was inextricably drawn to him? And even though I kept trying to stifle that foolish, romantic side of my brain, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was drawn to me in the same way.

Perhaps it had only been a strange moment of weakness for both of us. Me overcome with relief, him overcome with guilt…was that why he had withdrawn so suddenly? It seemed a plausible enough explanation, but it didn’t feel right. There had been far more than guilt in those eyes when he’d looked at me, when he’d pleaded with me to stop him.

There was no use trying to guess at what was going on in that head of his, I thought, with a drawn-out exhale. The more I tried, the more exhausted I became.

The remainder of the week passed without event. Because I had sequestered myself in my cabin to finish the letter to my father, I found myself measuring time largely by the knocks at my door every morning and evening. Despite my very best efforts, a part of me still hoped to see Grayson on the other side whenever I opened it—only to be disappointed when it was nothing more than my meals being delivered. I tried to distract myself with other thoughts; tried to busy myself with mental preparation for whatever would come once my father received this letter.

Even when I could keep from dwelling on him during the day, he stubbornly occupied my dreams. More than once I had awoken in the middle of the night with the lingering feeling of his hands on me, covered in goosebumps as though his breath was still falling upon my neck.

Such thoughts are not becoming of a woman of your station, a voice kept saying in the back of my mind. My father’s voice, undoubtedly.  

It was evident that we were approaching land when I awoke one morning to the sound of more commotion than usual going on above me. For the first time in several days, I ventured out to have a look, eager to see something other than vast, empty seas. As expected, the crew was making ready to dock, busy enough that I wasn’t spared much of a glance.

The port was visible in the distance, and I picked my way over to the railing to get a better view. I had heard all kinds of stories about the lawlessness and chaos of the freeports, but from far away it looked rather ordinary. I leaned forward to watch it draw closer; only to be quickly interrupted.

“Mornin’, your ladyship!”

It was Finn, giving me a cheerful wave as he approached. I smiled, eyes flicking down to watch how he walked. He still had a slight limp, but he moved much better on it now than he had been a few days ago. “Haven’t seen you out here lately,” he remarked.

I ignored the comment, not interested in discussing the reasons behind my self-seclusion. “What is it called?” I asked. “The port?”

“Venina,” he told me. “Ever been to a freeport, ladyship?”

It sounded Spanish, or perhaps Italian. I shook my head in response to his question, pursing my lips slightly in thought. Finn cast a glance out at the harbour, looking as though he was about to say something else, but then there came a shout from behind us.

The pirates had begun to gather at the centre of the deck, Captain Manderly making his way towards them. Finn gave me a courteous nod before limping off to join, but I barely registered his departure; I was too busy trying to keep my heart in my chest as I noticed Grayson trailing just behind the captain.

For a brief moment, we locked gazes. He was the first to break eye contact, quickly turning his head to one side.

Captain Manderly barked a few orders to his men before noticing me. When he did, he shot me a grin. “Well, well, if it isn’t Lady Williams!” he boomed, voice travelling easily across the ship. “I hope you’re ready for landing!”

I forced a polite smile as he approached with Grayson on his heels, and tried not to let my eyes wander towards the man whose face I’d been seeing in my dreams all week.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Captain Manderly said. “It may go without saying, but I wanted to offer a word of warning for when we reach port.” His bushy eyebrows pulled together, smile disappearing beneath his beard. “This place is filled with pirates and thieves, and I won’t be able to promise you the same level of safety you had on this ship.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. That much I had already surmised, but hearing him say it out loud sent a few butterflies into my stomach.

Still, it wasn’t nearly as bad as what he said next: “Unless you want to look for trouble, you’re to stick close to Grayson while we’re docked,” he told me. “If all goes well, we should only be there a few weeks before we can have you on your way.”

My heart increased its tempo as I very carefully looked at Grayson. He was still dutifully avoiding my gaze, expression hardened into that perpetually unreadable mask, but his discomfort with the arrangement was easy enough to discern.

Captain Manderly, meanwhile, cast a critical eye in my direction. “Bringing you into port looking like that, however, is asking for trouble,” he said.

I looked down at myself. I was wearing another one of the ill-fitting dresses that I had been given.

Captain Manderly turned to Grayson. “Get her something to cover herself with,” he told him. “Something less…eye-catching.”

Grayson grunted an affirmative, then whirled and started a brisk walk back below deck. A quick glance at me over his shoulder was the only indication that I was meant to follow.

I hurried to catch up, heart pounding and stomach churning as he trudged down the stairs ahead of me in silence. I wanted to say something, but I had no idea what; making idle conversation at this point just felt wrong, and I couldn’t very well say any of the things that had been running through my head since we’d kissed.

He brought me back to his cabin and went without a word to one of the dusty wooden chests shoved in the corner. He opened it, digging out a large, brown bundle of fabric which he then tossed at me. “Put that on,” he grunted.

The material hit me squarely in the chest, and I barely caught it before it fell to the floor. It was heavy, made of some kind of rough hemp, and it took me a few moments of unfurling it and turning it around to determine that it was a cloak with a hood. The fabric felt dry and itchy to the touch, likely full of salt. I looked up to ask a question, but found that he was already grabbing the door handle to leave. His name slipped out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “Grayson—”

To my surprise, he actually did pause; but I didn’t know what I wanted to say. My mouth hung open with no sound for several seconds before I gave up and closed it, clearing my throat.

He gave me a sideways glance, then lowered his intense stare down to the doorknob. “Just get ready to land,” he said, voice softening.

He hovered there, as though waiting to see if I had any other protests, before he finally pushed the door open and made his exit.

I released a breath and looked down at the cloak. It was too large, but at least seemed to be relatively clean. There was a faint, musty scent to it as I brought it to my nose, and I suddenly wondered when the last time was that Grayson had worn it.

I blinked and pulled away, shaking my head to clear the inappropriate thoughts that immediately began to trickle in.

The cloak was indeed oversized and unflattering; I figured that was the idea, if Venina was as rowdy and full of lusty pirates as I imagined. It was certainly long enough to hide most of me from view, and when I pulled the hood over my head, I could barely see. I yanked it back down and tried not to think about how itchy the fabric was on my bare neck as I made my way back to deck to watch the port draw nearer.

Despite my apprehension, I was curious to see the freeport—it was probably going to be my only chance to visit one. I doubt I’ll ever leave England again after this.

I had perhaps half an hour of peace, watching the colour of the sea change from deep blue to teal and enjoying the breeze as much as I could now that I had to wear this heavy thing. The freeport seemed to liven more and more as the ship flew towards it, eventually shaping into what I could only describe as chaos. No matter where I looked, something unfamiliar was happening, whether it was fishmongers and exotic merchants battling to be heard over one another as they peddled their wares, or pirates engaged in swearing matches from opposite ends of the docks. It seemed a world that I had scarcely known existed, free from the expectations and norms of society as much as it was from the laws that bound the mainland.

This was a place I did not belong.

I was jerked out of my thoughts by a hand that took my arm from behind. I spun to find Grayson once more, expression hardened into that same concealing stare. “You’re to keep close to me and keep your mouth shut,” he instructed, grabbing the hood of the cloak and throwing it over my head. “Understood?”

I blinked, biting back the sharp retort that tried to roll off my tongue, and nodded, trying to adjust the hood to allow myself more vision. Grayson was quick to shoot me a stern glance. Reluctantly, I dropped my hands back to my sides.  

I was anxious about leaving the ship, as if my setting foot in this strange place would somehow bring everything crashing down around me; but Grayson left me little choice, pulling me by the arm down the ramp the moment it was extended. Even though I couldn’t see them, I could feel eyes on me from every direction. I got the sense that, even wearing what I was, I still didn’t blend in very well in a place like this.

Swallowing, I lowered my head and kept my head angled at the ground, relying on Grayson to guide me as I focused on the sorely-missed feeling of solid, unmoving ground beneath my feet.

Rotting wooden boards gave way to gravel and cobblestone as we moved further into the grimy town beyond the docks, away from the majority of the prying stares. I lifted my eyes a little, enough to get a better look at the winding path we were traversing. A few staggering drunkards passed us, singing a tuneless shanty interspersed with laughter. Eventually, we turned a corner and found ourselves at a wide, three-storied building. The door was still swinging shut, leaking a brief moment of raucous laughter and more inharmonious singing. It appeared that even mid-morning, the residents of Venina had no issues drinking themselves into a stupor.

This seemed to be our destination, as Grayson tugged me closer and closer until finally, we passed through the loosely-hinged door. I couldn’t help but peer out from underneath the hood, attempting to get a better look.

It was the very picture of what a pirate tavern should look like. There were large, grisly men sitting around tables, some with scars, missing limbs, or toothless grins. It was entirely too warm and reeked of alcohol and sweat, and when I turned my gaze towards the back corner, I saw a few men with girls draped over them. One of the women had her breasts fully exposed and her skirts hitched all the way up to her waist, while the pirate whose lap she sat on snaked a hand towards her rear. I quickly directed my gaze back to the ground before I saw anything more.

Grayson seemed eager to hurry me along, but we attracted attention the moment we stepped into the building. “Look what washed up at the docks,” I heard someone remark from behind us. Grayson’s grip on my arm tightened, but he didn’t deign to respond, moving to the counter and reaching into his pocket to dig out a coin for the innkeeper.

The hood was yanked from my head from behind, and I whirled, taking a step back towards Grayson. The perpetrator towered over me, gaunt and bony with sandy-blonde hair long enough to be tied into a greasy ponytail at the nape of his neck. Grayson turned and stiffened at the sight of him.

Despite the thick cloak, I immediately felt vulnerable as he stared me down, mouth twisting into a sneer as if he could see directly through the fabric. “You’ve got a pretty one,” he said, eyes flicking over to Grayson. “Where’d you get one like this, eh? Not from around here, that’s for sure.”

Some snickering. I felt more and more eyes turning to me, and I shrank back even closer to Grayson. Though his grip on my arm had bordered on painful before, it now provided a much-needed sense of security.

As if he’d read my thoughts, Grayson gave me a quick squeeze and tugged, prompting me to keep moving. “Piss off, Nate,” he growled.

I managed about three more steps before I was sharply jerked backwards as the other man’s large hand caught my opposite arm. “If I had a pretty whore like this, I’d buy her something nicer to wear,” he said, eyes travelling down to me with a hungry glower. “Why don’t you come sit with me, sweetheart? My cock will feel a lot better inside of you than his.”

My mouth fell open, air sticking in my throat as my stomach immediately turned over. Luckily, Grayson was quick to step between us. “If you’re so desperate to fuck something, there are plenty of other options,” he snarled, voice rising as he gestured around the room. “This one’s already paid for.”

I fought to keep surprise from showing on my face as the lie flew easily out of Grayson’s mouth. The man stepped closer. He was a few inches taller, but Grayson wasn’t intimidated, holding his ground and acting as a barrier between me and the sandy-haired pirate.

“You really ought to learn to share better, Grayson,” the pirate said, with an insufferable grin. “I want a turn at her, that’s all. You can’t keep a pretty thing like this all to yourself.”

Grayson’s eyes shifted, sweeping the room with a parsing gaze. “If I didn’t know any better, I might have mistaken you for your lackwit brother,” he said. “He’s normally the one trying to stick his cock in everything that moves, isn’t he?”

The smile on the pirate’s face transformed quickly into a dangerous, dark-eyed scowl. “My brother’s dead,” he informed Grayson. “Hung by the Hangman, three months ago.”

The Hangman. My chest drew tight. He didn’t mean…?

“My condolences,” Grayson said, in a tone that didn’t even pretend to be sympathetic. Suddenly, he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me in closer with a firm grasp. I stumbled into his side, cheeks reddening as I felt the warmth of his body against mine. “Here’s hoping there’s something for him to fuck in Hell.”

With that, Grayson spun me around and guided me towards the stairs on the other end of the room, arm only moving from my waist to pull the hood back over my head. Even still, I threw a quick glance over my shoulder. The sandy-haired pirate stood where we’d left him, with sunken, lust-clouded eyes that continued to watch my every move.

Chapter 16

Grayson shepherded me to the second floor and made a beeline for one of the rooms, throwing open the door and pushing me inside with an exhale. He stepped in after me and held out a hand. “The letter,” he said.

It took a moment for my mind to catch up, but I eventually fumbled for the folded-up parchment that I had tucked beneath the cloak before passing it over. Grayson took it and, for the first time since we’d left the Libertas, looked me directly in the eye. The hard stare he’d worn softened and he released a second breath, looking as though he was biting back words.

I never heard what they were. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and crossed back out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him. The lock turned with a click.

I stared at the door for several moments. Had he just locked me in? In half-disbelief, I reached out and jiggled the handle, only to confirm that he had.

With a scowl, I turned to look at what were apparently my new accommodations. It was more spacious than the cabin back on the ship, at least, with a double bed against the wall and a door leading to a tiny washroom on the opposite side. There was a half-used candle sitting on the bedside table, but no matches—luckily, plenty of light still poured in from the narrow window.

I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, breathing deeply to calm the storm of anxiety brewing in my stomach. The mattress was likely filthy, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. There really was no turning back now. All that was left was to wait for Father to receive the letter.

A chorus of rowdy laughter rose from the floor beneath me, and I glanced at the door. After the exchange downstairs, I had a feeling that Grayson had locked it to keep others out rather than to keep me in; regardless, it made me uneasy to be shut up in this unfamiliar place. Was he coming back? I stared at the door for several more moments before remembering myself and pulling my gaze away, squeezing my eyes shut. I had to stop this. He’d made it perfectly clear that he had no interest in interacting with me further since we’d kissed. And besides, he was still my captor—a person who I should very much not have been kissing in the first place.

Opening my eyes to stare at the ceiling, I thought back to that moment for perhaps the hundredth time since it had happened.

I should have stopped him.

Things would be a lot simpler if I had. He had given me ample opportunity—far more than any of Father’s men did whenever they’d sloppily smacked their lips against mine. I might have expected the same rough, pushy treatment from a hardened pirate like Grayson, but it had been anything but. He had been firm, to be sure, but gentle. I kept thinking about the way his hand had cupped the back of my neck, holding me, protecting me.

A warm feeling built further between my thighs the longer I thought about it.

I stood and went to the window, peering through the grime smeared all over the glass. There wasn’t much to see: only the tops of houses and buildings, and the rolling sea just beyond them. A few masts poked over the horizon, most with their sails rolled up for docking.

Hours slid agonisingly past, and my utter boredom drowned out my anxiety as I found myself pacing the length of the room and watching the sun inch across the sky. By mid-afternoon, I was completely restless, and wondering whether or not I was going to be stuck in this room until my father responded. I had just begun daydreaming about attempting an escape out the tiny window when I heard the lock turn.

I spun to see Grayson open the door with a brown paper package in one hand. He paused on the threshold and held the package out towards me. “Here,” he grumbled.

Blinking, I crossed the room to take it. It was warm, and from the scent wafting out of the paper I discerned that a loaf of bread was concealed within. I looked up to thank him, only to find that he was already turning to leave. Without thinking, my hand shot forward to grab his wrist. “Wait,” I blurted out.

He flinched at my touch, but stopped. Realising what I had done, I pulled back and cleared my throat. “How long do I have to stay here?” I asked.

Grayson sighed, looking something close to apologetic. “Could be a few weeks,” he said. “Believe it or not, this is the safest place for you.”

Given the nature of the clientele we had encountered so far, I did find that somewhat hard to swallow, though I supposed the rest of the town was likely more of the same or worse. Grayson tried again to make his exit, but I grabbed the door this time to stop him. “Wait,” I found myself repeating.

He waited, but I faltered. I didn’t actually have anything to say. Seeing this, Grayson lifted a hand to his forehead, pushing a clump of hair backwards. “Everly,” he sighed, and my heart immediately started racing. Whatever else he might have said was interrupted by heavy footsteps and snickering from behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, I saw two men making their way past, one of them with a busty woman draped over his arm. Grayson tensed, and quickly stepped inside, muttering something under his breath as he closed the door.

“What is this place?” I asked, remembering the partially nude woman downstairs. “Are we in a…” I couldn’t quite bring myself to say “whorehouse”. Even though I’d heard all manner of raunchy language in the past few weeks, old habits were hard to break.

Grayson, luckily, caught on. “It’s just an inn,” he assured me. “Though, if you’d prefer call it a pleasure house because there are whores, you’d have to do the same for every establishment in town.” The corner of his mouth twisted with disdain.

I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to cast a cautious glance at the bed behind me. Suddenly, the cleanliness of the mattress seemed worthy of my concern. “So, you’re going to keep me shut in here until my father writes back?” I asked, scowling.

His eyebrows knit together. “What other options do you think we have?” he shot back. “The captain tasked me with keeping you safe while we’re here, and that’s what I intend to do. Letting you wander around the freeport would just be asking for trouble, wouldn’t you agree?”

His condescending tone deepened my scowl, and I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yes, but I don’t need to be locked in,” I told him. “I’m not a child.”

“I’m not locking you in, I’m locking others out,” he argued, rolling his eyes. “Do you remember the man we met downstairs? With the blonde hair?”

A stupid question, I thought. How could I forget? Even Grayson seemed to reflexively grimace at the recollection. “His name is Nathaniel Redthorne,” he told me. “He and his crew are notorious for pillaging and raping up and down the Iberian coast, and if he got the chance, he would force himself on you without thinking twice.” Grayson’s gaze was hard and unmoving as he continued. “On the Libertas, it was different. Those men were under our command, and I could order them to stay away from you. Here, I can’t do that, and Nate is far from the only person we have to worry about. That’s why the door is locked.”

He was trying to scare me into backing down, but knowing this only made me angrier. “And why do you have the key?” I asked.

He blinked in surprise, and his mouth opened, but his words didn’t come out fast enough to cut me off. “I’m not a pet for you to visit as you please.” That made him flinch, and sensing the weakness, I pressed further. “I’m more than aware of the dangers here, and I have no desire to subject myself to them any more than necessary. So, the least you could do is not insult me by making me feel like even more of a prisoner than I already am.”

Grayson’s expression shifted, affronted first and then combative, and it seemed for a moment that further argument was brewing—but something made him bite his tongue. He wound up saying nothing for a moment, pressing his lips into a hard line. After some consideration, he let out a defeated sigh and began digging in his pockets. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Here.”

Without warning, he grabbed my free hand and pressed a cold, iron key into my palm. I blinked at it, thrown off by the concession. “But we’re going to have some rules,” he said, eyebrows dipping sternly. “You’re not to open this door for anyone but me. Unless you hear me knock exactly five times, under no circumstances will you go anywhere near that doorknob.” He paused as there was another bout of laughter from downstairs, as though reminding me what hazards laid outside the safety of this room. “And if someone else does happen to knock, you will be silent until they leave.” He had slipped into the authoritative tone I’d heard him use with the crew of the Libertas. “Do I make myself clear?”

I nodded, stifling the scowl that threatened to mar my face at being ordered around. Grayson’s shoulders relaxed, but his expression remained uneasy. “Good.” He looked me squarely in the eyes. “You and I will be seeing quite a lot of each other over the next several days,” he informed me. “The rest of the crew will likely bounce from whorehouse to whorehouse while we’re here, so like it or not, I’m your only ally. You should keep that in mind.”

I furrowed my brow, but he didn’t give me the chance to ask what that was supposed to mean before he whirled on his heel, finally making his exit.

I glared at the empty space where he’d stood for several moments before locking the door with my newly-acquired key, then dropping it on the bedside table. A small triumph, at least.

A part of me wondered if Grayson was behaving this way now purely to infuriate me; if it was all part of some convoluted game he was playing, to see how far he could push before I finally snapped. But I couldn’t convince myself of it. Something more was going on in that head of his every time we spoke—that much I could tell. But the man was so difficult to read that I couldn’t begin to fathom what it might be, constantly shifting back and forth like a full moon tide and keeping me guessing as to what he might do next.

I picked at my fingernails for a few moments. Perhaps I was overthinking. After all, what was the use in agonising? This ordeal was nearly finished, and however it ended, I wouldn’t have to see his frustratingly attractive face ever again.

For some reason, this didn’t make me feel any better.

Thus was I left to my own devices for the majority of the days that followed, interrupted two or three times daily by Grayson when he came to bring me food and water. As promised, each visit was announced by exactly five knocks on the door—no more and no fewer—delivered in a deliberate, steady rhythm. He never said much and didn’t stay long. I was lucky to wring a “hello” or a “good morning” out of him.

It was a few days after our arrival, sometime in the early evening, when I heard shouting in the hallway just outside. This was not unusual, but normally it came from downstairs, and I glanced at the door curiously. It was a woman’s voice, with such a thick Cockney accent that I could scarcely comprehend her words, though they seemed to be mostly profanities. The tirade was abruptly cut short by the sound of a loud crack, a shriek immediately following.

Instinctively, I jumped up. The swearing did not resume. I hesitated a moment at the door, weighing my options, but couldn’t help myself; I carefully cracked it open to peer into the hallway.

I caught the back of a man stalking away, while a woman in a low-cut dress slowly pushed herself up from the dusty wooden floorboards. “Stinkin’ bastard,” I heard her mutter, as she brushed out the folds in her dress.

I glanced in both directions. The hallway was otherwise empty, and so I deemed it safe to open the door further and take a ginger step out. “Are you all right?” I asked.

The woman looked at me in mild surprise, and then glared after her assailant. “Fine,” she said. “The shite short-changed me, ‘s all.” She spat in his general direction. I noticed a bruise forming on her cheek, but it looked as though she’d already shaken off the encounter. A pit took shape in my stomach at the realisation that she was probably used to such treatment.

She faced me, tilting her head as she looked me up and down. She was undoubtedly attractive—on the thicker side, but that only lent more to the large breasts that threatened to pop out of her dress. Her bright red hair had been curled and may have been pinned up at one point, but now hung loose and in tangles around her shoulders. She pursed a pair of painted lips at me. “Never seen you ‘round before,” she said. “You a boat girl?”

I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

At this, the girl exploded into laughter. “Don’t need to beg me for nothin’, sweetheart,” she chortled. When she smiled, I saw that a few of her teeth were missing; but it was somehow endearing. “They were sayin’ Grayson showed up ‘ere with a pretty thing on ‘is arm. S’pose that was you?”

I bristled. “I’m not—” I stopped myself, remembering that this was the lie that Grayson had given Nathaniel downstairs. Embarrassing as it was, having her think that I was Grayson’s personal prostitute, or something of the sort, was better than her knowing the truth. The girl paid the hesitation no mind, and offered me a sloppy curtsy.

“Name’s Johanna,” she told me. “You?”

I had at least enough sense left to not give my true name, and instead said the first one that came to mind. “I’m Penny,” I told her, remembering poor Penny Haywood who had been denied passage aboard the Oasis what seemed like so long ago. I wondered if she knew now how lucky she’d been.

I chewed my lip. It had been days since I’d so much as spoken to another human being, and I quickly convinced myself that staving off more torturous boredom was worth disobeying Grayson for just a few moments more. “You…know Grayson?” I asked.

“Ev’ryone does,” she answered. “All the girls do, at least. Plus, ev’ryone’s been talkin’ ‘bout how he mouthed off Nate Redthorne the other day.”

All the girls know him? I found myself immediately wanting to ask what that meant, but refrained. Johanna let out a huff, scowling down the stairs. “Back to work for me, then,” she said. “See you ‘round, Penny.”

Much to my horror, she marched right back into the den of inebriated pirates below.

I wondered how many more of them would strike her like that tonight. I almost wanted to stop her, to invite her into the room to talk—enjoy someone other than Grayson’s company for once—but I had already pushed the envelope just by opening my door, and that would have been a step too far.

With a sigh, I retreated to wait in solitude until the next five knocks.

Chapter 17

A week spent cooped up in that dusty room was enough to make anyone feel stir-crazy, and it wasn’t long before I looked forward to Grayson’s brief visits to a concerning degree. Despite the cold shoulder he was determined to give me, I found myself implicitly entreating him to stay when he came by, asking inane questions and desperately attempting pointless conversation. It was no surprise that he quickly grew aggravated with this behaviour, culminating in him storming out of the room on me one day as I tried to stall him.

It was as clear a sign as any that he had no interest in talking to me. With a sigh, I resigned myself to the unending boredom; only for Grayson to return later the same day with several books in his arms.

“Here,” he grumbled, dumping them onto the bed.

I stared at them for a moment, not quite registering. They were all second-hand, with worn covers and browning pages, and I was baffled to think he had managed to find them in a place like this. I turned my eyes to meet his, but he was staunchly avoiding my gaze. “Thank you,” I stammered finally, stunned.

He acknowledged me with a grunt, then stalked off just as suddenly as he’d entered.

I sat to examine what he had brought me: a volume of Keats poetry, a couple of history books, and a copy of Ivanhoe. Where had he gotten these? Had he bought them for me? Or had them on hand? They didn’t seem like the types of books Grayson would own; then again, he never failed to surprise me.

Whatever their origins, I wasn’t sure I had ever been so happy to see books. Eager to do something that wasn’t pacing and staring out the grimy window, I began leafing through Keats.

When I wasn’t reading, I spent my time listening to the comings and goings of patrons from the other side of the door. I always recognised Johanna’s voice, chatting and laughing and making vulgar jokes as she led various men to a room. Sometimes, I tried to keep track of how many “clients” she had. During daylight hours they were few, two or perhaps three at most; at night, she made out better, bedding as many as five men within only a few hours. As I sat there against the wall, listening, I wondered what it was like to live like that—taking coin from one man after another, making just enough to eat and get by and then doing it all over again the next day.

It couldn’t be pleasurable for her, at least not anymore. Yet every time she walked by, she was perfectly cheerful, even despite the incident a few days ago. I was both fascinated and horrified. It was difficult to fathom how a woman who spent every day being groped, stared at, and allowing pirates who had been God-knows-where to put themselves all over her could be so content.

There were a few other voices I became familiar with; most of them had thick Spanish accents, and I only heard a few of them consistently speaking English. One of the girls was called Sofia—I only knew this because she had a regular who would stumble down the corridor every night singing “Sofia, Sofia, Sofia” to no particular tune. Then there was an older woman with a husky voice who, though she didn’t get as much business as the others, often had men howling so loud that I could hear it from across the inn. Another girl only spoke a few words of English and sounded quite young, sixteen perhaps and rather shy, but I frequently heard her timid voice as well.

Though Grayson’s gesture was greatly appreciated, it took only a few days before I had gone through all the books at least once, and I was left once again with not many ways to spend my time. I found myself sitting outside the door more frequently, listening to the activities outside and developing a strange fondness for the prostitutes as they conducted their business. Foolish, perhaps, but I could only read Ivanhoe so many times, and it kept me from imagining what might happen once my father saw my letter.

Evenings were always the liveliest. One night in particular, just as I was thinking that I should get some sleep, there came the shriek of a girl from outside. It was followed immediately by a chorus of shouting. This was not unusual—at least once per night there was an altercation of some manner—but this affair was particularly emphatic. Shortly thereafter, I heard Johanna’s voice rise above the din, screaming at someone to get out.

Much more shuffling, yelling, and heavy footsteps later, it was suddenly quiet, save the sound of someone softly crying.

I stood, my ear to the door, heart dropping into the pit of my stomach. Was someone hurt? I hadn’t heard a blow being dealt, but it could easily have been drowned out. I strained my ears, but everyone else involved seemed to have left. Against my better judgement, I unlocked the door and cracked it open.

The hall was indeed empty except for a girl with a small frame huddled against the wall, hands cradling her face and shaking with silent sobs. I hesitated to move any closer until I noticed the blood trickling from underneath her hands.

I was there before I could stop myself, pulling her arms away from her face to look. The blood was streaming from a swollen nose, and tears continued to roll down her face as she looked up at me with startled brown eyes. She was just a teenager, I realised; barely of age. My stomach twisted unpleasantly.

I glanced back at my still-open door, and without much more thought, made another snap decision. “Come with me,” I encouraged her, putting an arm around her shoulders and guiding her towards my room.

She offered no resistance and let me steer her into my small washroom, where I grabbed a rag from the basket and dipped it into the basin to wipe the blood from her nose. She flinched at my touch, but the cool water seemed to soothe her, as her sobs slowly subsided while I cleaned her face.

Once the blood had been washed away, I inspected her nose. Although the area was red and puffy, it didn’t appear to be broken. Now much calmer, the girl stared back at me with some confusion, likely wondering who I was, but still she said nothing. She was pretty, I thought, with a small round face dotted with freckles and wispy black hair. Her dress was a bit too tight, though I suspected this was by design, as it pushed her breasts into view.

Johanna’s voice called from outside. “Ana?”

The girl turned, and then glanced at me uncertainly before scurrying back into the hallway, with me right behind. Johanna ran to her from the top of the stairs. “Let me see your face,” she insisted. “Does it hurt?”

Ana nodded meekly, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. I cleared my throat. “It isn’t broken,” I said. “Just swollen.”

“Who the hell is she?” another voice said, permeated with a heavy accent. I looked up to see another woman at the top of the stairs now, with olive skin and thick black hair braided over one shoulder. She scowled as she strode towards us, but Johanna was quick to calm her.

“Grayson’s girl,” Johanna said, and I barely managed not to blush.

The woman—perhaps this was Sofia?—relaxed her shoulders, then turned her attention to Ana to begin speaking in rapid Spanish. I was completely unable to follow, but her tone was stern, almost as though she was gently scolding. I chewed on my lip. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer to this question, but I asked it regardless. “Why did he hit her?”

Sofia finished her lecture with a sigh. “She told him she was a virgin. When there was no blood, he realised she was lying.”

The expressions on Johanna and Sofia’s faces had darkened, though it took me another moment to understand. Some men were partial to virgins, I had heard, particularly when they were very young. My stomach flipped over in disgust.

Sofia turned thick, furrowed brows on me. “Since when does Grayson keep a woman?” she asked. “He never touches us.”

“Brought ‘er last week,” Johanna said. “She talks all fancy. Must’ve paid a pretty penny for ‘er,” she added, shooting me a wink. I shifted uncomfortably, unsure how I should respond, so I said nothing.

Ana directed her eyes to me and began to fidget. “Thank you,” she said slowly, with an uncertain glance at Sofia for confirmation.

I tried to smile, hoping that it didn’t look too sad.

“I’m taking her to bed,” Sofia declared.

Johanna nodded in agreement. “Night, Penny,” she said, giving me one of her toothy smiles.

I watched the three of them vanish into one of the rooms, unable to soothe the ache in my heart. I hadn’t stopped thinking about how unfazed Johanna had been the other day when that man had struck her. How many times had it happened before she became inured to it? And how many more times would it happen to Ana before it no longer made her cry?

Realising that I was now alone in the hallway, I turned to withdraw to my room and found a man standing in my path.

With a start, I all but leapt backwards, stumbling over myself in surprise. Nathaniel Redthorne, the same man who had been so intent on putting his hands on me the day we’d arrived.

He loomed over me, gaunt and imposing, and flashed a set of yellowing teeth at me in a malicious grin. “Are you lost, love?”

Chapter 18

“Don’t look so scared,” he said, flashing me two rows of jagged, rotting teeth. “I only want to play.”

A chill shot down my spine. My eyes darted in search of someone, anyone nearby, but we were alone. He, equally aware of this, advanced, until he had me backed against the wall.

“Grayson’s been keeping you all to himself,” he said, another step accompanying his words. “That hardly seems fair. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be wasted on someone like him.”

The space between us grew rapidly smaller. Terror had a firm grip on me, weighing my legs down so much that I wasn’t certain I could move them. Still, as he drew ever closer, a burst of adrenaline energised me for long enough to try to sprint past him.

His arm whipped out, colliding with my stomach. I was yanked sharply backwards, the breath knocked clean from my lungs as he dragged me into his chest.

I managed a strangled cry of fear and protest, twisting my body in an effort to escape, but he held me pinned. He leaned over my shoulder and sneered into my ear a taunting, “Ah, ah, ah.” His breath burned as it crawled down the back of my dress, assaulting my nose with the stink of cheap rum. “You’re not going anywhere.”

I opened my mouth again, hoping to scream, hoping to attract some kind of help, but the sound lodged in my throat when his free hand snaked around my neck. “Why don’t you warm my bed tonight?” he hissed. “I pay well. You can ask any of the girls here.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. That much was clear from the way his fingers dug against my throat, not quite hard enough to choke me, but an implicit reminder of how quickly he could squeeze the life from me all the same. My heart threatened to climb out of my chest as his mouth came perilously close to my collarbone. A dry sob worked its way out of me, and the hallway started to spin.

Then, an abrupt slam brought it to a halt. Pounding footsteps. All at once, Nathaniel’s grip vanished, and I was thrown forward. I only barely managed to break my fall with my hands, and looked over my shoulder to see Grayson, who had appeared as if from nowhere, shoving Nathaniel backwards.

 “Oi, oi, settle down,” Nathaniel said, a sinister smile still playing across his face. “No need to get rough. I was only having a bit of fun.”

“She’s off-limits,” Grayson snarled. “I warned you to keep your filthy hands off of her.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “Didn’t take you for the type to get so attached to a whore,” he said, with an insolent grin. He took a step forward, and I couldn’t help but mark the size difference between them; Nathaniel was taller by only a few inches, but suddenly that seemed like all he would need to barrel his way past Grayson. I scrambled to my feet, hoping I could be fast enough to run for my room and shut the door before Nathaniel reclaimed any more distance, but he made it no further.

One blink, and there was a pistol in Grayson’s hand. A second blink, and it was raised and pointed directly at Nathaniel’s forehead. Nathaniel stopped in his tracks. “Off-limits,” Grayson repeated, voice low.

The silence that followed was long and deafening. Their eyes remained locked for what felt like eons, an invisible battle of attrition, leaving me afraid to breathe in case it tipped the scales. I watched Nathaniel’s expression cycle—surprise, confusion, then disbelief. “You wouldn’t,” he said finally.

Click. The sound of Grayson cocking the pistol echoed, removing any doubts either of us may have had about his sincerity. I wondered briefly if I should run after all, to avoid witnessing whatever might happen next, but I wasn’t sure I could make myself move.

Nathaniel stared down the barrel of the gun for a few more moments, and then broke into a bewildered laugh.

“Always so serious!” he said, with a grin. “Fine. Keep your pretty whore.”

I relaxed my shoulders when he stepped back and turned to leave, only to be frozen again when he eyed me over his shoulder, piercing me with a wolfish stare.

Grayson didn’t even wait for him to be out of sight before he whirled and seized me by the wrist, leading me past my room and to another one further down the hall without a word.

The door closed behind us with a slam.

“Was something I told you the other day unclear?” Grayson asked. “Did I not explicitly tell you that you were not to open your door unless you heard me knock?”

Slowly, I faced him, opening my mouth to explain myself, but he swiftly cut me off. “You know what? I don’t care,” he snarled. “Whatever it is, I don’t care.” He moved past me, tucking the pistol into his belt and shoving hair back from his forehead with a groan. Out of instinct, I turned my eyes to the floor and caught sight of my own shaking hands. Why were they shaking? Unconsciously, I reached up to rub at the side of my neck where Nathaniel’s mouth had lingered only inches away from my skin.

The spot still burned.

Finally, Grayson looked at me again, the corners of his mouth fixed into that stony frown that I saw so often now. I wanted to fire a retort back at him, snap at him, say something, but all I could think about was what might have happened if he hadn’t appeared at that moment. There was a sting manifesting at the backs of my eyes, strong enough to cut through the numbness that had been threatening to take me over. It took a moment to register that Grayson was still scolding me.

“Are you listening?” he demanded. “Have you completely lost your mind? Do you have any idea what—”

I couldn’t stop, even if I had tried. Tears rolled down my face, and Grayson’s lecture came to an abrupt halt. Cheeks flushing, I turned my head to the side as if I could somehow maintain a shred of dignity in doing so, though I knew it was too late. The tears fell faster than I could possibly contain them, slipping from beneath my lashes and streaking all the way down to my chin. They were almost as hot as the blood beneath my cheeks. I squeezed my eyes shut, but that only seemed to make it worse, and I was forced to clench my teeth in order to stifle an uninvited sob.

There was a prolonged, awkward silence. I couldn’t look at Grayson, for fear of losing what little composure I had left, but staring at the ground offered me little reprieve. The ghostly sensation of his fingers—thick and calloused and ready at any moment to cut off my air flow entirely—refused to fade. The taunts he’d hissed cycled endlessly in my ear, like a cruel song that had lodged itself in my head.

Grayson still hadn’t said anything. Why hadn’t he said anything? The floorboards creaked softly as he shifted his weight backwards. From my peripheral, I caught the movement of his hand running through his hair again.

“All right,” he said finally. The sharpness in his voice was gone, replaced with a much softer, halfway-comforting tone. “Let me get you something to drink. Stay here.”

Grayson brushed past me and threw open the door again. I heard the lock turn after he pulled it closed. It might have annoyed me a few days ago; now, it made me feel secure.

Swallowing, I finally looked up, rubbing furiously at my eyes to try and stem the flow of tears.

I surveyed the room, the edges of my vision still blurry. It was much like the room in which I had spent the past several weeks, and was presumably where Grayson had been staying based on the clothes that were strewn about. My eyes landed on the bed, where the pillows laid in a state of gentle disarray with the covers thrown over top of them, a lazy attempt at making the bed.

Without fully thinking about it, I sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to control my breathing and forcing my hands to uncurl so that I could wipe the sweat from my palms. It certainly wasn’t the first time a man had made unwanted advances on me, I reminded myself. Once some men heard that the Admiral’s daughter had a reputation for being loose, they’d deem it acceptable to treat me as if I were a common whore. But this had never been something I couldn’t handle. A few threats of retribution from my father usually sent them running; if not, a good kick in the shins often did the trick.

That wouldn’t have served me here. In fact, I had a feeling that had I tried to kick or hit him, my situation would have only worsened.

A wave of exhaustion crashed over me without warning. My entire body felt heavy, as though I’d just sprinted a mile, even though I’d spent the past few days doing quite the opposite. Still trying to catch my breath, I eased backwards on the bed, clenching my hands around fistfuls of the rough, threadbare sheets until my fingers ached. My eyelids drooped. Grayson had said he was getting me a drink. Had he meant water, or something stronger? I wasn’t sure which one I was hoping for.  

So tired. Strange, how my heart had been racing a mile a minute just a short while ago, and now I could hardly keep my eyes open. This wasn’t my bed, however; some part of my brain remembered that, but Grayson was taking a long time. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to just close my eyes for just one moment—

I had barely finished that thought before I began drifting off.

Chapter 19

I awoke to sunlight streaming through the window onto my face, though it took several minutes to convince myself to open my eyes. I squinted, raising a hand to my forehead. It was bright. Late morning already.

Wait. Morning? Blinking rapidly, I sat straight up, chest tightening in alarm. It felt like it had only been a few minutes since I had closed my eyes. I did a quick scan of the room and found it much the same as last night, save a dusty-looking quilt on the floor.

My face burned with something between irritation and embarrassment as I realised that Grayson must have slept there. I turned my gaze away, as though doing so would alleviate the unpleasant churning in my stomach. Why hadn’t he just woken me? Better yet, could he not have gone and slept in my room? My teeth clenched, but I tried to force myself to relax. Deep down, part of me was glad to have not spent the night alone; perhaps this was the true reason behind my annoyance.

I exhaled, eyes moving towards the small table by the window. Several items had been left upon it: a pitcher of water and a glass, for which I rose out of bed to wash the sleep out of my mouth. Beside it was half a loaf of dark bread and a few strips of dried meat. Finally, a torn scrap of parchment tucked under the plate, on which was a note written in infuriatingly impeccable handwriting:

Door is locked. Will be back later.

I stared at the parchment with a furrowed brow for several long moments, fiddling with the glass of water in my hands. I couldn’t really blame him for locking me in; though it wasn’t as if I would have dared to venture out on my own anyway, following last night’s episode. I absentmindedly tore off a chunk of the bread, chewing as I glanced around the room a second time. Apart from the quilt, there were also a few articles of clothing on the floor—a shirt, a pair of trousers, a strip of leather that could be construed as a belt. I found myself suddenly conjuring an image of him getting undressed in this room.

I wondered if he’d done it while I was sleeping, just inches away from him.

Drawing in a breath, I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to will the flush from my cheeks.

After forcing down some food and finishing the glass of water, I was left pondering what I was meant to do for the remainder of the day as I awaited Grayson’s return. I paced the length of the room a few times, carefully stepping over the smattering of objects that were scattered about the floor. I was tempted to tidy up, but I wasn’t sure Grayson would appreciate me touching his clothes. Instead, I pointlessly fussed with the sheets on the bed for another several minutes, sorely missing my books in the other room; leafing through Ivanhoe for the hundredth time sounded better than nothing.

But I didn’t have Ivanhoe, so I had to content myself with my own thoughts. The events of last night bled together in my mind, but I still clearly recalled how quickly Grayson had pulled his pistol on Nathaniel, with a look in his eyes that had frightened even me. Would he have done it? I had a hard time imagining Grayson shooting anyone, which—upon further consideration—was frankly ridiculous. As much as I liked to forget it, Grayson was a pirate, and he had surely killed men before. Shooting Nathaniel would have been nothing new to him.

It was all too often that I had to remind myself of what Grayson was—perhaps because every time I tried, another part of my brain countered by bringing to memory all the times he had been kind to me. The flush I had fought off earlier found its way back as I remembered how quickly he’d softened last night, his gruff exterior melting away in an instant when I’d lost my composure.

But he was a criminal. Someone who had cheated, stolen, and almost certainly killed to get where he was now.

Even so, Grayson had told me himself that he hadn’t wanted this life; it was simply the hand he was dealt. I knew plenty of noblemen, young soldiers, and tradesmen who had done things they shouldn’t have with the women in our town. Any one of them could have gotten unlucky, the way Grayson had.

So yes, Grayson was a pirate, but he was also more than that. And when I thought about the rest of the Libertas’ crew, like Finn and Captain Manderly, they were all more than that. Whether they were victims of circumstance or had simply been drawn to an outlaw’s life, the word “pirate” wasn’t enough to define them. Fundamentally, this was something my father would never understand.

Time passed slowly as I waited, occasionally forcing myself to nibble on some of the food Grayson had left, but I hadn’t much of an appetite. Although I had calmed down since the encounter with Nathaniel, my stomach still flipped each time he slithered into my thoughts.

It was early evening by the time I heard a key in the lock, and I lifted my head from where I sat sulking on the bed, heart quickening. Grayson entered looking exhausted, a bag slung over his shoulder.

His eyes flicked over to me for a moment, but he quickly averted his gaze in favour of closing and locking the door behind him. Then, he shrugged off the bag, moving across the room to dump it on the table. I felt the colour in my face deepening the longer the silence lasted, grasping for words to break the tension. Luckily, he spoke first. “Are you…” He cleared his throat. “Are you all right?”

I blinked, surprised by the question. He seemed hesitant to meet my gaze, shifting his weight backwards uncomfortably. I realised I was witnessing a rare—and endearing, if not for the circumstances—moment of embarrassment from him. “Yes,” I said. Another brief silence before I added, “Thank you.”

He muttered an acknowledgement. I carefully drew my legs over one side of the bed, curling my hands around fistfuls of sheets for lack of anything better to do with them.

Grayson ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you why that can’t happen again.”

“I was—”

“I know what you were doing,” he interrupted, and finally met my gaze. His brows had folded downwards in disapproval. “I hear what goes on out there, too.”

I blinked. “Why don’t you do anything about it?”

Grayson released a short, humourless laugh. “If I tried to rescue every whore in distress, I’d end up with another knife in my side,” he told me. “You ought to know better, too. I told you not to leave the room. Keep that up, and you’ll be dragged off to someone’s bed against your will.”

I tried not to visibly flinch, but I must have failed, for his lips pressed together into a scowl; though the immediate lowering of his eyes indicated that it was directed more at himself than at me. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But it’s true. You’re lucky I heard what was going on. If you pull that again—”

“I won’t,” I snapped, cutting him off. “I’ve more than learned my lesson, and I don’t need an additional lecture.” I rose. “If you’ll kindly unlock the door, I’d be happy to return to my own room so I can stop being a nuisance to you.”

He blew out an exhale, the corners of his mouth twisting in exasperation. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“What did you mean to do, then?” I spat. “I don’t see how this conversation serves any purpose other than for you to be insufferable.”

“Oh, I’m insufferable?” he repeated, with an abrupt, incredulous laugh. He took several steps towards me, forehead wrinkling as his brow furrowed even deeper. “Everly Williams, you drive me mad. If I’m insufferable, you only have yourself to blame for it.”

My chest tightened, and without meaning to, I began to grind my teeth. “If you hate me so much, why bother threatening other men with pistols on my behalf?” I shot back.

“You know why,” he growled.

“But of course,” I said, now completely unable to hold back. “What was it you said when we met? ‘Damaged goods are worthless goods’?” His eyebrows lifted, affronted, and a tinge of satisfaction seeped in at seeing that I’d caught him off guard. “Because that’s all I really am to you, right? Fine. So let me go back to my room, and I’ll just sit and wait like a good little package until my father is ready to receive me.”

I stomped past him, but only travelled one or two steps before he grabbed hold of my arm, halting me in my tracks.

“That isn’t what I meant,” he said, slowly.

There was a shift in the tone of his voice that melted some of my anger away, and I turned to stare back at him with a mixture of vexation and confusion. He made a sound that was part sigh and part growl, and the grip he had on my arm loosened. My first instinct was to pull away, but his hard, grey eyes anchored me to the spot. “You want me to tell you the truth?” he asked. “I pulled my pistol because I saw his hands on you and I couldn’t stand it.”

I blinked, but before I could parse the meaning of those words, he continued. “You drive me mad,” he repeated, “because not only do you refuse to leave my thoughts, but every time I’m in the same room as you, all I want is to tear your clothes off and make you gasp my name.”

All advantage I’d had in the conversation had gone directly to him; it was my turn for speechlessness. His eyes bore into mine for several more moments before his hand opened, releasing me. “I’m attracted to you,” he said, matter-of-fact, as though he were telling me the colour of the sky or the number of yards in a mile. “Too much for my own good, or yours. That’s the problem.”

He broke his gaze to glare indiscriminately at the space to his left. A warmth was working its way up through my neck, and yet I was frozen in place, scarcely remembering to breathe. “It was stupid of me to let this happen,” he muttered. “Nothing good can come of it. Soon, you’ll go back to your pretty little manor in England and marry some soldier or businessman, and we’ll never see one another again.”

It stung. Why did it sting? The words cut me to my core, and it didn’t take long to realise that it was because they were true. If I ever made it home, Father would not waste much more time in marrying me off to his favourite officer; likely some older man at whom I’d never so much as glanced.

“I…” I faltered, mouth going dry, but I forced the words out. “I don’t want that.” 

“Does it matter?” he asked bitterly. “What’s the point in pretending, Everly? I’m no good for you. Trust me: you and I are much better off keeping our distance.”

Better off. I took a step back, feeling my irritation reignite as my mouth pulled into a frown. “What gives you the right to tell me how I’ll be better off?” I asked, words once again spilling out before I could think. “Everyone seems to have an opinion on how I should live, but no one ever bothers to ask mine. My father, my suitors, and now you—not once has anyone asked what I want.”

Grayson went quiet, expression evening out as he seemed to let my outburst wash over him. Then, cautiously, he took a step closer to me, putting himself mere inches away, disarming me with the sharpness of his stare. “Tell me, then,” he said, voice softening. “What do you want, Everly?”

I opened my mouth and found that I’d run out of steam as his discerning stare threw my train of thought off its tracks. Hearing him speak my name in that way made my legs weak. Every time those eyes took hold of mine, my brain turned to mush. What did I want? What do I want?

Speech continued to fail me, and so instead of telling him, I closed the remaining distance between us and took it.

Notes:

Big thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying so far. It makes me so happy to see all your comments :)

I was wondering how many people would join a Discord server, if I were to make one? Let me know if you would be interested!

Chapter 20

The next several seconds blended so severely that I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my lips locked with his, intoxicated by his mouth against mine. The kiss caught him off guard for a moment before he grabbed my shoulder, tightening his grip as if to push me away, then reconsidering. His hand dropped, instead snaking around my waist to draw me closer, mouth opening to receive mine and teeth grazing my bottom lip. When his other hand cupped the back of my neck, I couldn’t stop myself.

I reached up and entangled my fingers in locks of his hair. My hand closed around a handful, and I tugged, provoking a low growl from his throat. His arm coiled tighter and his tongue forced entry into my mouth, breath coming in short, rapid bursts. He clutched at my side, fingers digging into my skin just hard enough to hurt, as though he was afraid I would slip away.

It wasn’t until we were both dizzy and breathless that he finally pried himself free. “We can’t do this,” he panted. “This isn’t—”

“I don’t care,” I breathed, and lunged for him again, sealing his lips with mine before they could offer another protest. The hand on my waist began to slide dangerously low, grasping at my dress and tugging at the fabric, as if he wanted to tear it off then and there. My hands itched to wander, to glide over the chiselled chest that I knew was hidden beneath his shirt. I extracted my fingers from his hair, but got no further as I realised that he had backed me against the edge of the bed.

He pulled away again and leaned back, grey eyes scanning my face as though they were searching for something. His thumb caressed the base of my jawline, just below my ear. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice going quiet.

Something in his tone sent a shiver down my spine, something that was not quite a warning, but close. It felt as though his gaze was holding me in place as much as his arms.

Even if this was a mistake, it was one that I wanted to make more than anything.

Swallowing down the final traces of lingering doubt, I gave him a wordless nod. I was sure his next move would be to guide me onto the bed, but instead, Grayson withdrew.

“Sit,” he told me. I couldn’t place it, but his voice had changed again—there was something firm and authoritative there now that made me instinctively obey, and I dropped to the edge of the bed without thinking.

Grayson remained standing with an expression that was difficult to decipher, but it became more than clear what he was thinking when he reached forward and cupped my chin. “Good girl,” he said. My next breath was an involuntary shudder.

Without another sound, he crossed to the other side of the bed. I twisted to watch him over my shoulder, surprised and puzzled in equal parts as he knelt and pulled something from underneath. I couldn’t see far enough over the side of the mattress to tell what it was, yet also couldn’t bring myself to entertain the thought of moving closer; as if some invisible force held me where me where he’d commanded me to sit.

Finally, he stood, a bolt of black silk in his hand. I furrowed my brow at it, and then blinked up at him.

My visible confusion seemed to amuse him, as the corners of his mouth turned upwards. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

I wanted to say yes, but the words stuck in my throat as my heart pounded away in my chest, and so I resorted to nodding at him again. Grayson approached and gently placed the cloth over my eyes.

He tied it snugly around the back of my head, leaving me totally blind. Still, I perceived almost every movement he made, hearing the rustle of his clothes as he pulled away and leaned back. There was another pause, and I heard him moving around again. “Hold out your hands,” he instructed.

My heart leapt into my throat as an idea of what he intended to do popped into my mind, but I didn’t have time to think any further as my body complied with the order of its own accord, my arms lifting and extending towards him. He drew my wrists together, and I felt a soft cord loop around them.

I tried to keep still, but uncertainty must have flashed across my face, because Grayson hesitated. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured me.

“I know.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

My teeth came down on the inside of my lip, a flush spreading from the base of my neck and into my cheeks as I shook my head.

Quietly, he continued, winding the rope around my hands and then wrapping it the other way between. He completed the restraint with a firm knot, and tentatively, I tried to separate my wrists. The rope was snug, but didn’t dig into me; true to his promise, it wasn’t painful. There was another brief silence as I experimented with my bonds. “How does that feel?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure how to answer. My heart still raced, each of my senses heightened to a maddening degree. With hardly a thought, I’d allowed him to put me completely at his mercy, and that in itself both frightened and excited me. When I didn’t respond, his fingers brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. “Should I continue?” he prompted.

I opened my mouth, a response making it halfway out before my voice failed again. It occurred to me that I had no clue what it actually meant for him to “continue”, but the ache between my thighs was beginning to drown out any form of reason. I cleared my throat and nodded.

Grayson exhaled, and I felt his thumb on my bottom lip, tracing its outline and causing my mouth to part, raising goosebumps all over my body. Taking this as invitation, he kissed me softly. I leaned in, craving him, but it only lasted a few moments before he pulled away.

He lifted me off the edge of the bed, then carefully placed me down again in the centre of the mattress. The bed shifted as he joined me, placing both knees on either side of me and straddling my middle. I expelled another shaky breath as warmth crept its way through my lower stomach and into my thighs.

Grayson guided my bound wrists above my head, until they were just touching the headboard behind me. My arms were tugged upwards as he took the rope dangling from my wrists and fastened it to the wooden slats on the bed. I heard the soft shiff sound of a knot closing, triggering another wave of goosebumps at the back of my neck. I pulled to see how much range of motion I had, and found my arms stuck, leaving my entire body open and vulnerable. It should have scared me; but a thrill shot through me instead, smothering the more logical emotion.

I sensed that he had watched me come to this realisation, hearing another soft, pleased exhale. The bed shifted again as he leaned down until I could feel the heat radiating off of his skin, and his head dipped into the crook of my neck to place several soft, slow kisses. My skin tingled and crawled with anticipation each time his mouth made contact, and without meaning to, I found myself gasping audibly as he made his way up and along my jaw. He paused in the tender spot just below my ear, and I felt his lips curl into a smile.

“You don’t mind if I undo your dress, do you?”

My breath caught in my throat. “Yes,” I said without thinking, and then realised my mistake. “No,” I quickly corrected myself. He didn’t move, and a mild panic washed over me as I wondered if I had still somehow responded incorrectly. I desperately tried to sort through muddled thoughts to explain myself. “I don’t…I don’t mind,” I clarified, shaking my head perhaps a bit too vigorously. He chuckled softly in my ear, then leaned back, and began tugging at the laces in my bodice.

It was difficult to keep from writhing. The only thing I could think was that I wanted him to just rip the damn thing off, but he was slow and deliberate as he pulled each lace on the bodice, one by one. Just feeling his touch through the fabric sent shivers through my body, and I could do nothing but wait in agony until he finally pulled the front of the dress open, exposing my chest.

My nipples stiffened against cool air. His hands traced their way up my sides, and then along the undersides of my breasts. I clenched my jaw in frustration, trying not to lurch into the touch as his hands moved maddeningly around where I wanted them most.

A pause. Though I had no way of knowing, I had a feeling he was watching the vexation mount on my face, highly entertained by it.

Just as I was contemplating asking what the hell he was waiting for, there was another shifting of weight on the mattress, and finally, I felt the contact I was longing for as something warm and wet ran across my left breast. His tongue. I tried unsuccessfully to stifle the whimper that rose out of my throat as his mouth travelled over my nipple.

What is wrong with me? He had scarcely touched me, and already I’d been reduced to a squirming, moaning mess. The mere presence of a blindfold and a short rope around my wrists intensified each sensation to a level that I could barely stand, rendering my brain entirely useless, and he knew it.

He nipped at the underside of my breast. It didn’t hurt, but surprised me enough to elicit another gasp, which transformed into a moan halfway through. He stopped suddenly and pulled back, and I furrowed my brow, mouth opening to protest—but the sound died when I heard him release a low, hungry growl. “You know,” he said, “if you keep making sounds like that, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to hold back anymore.”

Puzzled by this cryptic warning, I closed my mouth and bit my bottom lip. Was this him holding back? Because he was straddling me, it was impossible not to feel his rapidly growing desire pressing against my upper thigh, as he teased my body in every way he could think of. If he was controlling himself now, what would he do to me once he gave in?

Deep in the pit of my lower stomach, something was coiling itself into knots.

Grayson hadn’t said anything else, and I shifted impatiently. His hand touched my face as he brushed another lock of hair away, tucking it behind my ear. “You’re beautiful like this, Everly.”

Hearing him say my name made the bed spin. Blood rushed to my head and I clenched my thighs together to try and smother the growing discomfort there. He laid the backs of his fingers on my cheek, as though trying to feel the warmth of my blush. “Remember,” he murmured, “If you want me to stop, you just have to say so. But…” His hand slid down to my chin and pinched it gently, playfully. “I’m pretty certain you’re enjoying this.”

He was infuriatingly correct. I didn’t want him to stop. In fact, it was the last thing I wanted. I wanted him to ruin me, and I didn’t care about any of the potential consequences; in that moment, the only thing in my head was a persistent and irrefutable longing for him.

Withdrawing, he slid off of me, and almost too quickly for me to react his hand glided beneath my skirts and between my thighs. I gasped, practically throbbing as he teased the inside of my legs for a moment before slipping his fingers into my undergarments.

I heard another quiet chuckle as he felt how wet I was, expertly exploring all the sensitive spots within my folds and finally finding the critical bundle of nerves that had been aching for what felt like hours. I didn’t even try to withhold the whimper as his thumb ran circles around it, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. Relishing my obvious desire, he pressed down harder while his forefingers continued to tease me, until I was practically thrusting my hips in an attempt to tell him what I wanted.

But he knew what I wanted. I knew he knew it; he was drawing it out, escalating my desperation with every passing second, doing his absolute best to drive me mad. It was working. I couldn’t keep quiet anymore, mewling and moaning with every rotation his thumb made. I couldn’t think; my head was jumbled, mushy and incapable of putting together a coherent thought. Finally, two of Grayson’s fingers pushed their way inside me, and I shuddered in satisfaction.

He was slow and gentle at first, as he often was, but gradually became more forceful, thumb stimulating my most delicate spot as he moved his fingers inside me, faster and faster until it was all I could do not to cry out.

“Say my name,” he ordered me, breathless.

He didn’t have to tell me twice. “Grayson,” I moaned.

“Again.”

“Grayson,” I repeated, barely squeaking it out before I found myself no longer able to speak, and I could do nothing but heave as he brought me over the edge. By the end, I was panting, his name coming out of my mouth over and over as though I no longer had control over my own voice. “Grayson,” I gasped again. “Grayson. Grayson. Grayson.”

Chapter 21

I awoke the following morning and was mildly startled to find myself nestled underneath of Grayson’s arm, with my forehead against his chest.

It was a swift and almost cruel reminder of what had taken place the night before. After all was said and done, he had been quick to untie my hands and remove the blindfold, then wordlessly settled into the bed at my side and wrapped his arms around me. I remembered trying to say something, but he’d shushed me gently. Unsure what was happening, but too dazed to ask, I had rested my head against him, listening to the sound of his heart as it slowed back into a steady rhythm. My own heart didn’t seem to want to stop racing, but when he'd started stroking my hair, my mind had gone numb, and my eyelids had begun to droop.

I opened my eyes. Grayson was still fast asleep, a well-toned arm draped over me as though he was still holding me prisoner even in slumber. I laid still for a few minutes, afraid to wake him. His expression was always so stony and secretive, but when he slept, his features relaxed, showing a face that was almost entirely new to me, with no walls or masks to cover it.

As I watched his eyelids twitch whilst he dreamt, I tried to understand where all of that had left us.

He had tried to warn me that it was a mistake. Now that I was thinking more clearly, I knew he was right. We had opened the floodgates, passed the point of no return—now, everything that came next would be ten times more complicated.

I couldn’t bring myself to care.

My head spun. I kept wondering why he hadn’t…taken what he so obviously had wanted. I distinctly remembered feeling him harden through the fabric of his trousers as he’d teased and pleasured me, and yet he’d done nothing about it. I could only assume that he had held back for the sake of my “purity”, though that had been the furthest thing from my mind at the time. A part of me had yearned for him badly enough that I was certain I would have let him take me, had he tried.

Unable to draw any sort of conclusion from that mess of thoughts, I let my attention drift to the rope he’d used to tie my hands, still attached to the headboard above me. I shifted to reach up and touch it, careful not to disturb Grayson, and threaded it between my fingers. I noticed again how soft it was. It looked like ordinary rope, but it hadn’t chafed me the way rope normally did. I glanced at my wrists, looking for the usual red welts or depressions, but my skin was smooth.

Grayson inhaled deeply, and I looked over to see him trying to suppress a smile as he blinked sleep from his eyes. “Morning,” he mumbled.

My cheeks began to warm, but the smile he was doing a poor job of hiding found purchase on my own face. “Morning,” I replied.

He lifted his arm off me and gave it a stretch, eyes travelling up to the end of the rope I had been fiddling with. I pulled one end down towards me. “Why is it so soft?” I asked.

He released his stretch with a soft grunt, then reached over and began to undo the knot securing the rope to the headboard. “Oil,” he said.

I frowned, waiting for him to elaborate, but he only furrowed his brow as he picked at the knot. “Oil?” I prompted.

Grayson nodded.  “Usually whatever is in the kitchens works fine. I think I used coconut oil for this length.” He graced me with a half-smile. “It softens the fabric, so it won’t leave bruises.”

I contemplated this for a moment, watching him free the headboard. As much as I might have liked to believe he had gone to that trouble for my sake, I knew it was far more likely that this was the sort of thing he had done with other women. I couldn’t help but wonder, how many? Had he ever taken Johanna or Sofia to bed with him, and done with them what he’d just done with me?

I frowned to myself, as the mental image sprouted an ugly feeling in my chest. How unlike me, to be jealous.

Luckily, they were quick to evaporate once the rope fell to the bed, and Grayson slid an arm around my waist to tug me closer. I allowed myself to be drawn in, as he considered my lips for several long seconds. Finally, he leaned forward and sealed them. His teeth came down on my bottom lip, gently at first, then suddenly bit down hard enough to send a jolt of pain through me. I released a soft whimper into his mouth, feeling the blood in my veins start to heat.

He looked all too pleased when he pulled away, his sly, hidden smile from earlier now fully visible as he watched the blush rise into my cheeks, then dipped back in for another.

Knock knock knock.

He froze inches from me, and all at once I was thrust back into reality, as though dunked into an ice-cold bath. The relaxed, mischievous expression on Grayson’s face instantaneously flipped to his usual guarded demeanour, and he turned over to look at the door. Then came three more knocks, more impatient than the first.

Grayson hopped out of bed, shooting a swift look over his shoulder at me that very clearly said to stay quiet. I sat up and watched as he cracked the door open.

He opened it only a crack and spoke softly to whoever was on the other side, keeping his voice just low enough that I couldn’t hear. He lingered there for a minute before closing the door again, and turning back to me. I noted immediately that the colour had drained from his face. “Captain Manderly wants to see us,” he said.

My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach, the spell that had been cast the night before entirely broken. “Why?” I asked carefully. Surely, he didn’t know about—no, there was no way he could have found out. Unless someone had seen us enter the room together…?

Grayson shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.” The hand dropped from his head and passed over his mouth, leaving behind a grimace. “I’m sure it goes without saying, but not a word about—”

“I know,” I cut him off, climbing out of bed. “I’m not stupid.” I started towards the door, but was intercepted by Grayson, who had crossed the room to me so quickly that I nearly stumbled in surprise. He caught my chin.

“You be careful with that mouth,” he said, his impish grin returning to his face. “Else I might have to do something about it.”

His sudden swing in attitude stole all words from me, and I was unable to keep the blood from rushing to my cheeks. Satisfied, Grayson gave my chin a pinch and then let go, turning to get dressed.

One fresh change of clothes later, Grayson handed me the scratchy cloak and led me out of the inn for the first time in days. I had been hoping to feel the sun on my skin again, having been confined to a room for the past week with a single small, smudged window, but Grayson had insisted. He hurried me along to where the Libertas was still docked and waiting, avoiding the stares and whispers of people milling about.

I felt no nostalgia for the ship as we made our way up the ramp, though it was quieter than I had ever seen it. I imagined that most of the crew were still out enjoying what Venina had to offer. Except for Captain Manderly, it seemed, whom we encountered in his quarters pouring several glasses of wine. “Bit early for that, isn’t it, Captain?” Grayson remarked.

He looked up and shot us a grin, as I removed the hood and wiped the sweat off my forehead. “Good morning,” Captain Manderly said, and looked past Grayson to me, grin widening. “And an especially good morning to you, Miss Williams,” he said, holding out a glass of wine for me. “I have good news.” With his free hand, he reached into his back pocket and whipped out a scroll of parchment. “Your father has replied to your letter.”

My stomach turned. My mouth opened, but no words came out, blood turning to ice in my veins. I quickly tried to correct my horrified expression, but Captain Manderly had already noticed and was laughing. “Don’t look so frightened,” he told me. “I said it was good news, didn’t I? He’s agreed to a peaceful exchange.”

I stared, dumbfounded; that did not sound like my father at all. Grayson cleared his throat quietly, nudging me, and I realised that Captain Manderly was still waiting for me to accept the glass of wine. Swallowing, I took it, but my tongue was too thick and heavy to even consider drinking.

As I continued to try and school my expression, Grayson strode over to Captain Manderly’s desk to take a glass for himself. “Where and when?” he asked, taking a drink.

Hearing him ask so nonchalantly, as if it made no difference to him—an unpleasant ache began to form in my chest. I tried to ignore it and took a wobbly step towards them. “May I see the letter?” I asked.

Captain Manderly passed the parchment to me, and with shaky hands, I unrolled it. It was my father’s script, and as I skimmed the contents, so too was it his cold, matter-of-fact tone. The letter was stiff, unfeeling—expressing neither joy to hear that I was alive, nor anger that I had been abducted. But that wasn’t what bothered me about it.

My father had indeed agreed to the terms Captain Manderly had given me. We were to meet him on open seas at specified coordinates; they would bring only one ship, which would remain a respectful distance. They would send one man in a rowboat to collect me, and then everyone would turn and go their separate ways.

I had been certain to imply in my letter that, should things go awry, the pirates would end up killing me.

And he had agreed to every last line. I read it three times more, just to make sure I understood what I was seeing. I would have gone for a fourth, had Grayson not taken it to look for himself. “Well,” he said, with a thin smile. “Looks like you’re going home, Miss Williams.”

I said nothing, suddenly unable to look him in the eye.

Captain Manderly and Grayson talked details for several minutes, but I couldn’t listen; my mind was a whirlpool that refused to settle. I should have been happy. As Captain Manderly had said, this was good news. But the thought of returning to England only stoked dread in my core, and the more I looked at Grayson, so casually discussing how they were to be rid of me forever, the more nauseated I felt.

But that wasn’t all that gave me pause. I couldn’t bring myself to believe that Father would so willingly bend to the demands of pirates, let alone ones who had abducted his only daughter. Further still, his response had come far too quickly for my liking, as though he’d been waiting for my letter. Of course, I was sure he had some idea of what had happened; he had obviously known about the attack on the Oasis, enough to put out a bounty on the Libertas. Still, the only explanation I could fathom for this behaviour was that everything he’d written was a bold-faced lie, and it was a trap to lure the pirates into an ambush. If I was lucky, he would ensure my safety before killing or arresting everyone on the ship.

A few months ago, I might have considered that to be the best-case scenario. But as of last night, things were significantly more complicated.

My eyes travelled down to the glass of red wine in my hand, still untouched. The liquid rolled in time with the bobbing of the ship, and the longer I stared at it, the less appetising it looked. The colour is wrong, I thought, hazily. The red was several shades too bright, as if Captain Manderly had handed me a glass of blood.

Then, I blinked, and it was normal again.

Trying to swallow down the acid that my body threatened to regurgitate, I looked up at Grayson, my head filled with memories of last night, with the way I’d completely forgotten about everything outside that room, and I wanted desperately to go back to it. I would have been perfectly content to stay in that bubble of ours, had it not been for that blasted knock on the door.

Abruptly, I found myself back in the present, as the words Grayson was saying struck my ears. “If we leave in ten days, that should give us enough time to reach the meeting point,” he said, and I looked back at him to see him poring over a map that was laid out on Captain Manderly’s desk. “We can sail the perimeter if weather is favourable. Prepare the arsenal in case he tries anything.”

Captain Manderly nodded along, thoughtfully. “Aye, ten days. I’ll leave it to you to track down the others and let them know.” With another grin, he clapped Grayson on the shoulder, and then winked at me. “You’ll just have to keep our guest entertained until it’s time to set sail, eh?”

My blood ran cold, but if there was hidden meaning behind those words, Captain Manderly gave no indication. I saw Grayson close his eyes for a moment, stifling a flinch before returning seamlessly to discussion of the route, at which point I tuned them out.

I set the glass of wine down on the desk as inconspicuously as I could manage. Looking at it only made me feel sick.

Chapter 22

Several agonising minutes later, Grayson excused us and escorted me off the ship, reminding me to pull the hood back over my head when we exited the cabin. I tried to sneak a few glances at him from underneath as we descended the ramp, but his expression had, once again, morphed into something that was too difficult to read.

By the time we had cleared port and made it to the cobblestone streets, it became evident that he had no plans to break the silence. There were words perched on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t know what they were, and so I remained quiet. Perhaps my mind was just racing too quickly with thoughts I didn’t want to be having. Or perhaps it was that while I didn’t know exactly what my father was planning, I was almost certain that it was a trap.

I snuck frequent sidelong looks at Grayson, unsure what I expected to see. If it was a trap, then what? If my father showed up to the exchange with a fleet, rather than the agreed upon single ship? If he started firing on us the moment we came into range?

Would Grayson stand there and let them slit my throat? Or would he do it himself?

My stomach turned on its side. I struggled to keep my panic from becoming visible; the cloak and hood may have been itchy and uncomfortable, but at least they hid my expression.

We made our way back to the inn and got all the way up the stairs before Grayson finally paused in the hallway, digging in his pocket for a moment and then wordlessly offering me a key.

I blinked. Perhaps it was the cold, stony mask he was wearing, but I surmised immediately it was the key to my own room. My heart sank into my core as I took it. Grayson’s lips parted; but he too seemed unsure of what he wanted to say, because he pressed them together again just a moment after. He left me with a brusque nod, turning on his heel and disappearing back down the stairs.

I stared at the key in my hand. The only thing I really wanted to do was to go after him, but I knew better than to linger in the corridor by myself for too long. I turned and let myself into my own room, closing and locking the door behind me and then throwing off the cloak with a sigh of relief.

The room was exactly as I’d left it; covers sloppily arranged on the bed, with the books Grayson had brought me stacked on the floor beside it. I sat down on the mattress, drawing my legs up and pulling them close to my chest. Foolish of me, to be upset over a thing like Grayson sending me back to my own room when I had arguably much bigger problems.

Perhaps I’m wrong, I tried to tell myself. Perhaps Father really was persuaded by my letter. It was possible, I supposed, though I had never known Father to be anything less than pig-headed when it came to these things. It was hard to imagine that he’d heeded counsel from his daughter, of all people.

Nausea began to brew again, so I tried to think about something else—but of course, the first subject my mind jumped to was Grayson, and that only made me feel worse.

Looking back, I hardly recognised myself, having totally surrendered to base desires in a way I never had before. The things I had let him do, and the way he had made me feel…my head spun just remembering it. Other men had always been little more than minor distractions or acts of rebellion, and perhaps some part of me had expected a night with Grayson to feel the same. Had I thought that indulging myself with him would satisfy the attraction I felt, get it out of my system, get him out of my head? Because nothing could be further from reality. Now, I just felt…hungry. Some strange, new side of me had awakened, and suddenly a whole new world of carnal possibilities was laid bare. My body craved them, wanted to explore them now that I knew they existed. More than that, though: I wanted to explore them with him.

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut to clear the thought. No, I couldn’t have that. Desire I could manage, but anything more had to be swept off the table, especially now that I knew our time together would end in ten days, one way or another.

In a desperate attempt to occupy myself, I reached down and grabbed a book off of the pile. It was the Keats volume, which I had been trying to convince myself to slog through again now that I was entirely sick of Ivanhoe. I had never cared for poetry, but there was little else to do.

I gave it my best effort, but wound up reading the same line over and over again while my mind wandered back to all the things I wanted to avoid thinking about. Eventually, I had no choice but to give up and toss the book back onto the dusty floor.

Staring at the water stains on the ceiling, I gnawed at what remained of my thumbnail. Ten whole days of this, then. Was that really what was in store for me? Ten days holed up in this room, forcing myself to read awful flowery gibberish as I agonised over the upcoming exchange?

I’ll go mad, I thought, with an inward groan.

I laid there, considering my options, watching the light outside my window dim. Before long, the inn began to liven, and my pessimistic ruminations were constantly interrupted by footsteps treading through the hall. I caught myself hoping, whenever someone walked past my room, that they would stop and knock on my door five times.

When no such thing happened, I told myself again that I was being foolish. My father’s voice rattled in my head, reminding me of who Grayson was and who I was, and telling me that I needed to forget about what had happened last night.

Naturally, this only made me more determined to do the opposite. After all, if there were still ten days before we parted ways—ten days that may very well be the last for either or both of us—wasn’t it better to at least make the most of them?

The final glimmer of sunlight vanished beneath the horizon, and the sounds of drinking and merriment below reached their crux. I wondered if Grayson had come back yet. I assumed he had gone to track down the crew and let them know what the plan was, but I wasn’t sure how long it would take. Surely, not more than the whole day, right? I sat up slowly, combing my fingers through my hair as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stared at the door in consideration.

After a moment, I stood, only to immediately freeze, rocking on my heels as some reasonable piece of me advised me against my chosen course of action. I promptly ignored it, grabbing the key from the bedside table and letting myself out into the hallway.

A quick glance down either end told me that the corridor was empty, though that could change at any moment as soon as one of the girls came through with a client. I planted myself in front of Grayson’s door, and before I could change my mind, knocked five times.

For several long moments, nothing happened. I swallowed anxiously and glanced at the stairs again, debating between knocking a second time or ducking back into my own room. Just as I was about to raise my hand, the door swung open.

Grayson looked first at me, both bemused and startled, then over my shoulder into the hallway before grabbing my arm and pulling me inside.

“What are you doing?” he asked, closing the door. The question was almost accusatory, but he seemed thrown enough by my appearance that his intended tone died halfway through. He realised this, clearing his throat and twisting his brows together in something like mild frustration.

My mouth opened, but no response came out. I hadn’t actually thought this far ahead. “I…” I grasped for words. “I thought we should…talk.”

The wrinkles in his forehead deepened. “What is there to talk about?” he grumbled, eyes drifting off to the left.

I blinked. How could he even ask that? Annoyance flared, and before I knew it, it had taken over my mouth. “What do you think?” I found myself saying. “Are we supposed to just pretend as if last night didn’t happen?”

Grayson’s mouth wrenched in discomfort. “No, but—” He faltered, meeting my gaze, and then breaking it again with a soft growl. “Everly, you know we can’t—you can’t—”

A surge of confidence spurred me to interrupt, taking a step closer. “We have ten days before we set sail, right?” I asked. “So you’d rather I spend them hiding alone in that room? What’s the point in acting as though nothing happened?”

He exhaled, exasperated. “What would you have me do?” he shot back. “Do you have any idea what would happen if we were found out?”

“A very good idea,” I said. “But—” My resolve began to vanish as suddenly as it had appeared, and I found words sticking in my throat as my brain caught up with them. He had locked eyes with me again, this time maintaining the penetrating stare. I swallowed. “We’ve already…spent one night together. I’m saying…” My cheeks burned, and now it was I who couldn’t meet his gaze. Cursing myself, I forced myself to verbalise the thought. “What difference would ten more make?”

Silence. The flush in my face continued to deepen as I immediately wanted to take the words back. What had just come over me? This wasn’t like me at all. For several long seconds, Grayson was so quiet that I wondered if I’d gone deaf, and from the corner of my eye, I saw him clench a fist at his side. My heart quickened. Was he angry? Would he laugh in my face?

This is stupid, I thought, suddenly. I’m only embarrassing myself. I should go. I should—

Before I even finished the thought, Grayson broke the silence with a heavy exhale, and seized me by the wrist. “Fuck it,” he muttered, then pulled and captured me again in a rough, hungry, desperate kiss.

Chapter 23

Thus came the second morning that I awoke to find myself in Grayson’s bed, trapped beneath his arm.

All at once, my reasonable side reared its ugly head. Reality hit me again like a ton of bricks, reminding me how stupid I was; not only for letting this happen once, but for going as far as to initiate it a second time.

Still, I wasn’t any worse off than before, and that was at least a strange comfort, if not a justification. I let out a quiet sigh and closed my eyes again, nestling myself deeper against his chest. He was warm. My motion made him stir, but he didn’t open his eyes, instead readjusting the arm he had laying across me.

Last night was fuzzy. It felt almost like a dream; I remembered the evening in fragments, forced to rearrange and fit the pieces together like a puzzle. He’d kissed me, and then we were on the bed, and he’d been pulling at the laces of my dress. I remembered him binding my hands again. I looked up at the headboard: sure enough, there was the same length of rope, hurriedly wound around the slats where my hands had been trapped.

Why does he do that? The thought was vague and distant, and I knew the answer as soon as it formulated. The way his eyes glinted whenever he had me at his mercy was all too telling; he liked being in control, having that power over me. And at the same time, I liked giving it to him.

My face heated. I couldn’t deny how eager I was to give him my agencies, to trust him completely with my body. That in itself was frightening; though whether it was in a good or a bad way, I couldn’t yet say. My eyes fixed on the rope above me, as if I might find some answers by staring at it hard enough.

Still, even when I was helpless to stop him, he hadn’t done anything to satisfy his own desires. He’d seemed far more interested in teasing and tormenting me, discovering new ways to drive me mad until he’d finally gifted me my release. Why? He did…want me, didn’t he?

Experimentally, I shifted my leg beneath the covers, until my knee just touched the space of his inner thigh. I found his hardened manhood there immediately, stiffening further from the contact.

He stirred again, and I had a brief moment to wonder if I’d woken him before the tightening of his arm around me quickly answered the question. “What do you think you’re doing?” he murmured.

His tone was playfully dangerous, slowly blinking his eyes open as his fingers crept their way up my back to entangle in my hair. I couldn’t withhold my sheepish smile, and made a grab to undo his trousers, but he was quick to block me with his free arm. “I don’t remember giving you permission for that,” he said.

What? I furrowed my brow. Shouldn’t he be the one asking me to touch him? However, he was unwavering as he stared back at me, almost expectant, an arrogant smirk forming on his lips.

In a sudden burst of rebellion, I shot upright and climbed swiftly on top of him, eliciting a grunt of surprise as he found himself pinned to the bed—sort of. Even with the use of my full weight, I knew he could easily throw me off. He didn’t, though, resting both his hands on my hips and looking up at me with eyes that sparkled in amusement.

Locking my gaze with his, I ground my hips against him. His fingers tightened as if to keep me still, but I felt his body immediately respond. He clicked his tongue. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warned, in a low growl.

I couldn’t stifle a devilish grin, vindicated to deliver him even a fraction of the longing he had caused me the past two nights. Perhaps this was what he felt like, when he had me bound and writhing underneath of him. It was easy to understand why he liked it. Chasing the high, my eyes flickered thoughtfully to the length of rope that hung from the headboard, then back to him.

Grayson clocked the movement and raised an eyebrow at me, but did nothing, as if waiting to see if I would dare. I began to reach for it, but hesitated, fearing for a moment that I was going too far; but then, his lips quirked into half a smile. “Go on,” he prompted, and offered me both his wrists.

I blinked, heart thrumming against my chest as I grabbed the rope off the bedframe before he could change his mind. “Fair warning,” he said, “if you’re going to do this, you’d better be sure I don’t get free.” The misplaced half of his smile stole across his face, forming a grin. “Because if I do,” he drawled, “you’re going to be sorry.”

A sick thrill ran down my spine.

Struggling to smother a hot spike of arousal, I focused instead on recalling how he’d bound my hands in the past. I began by folding the rope in half and wrapping it around his wrists, then pulled both ends through the loop. He observed with a shrewd gaze as I wound it around a few times and pulled the rope vertically in between his hands, as I had seen and felt him do before. The smile on his face twitched when it came time to knot it off, as if he was trying to keep it from widening.

Here, I had little chance of imitating what he’d done in the nights previous, since I’d been either blindfolded or too dazed to remember. After a moment of thought, I constructed what I thought was a simple but effective knot and pulled it tight. Tentatively, I withdrew my hands. Grayson’s arms flexed to test the bonds, and I was pleased to see that his wrists did not separate.

He allowed me only a few seconds to admire my handiwork before he sat up and threw his arms over my head.

I scarcely had time to understand what was happening. His bound wrists pressed into the small of my back, caging me against his chest. “Now what?” he asked me, all smile and insolence, dipping his head towards mine. The knot in my lower stomach returned, as he hooked his arms underneath my hips and dragged me onto his lap. He was quick to eliminate any room for protest, assaulting my mouth and practically forcing my lips to part for his. Even with his hands tied, I felt all semblance of control slipping out of my grasp as he pulled me hard against him, dragging his teeth along the inside of my lip. I offered a soft whimper in response. His arms tensed around me, hands twisting until—

All at once, his hands came loose and he grabbed me by the waist, swinging me around. I had no time to resist as he shoved me face-down to the mattress and captured both my arms with ease. He tsked, pinning my hands behind me as I made a feeble attempt at a struggle. “Not bad for a first try,” he admitted, and his weight shifted as he leaned close to my ear. “But I think you knew how that was going to end, didn’t you?”

I squirmed obstinately, a flush rising into my neck. Perhaps I had known, but there was a twisted part of me that had been desperate to face the consequences of that action, to know what kind of retribution he would exact upon me. My entire body throbbed now in anticipation, begging me to just give in to him, but my pride wouldn’t allow it. “That wasn’t fair,” I complained, half-heartedly trying to wrench my arms away from him.

His fingers tightened around my wrists in response, and he pushed me harder into the bed. My mouth opened in a soft cry of both pain and pleasure. “I disagree,” he said. “I did warn you.” He lowered himself to my ear again, voice dropping to just the right frequency to make my stomach drop. “Now, what should I do with you?” he murmured. His breath passed over the shell of my right ear as he hummed thoughtfully. I shuddered.

Grayson paused for a long moment. His tone changed again, bringing me halfway back to lucidity. “I’m going to be a little rough with you this time,” he said, gently. “Is that all right?”

I blinked. That should have been alarming. I should have wanted to immediately say no. Why did it make my heart pound to hear that? A strange, mounting feeling was coalescing in my chest, radiating through my body and sending another longing ache between my legs. My mouth had opened, but I couldn’t remember if I’d given a response, so I found myself nodding just in case.

“If it’s too much, tell me, and I’ll stop,” he promised. “No questions asked. Understand?”

This time, my mouth felt too dry to speak, so I nodded again.

As soon as he had that confirmation, his voice retreated back into a low, dangerous cadence. “Good. Hold still.”

I obeyed, letting him rearrange my hands behind my back before he began tying them, folding my arms one on top of the other. A shiver ran through me as he pulled the restraints tight, once again taking me captive.

Now that my arms had been rendered entirely useless, he leaned down, mouth catching the skin at the base of my neck and sucking, leaving a trail of bruises along my collarbone. I whined, pressing my forehead to the sheets and trying to keep from gasping. It felt good. The sensation was undoubtedly one of pain, but it felt good. I struggled to make sense of this, nearly unable to process the raw, overwhelming stimulation he was thrusting upon me.

It seemed eons before he was satisfied, detaching himself and sliding a hand around my waist to flip me onto my back. His eyes travelled over my neck, examining his work with a wolfish grin. He reached up and traced a line from beneath my ear to my collar, hooking a finger around the top of my bodice and giving it a teasing tug. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, eyes piercing mine, “but it sounds to me like you rather enjoyed that.”

Unconsciously, I pressed my lips together, but the flush in my face answered his question, and he snickered. Trying to retain some dignity, I turned my head away from him, shifting my leg so that it rubbed against the hardened length in his trousers again. “Not any more than you did, it seems,” I said, in an attempt at a taunt.

Grayson grabbed hold of my leg to keep it still, fingers digging in painfully. I swallowed down a gasp, facing him with as stubborn an expression as I could manage, only to be immediately thrown off when I saw the barely-concealed smile on his lips. His eyes glinted as he delighted in my small rebellion. “You know, Everly,” he said, “if you want to pleasure me that badly, you only have to ask.”

My voice caught in my throat as I stared up at him, incredulous. Still, I wasn’t about to let him tease me without firing back. “Your loss,” I said, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice.

Somehow, the grin on his face grew even more wicked. “That runaway mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble,” he said, readjusting himself and nestling his knee between my thighs. I whimpered as he stimulated me through my undergarments, a shudder shooting through me. “Luckily, I’ve just thought of a much better use for it.”

I blinked slowly, barely registering as he scooped me off the bed, placing me on the floor.

Grayson pushed me to my knees with one hand on top of my head, while the other undid buttons on his trousers. I was too stunned and confused to resist. Once I was completely kneeling, he took my chin, tilting my face up towards him. “Ask for permission,” he commanded.

It took me a moment to understand, and I blinked again in disbelief. Was he serious? He very clearly wanted this, so why was I the one who had to ask—?

With his trousers undone, he finally pulled his manhood out for me to see, already hard and throbbing with desire. Still, he waited, lifting one eyebrow. I wanted to scowl at him, but all I could do was blush wildly as I realised that I really was going to have to say it. I almost wished he would just force himself on me; perhaps that would have been less humiliating.

I swallowed hard. I had an urge to look away, but the iron grip he had on my chin prevented me from doing so, and I let out a reluctant exhale. “May I…” My voice cracked, and I muttered the rest of the question, cheeks burning hotter than I ever knew they could.

“Speak up,” he interrupted me. My mouth twitched, itching to form a frown, but it was quite at odds with the tight coil twisting around inside me. I ground my teeth together and cleared my throat.

“May I please…pleasure you…?”

With a grin, he released my chin and put a hand at the back of my head. “Open,” he told me.

I needed no further clarification. I opened my mouth and let the inside of my head go numb.

His fingers entwined with my hair as he guided me forward, a gentle but firm reminder of who was in charge. He let me take about half his length before he stopped and began helpfully moving my head back and forth, as if to show me how it was done. It didn’t take me long to get the idea, and I was comfortable enough to start exploring him with my tongue. He was warm, pulsing, throbbing with anticipation the more I swirled around, gradually making my way further along with each pump of my head.

His breathing quickened above me. A soft groan of approval rose from his throat as I licked drops of salty fluid off of his tip. With my next movement, I swallowed him down, lips reaching the base of his shaft. His fingers tightened around locks of my hair.

It was almost long enough to make me gag, but I suppressed it, intently fixated on moving my mouth and tongue around him in different ways, relishing each moan that was elicited. He tugged at my hair impatiently when I lingered for too long, so I tried quickening my rhythm, accidentally grazing him with my teeth as I did so. He pulled my hair again, hard, almost in warning, but his low growl was not entirely displeased.

I slowed inadvertently as my jaw began to feel sore, but Grayson was swift to correct it, using his hand to create the friction he wanted between him and my mouth. Although he’d been tender at first, now he was aggressive, pulling me further towards him still and forcing me to choke down the reflex to withdraw; until finally, he released with a long exhale.

His climax filled my mouth, hot and salty. He held my head firmly in place at the base of his shaft, leaving me no choice but to swallow it all down.

He pulled away, slowly undoing the death grip he had on the handful of my hair. I looked up at him. He was still panting, black hair damp against his forehead with sweat, and I wondered if I should try to stand before he suddenly dropped to the floor and cupped the side of my head, pressing his nose into my curls and mumbling words of praise that I only barely heard. My brain felt as though it had been wiped clean as I found myself nestling further against his palm.

After a moment, he slipped his arms around me again and lifted me off the floor to return me to the bed, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. “Good girl,” he murmured.

I blinked as he pressed me flat against the mattress, keeping my arms pinned underneath my own body. “Grayson—?”

His hand found its way between my legs, yanking my skirts up and my undergarments down so swiftly that it might as well have been a single motion. I let out a yelp of surprise as I was suddenly fully exposed to him, and instinctively tried to press my thighs together. “Ah, ah, ah,” he said, prying my legs back open.

“Wh—” I stammered, trying to make my mouth form words. “What are you—”

With a smile, he leaned forward. “What?” he asked. “Did you think I was finished with you?”

My heart pounded as my lower stomach continued to twist, and the tell-tale ache coiled through me. “I…”

Whatever I was going to say, the words died as his lips made contact with my neck again. “Just relax,” he said. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Wordlessly, I nodded.

“Good,” he said, pushing himself backwards. Instead of resuming whatever he’d been doing between my legs, he leaned over the side of the bed and scooped something off the floor. “Lift your head,” he instructed. Puzzled, I did as he asked, and he brought forth the black silk cloth from the other night; however, instead of tying it over my eyes, he rolled it up and pushed it between my lips, wrapping it around to secure it at the back of my head.

“I have a feeling you’re about to get very noisy,” he explained, breathing into my ear as he knotted off the gag.

I let out a mewl that might have been a half-hearted protest, but my body pulsed even harder with arousal in response.

His hands returned to my legs, once again persuading them to open. My blood ran hot as I was made to expose myself, laying bare for him to see and do with as he pleased; but as his fingers traced teasing patterns on my inner thigh, I felt myself slipping away, descending into a deeply comfortable haze.

The moment his tongue made contact, I understood the reason for the gag, as another yelp flew out of my mouth. The ache worsened as he made his way up to the tiny, sensitive nub above my entrance and closed his lips around it. It was almost too much. The whimpers and whines building up behind the gag must have sounded nothing short of pitiful, but my head was so scrambled that I no longer had the capacity to feel embarrassed about it. I didn’t even realise I was writhing until Grayson’s hand clamped down on my right leg in a reminder to keep still.

His mouth released me for a moment, and with sudden force, attacked my inner thigh, grabbing the skin with his teeth and sucking until it left a painful mark. I let out a muffled cry, practically gasping for air until he was finished.

His thumb rubbed against what I was sure was a very red bruise, chuckling softly. I made an attempt to say his name, forgetting about the wound-up cloth tied into my mouth. Grayson planted a kiss on top of the mark. “Do you remember when I told you that my tongue is very talented?” he asked, voice tinged with amusement.

I blinked, lifting my head to look down at him. He chuckled again, and then pinched at my thigh gently, causing me to twitch. “Relax,” he reminded me, and then occupied his mouth once more with my most sensitive areas.

Everything quickly turned into a blur. I was so overwhelmed with stimulation that I couldn’t have said whether he was at it for five minutes or fifty. The only thing I did know was that by the end, there truly was no question of the talent of his tongue.

Chapter 24

Five days later, whilst I sat atop Grayson’s bed watching him dump entirely too much sugar into his coffee, the thought I kept desperately trying to shove into the back of my mind clawed its way to the front: I can’t keep doing this.

The days had escaped me, one after the other, and each morning I found myself once again in his bed. The logical piece of me begged incessantly to be heard, but so far, I had been successful at keeping it quiet. Nevertheless, the closer we came to the day of departure, the louder my rational mind seemed became.

Grayson caught me scowling. “What?” he asked.

I blinked, and tried to brush it off. “I can’t believe you drink it like that,” I muttered, with a nod towards the steaming mug of what may as well have been sugar with some coffee poured over it.

Grayson glanced at his concoction, then grinned. “Sugar can be tough to come by at sea. I have to make the most of it while I can.” He raised the mug enticingly in my direction. “Want to taste?”

I made a face. “No, thank you.”

With a snicker, Grayson took a careful sip and then suddenly dipped down and pulled me into a kiss, forcing the lingering taste of over-sweetened coffee into my mouth as he gently pinched my chin with his left hand.

After a moment, he withdrew, still holding my chin. “Not so bad, is it?” he murmured.

I could only blush in response, and he let go, stepping back to peer out the window as he took another sip.

I swallowed and frowned again to myself, frustrated. We must have shared at least a hundred kisses like that by now, and still I was left blushing and with a pounding heart each time.

That was the dangerous part. Every time he smiled at me, I couldn’t help smiling back. Even now, staring at the back of his head whilst he sipped at his coffee, a strange warmth settled in the pit of my stomach, one that I couldn’t rid myself of, no matter how hard I tried. I drew my knees onto the bed, tucking them under my chin.

Five days gone, five to go. It was difficult to imagine what might happen once we met with my father. I had tried to put the thought as far from my mind as possible, allowing Grayson to distract me from everything beyond these four walls, but I couldn’t ignore it forever. Grayson and Captain Manderly might have believed my father’s letter, but the more I thought about it, the more it all sounded like bitter lies buried in sugar.

They were all going to die.

I snuck another glance at Grayson, who was setting his mug back on the table, having just thrown back the dregs of his concoction. “You’re not going to eat anything?” he asked.

Snapping back to reality, I looked up. He had fetched the coffee and breakfast before I’d even woken, and I’d almost entirely forgotten about the bread and fruit sitting on the table. “Later,” I said, clearing my throat.

He shrugged, scooping his knapsack off the floor. “I have an errand to run,” he said, placing a quick kiss on my forehead as he made for the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

I nodded vacantly, turning to watch him leave. After a moment, I got up and locked the door behind him; when he returned, he would announce his arrival to me with the usual five knocks.

I caught myself smiling again and shook my head, swallowing down the lump at the back of my throat. Though I could keep thoughts of my father at bay during my waking hours, they plagued my dreams at night. Each time I closed my eyes, my mind conjured a different, bloody version of the handoff. Some nights, I was the one killed; others, it was everyone else. Once, my father hanged Grayson right in front of me. And once, I had pitched myself over the side of the ship and let the waves drag me down.

I kept trying to imagine scenarios in which the exchange went well. In which my father did as he said he would, bringing a single ship and leaving the Libertas alone. It all seemed about as improbable as a fairy-tale. Had I doomed them all by agreeing to send that letter? More importantly, had I doomed Grayson?

I made a half-hearted effort to eat some of the fruit so he wouldn’t be suspicious when he got back, but it did nothing to settle the churning in both my stomach and my head. I had known from the beginning that it would come down to this. I had never expected my father to see the reason in my letter, nor had I expected any kind of peaceful solution. My only hope had been that I’d be lucky enough to escape the ordeal unscathed.

Now, I wasn’t so sure that was what I wanted anymore.

Letting out a breath, I gave up on eating and went to stare out the window for a few minutes, chewing on the gnarled quick of my thumbnail.

As promised, it was only two or so hours later before I heard five knocks, and I quickly showed Grayson in. “Busy day?” I asked, closing the door as he sauntered past.

“No. Just making sure supplies are ready for departure.” He tossed his knapsack to one side and then came back towards me, the corner of his mouth turning upwards as he cupped the side of my face. “All yours, now.”

His mouth met mine in a soft kiss, but there was a sourness to it that hadn’t been there before. A twinge tore through my chest and I pulled back. “Grayson,” I said, “I have to…”

He blinked, and quickly discerned from my expression that something was wrong. “What is it?”

I swallowed hard. It was suddenly difficult to meet his eye—but I forced myself. “It’s…the exchange,” I said. “You…you know it’s a trap, don’t you?”

For what felt like a very long stretch of seconds, Grayson was quiet, brow furrowing as his hand slowly withdrew from my face. “Why do you think that?” he asked finally.

“I…” The words felt thick, and I struggled to wrap my mouth around them. “I know my father. He’s setting you up.”

Grayson fell silent again. Desperately, I tried to get a read on his thoughts. Was he angry with me? Did he think I was being foolish? There was a pensive twitch in his mouth as he tried to process this information. “He knows your life will be in danger if he doesn’t cooperate,” he pointed out.

I pressed my lips together and exhaled shakily. “He doesn’t care.”

Grayson abruptly turned away from me, pacing to the other end of the room. The light atmosphere from just a few seconds ago had entirely vanished, and the air hung between us now like a man swinging on a noose. I took an uncertain step after him, searching for more words that might convince him. In the end, the best I could come up with was: “Please believe me.”

“I do believe you.” He paused in front of the table and then turned, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Why are you…why are you telling me this now? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

I blinked at him, incredulous that he even had to ask. “I was afraid,” I admitted. “When Captain Manderly proposed this arrangement, it was rather implicit that if I refused—”

I broke off when Grayson sighed, passing a hand over his forehead. He glanced briefly out the window, leaving me to stew in the silence for a few more moments before finally facing me again. “We’re leaving in five days,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do at this point. Whatever happens, happens.”

The breath in my lungs was so heavy that I could scarcely choke words out. “Grayson,” I managed, “he’ll kill you. He’ll kill all of you.”

So abruptly that it startled me backwards a few steps, he threw his arms up in the air, making a guttural sound of frustration. “What are we supposed to do? I see little choice here, so if you’ve got a brilliant plan in mind, I’m all ears.”

Again, I choked. There it was: the perfect opportunity to speak the thought I’d hardly dared let myself have, and all I had to do was make my mouth form the words. I sucked in my bottom lip, biting down painfully.

“We…” My voice broke, and I cleared my throat to try again. “We don’t go to the exchange point. We sail in the opposite direction, as quickly as possible.”

His mouth wrenched to one side as he absorbed this. “And how would you get home, then?” he asked, after a minute.

The flush that I had been fighting finally began to creep its way up my neck, and I looked down to fidget with my fingernails again. Luckily, I didn’t have to try and find a way to put what I was thinking into words; Grayson understood me well enough without them, and immediately began shaking his head. “No,” he said. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”

“Why?” I blurted out, and raised my head to meet his gaze. “Grayson, we…” I wavered, finding that I lacked the courage to finish that sentence. “Your ship needs a doctor,” I said, pivoting. “Or someone who can properly clean a wound, at the very least. I could do that, and I could…I could work, and help however else you want me to, and…” Heat was spreading all the way to the tips of my ears now, my stomach twisting into knots as I babbled anxiously, praying that something I said would strike a chord with him. “You and I could…”

I still couldn't complete the thought, unwilling to make the admission that it would require.

The look on Grayson’s face quickly made me abandon all notions of trying. His demeanour had softened, brow smoothing. With his head cocked to one side, he took another few steps towards me, his lips pressing together. Then, without warning, the book that I had worked so hard to open snapped shut. His eyes were still gentle as they met mine, but now they were only part of a stony façade.

“Everly,” he said, quietly. “Putting aside the obvious, let’s not lie to ourselves. We both know what this—” he made a vague gesture between the two of us, “—really is.”

Taken aback, I frowned. “And what is that?”

A short, dry chuckle burst out of him, bereft of all humour. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he said. “I’ve quite enjoyed our time together. I don’t know if you get some kind of satisfaction in rebelling against your father in this way, or if you were simply bored; but there is no ‘we’ and there is no ‘us’.”

I felt as though he had slapped me in the face. I wanted so badly to argue with him, but my mouth couldn’t seem to catch up with my thoughts to form the words. “Besides,” he continued. “It might sound nice to run away now, but after a few more weeks of roughing it on the open sea, you’ll want your pretty little life back.” He’d pasted a smile onto his mask, one that held not even a modicum of warmth. “Before long, you’ll wish to go back to your fancy manor in England with all your maids and servants to wait on you. And where would that leave us?”

I could do nothing but stare at him, dumbfounded.

Perhaps he saw in my expression that he’d gone too far, because he suddenly stepped closer to me and reached out to put a hand on my arm. “Like I said, I have no problem being a part of your little rebellion,” he said, quieter. “But I’m not going to pretend that this is anything more.”

Where before, his touch had been electrifying, it was now cold and unfeeling. What had happened to the man I had spent the past several nights with? Whoever this was in front of me, it surely wasn’t the same person who had been so gentle and affectionate, who had stroked my hair each night until I’d fallen asleep in his arms, who drank his coffee with absurd amounts of sugar. My heart pounded unpleasantly against my chest, each pump making me feel more sick to my stomach. I wanted to strike him; but I could already feel the backs of my eyes beginning to burn, and my pride wouldn’t allow me to show him my tears.

I batted his hand away and whirled around, snatching my room key off the bedside table. Grayson sighed. “Ever—”

I didn’t even hear the last syllable before I threw the door open and slammed it shut behind me.

Chapter 25

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I wiped them away, slamming the door to my own inn room shut behind me so that I could finally compose myself. My breath shook, and all I could seem to do was curse my own foolishness. Stupid. How could I have expected anything else?

My eye caught the Keats volume sitting on my bed; it seemed a convenient enough object upon which to vent my frustration. I snatched it up, throwing it clear across the room, only to grow more annoyed when it didn’t hit the ground as hard as I wanted. Part of me was tempted to retrieve it and try again, but I collapsed onto the bed instead. I should have known better. He didn’t really give a damn about me, and why should he? I was just the stuck-up highborn girl with whom he’d entertained himself for a few nights. Nothing more, nothing less.

I turned my gaze to the ceiling. It was my own fault. I had let this happen, let these…feelings take shape, and I hated myself for it. Now, I was stuck with this pain, spreading from my chest and infecting my entire body.

The tears I had been keeping at bay slipped out from beneath my eyelids, taking advantage of my momentary distraction. I drew in another shallow breath and snatched my pillow, squeezing it hard as I passed my other hand over my cheek. I wasn’t going to cry over him. I refused to cry over him.

I couldn’t be sure how long I laid there, chastising myself and stubbornly blinking the moisture from my eyes. Not only was I humiliated, but the ache deep in my core remained constant, no matter how I tried to console myself. Perhaps because, in a sense, I knew he was right. All of the soldiers I’d fooled around with, every businessman’s son I’d kissed in a dark hallway of the manor…I had done it all out of spite for my father, out of spite for what he so desperately wanted me to become. In the end, my dalliance with Grayson was no different. Flirting with him had just been a way to ward off boredom at first, sure, but why had I gone to bed with him so willingly? Why had I put myself and my body entirely at his mercy? Why had I, deep in the back of my mind, secretly hoped that he would explore me with more than just his hands and mouth, despite knowing the consequences it would have wrought?

The answer was simple: I had wanted to see the look on my father’s face when he realised that his daughter, whose hand in marriage he had been auctioning off to the highest bidder, had been soiled by a filthy pirate.

Grayson had known this. Of course he’d known it. I kept trying to convince myself that I’d known too, but the notion rang hollow. Maybe I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to accept that, at least in the beginning, I had used him for my own selfish reasons, just as much as he had used me for his own entertainment. I had no right to be angry with him then, when all he'd done was speak the truth. Perhaps that was the real problem: I wanted to be angry with him. It was a lot easier than being angry at myself.

Several hours later, when the sun had sunk beneath what I could see out my window, I was still trying to convince myself to move on. There was nothing to do now but push it all behind me. There were only two ways this could play out when my father inevitably double-crossed them: either I would witness them all be killed, or I would witness them all be arrested. Despite everything, I still didn’t think I could bear to watch either scenario occur. And even more frustratingly, no matter how I tried to derail this train of thought, I couldn’t stop imagining Grayson in the middle of it.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Speak of the devil. I turned away from the door, coiling myself into a tight ball. I couldn’t look at him right now. If I saw his face, I was sure that I’d either burst into tears or slap him as hard as I could—and I’d have no idea which it would be until it was too late.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

I squeezed my eyes shut. If I was quiet, he would probably take the hint and leave. I waited several more seconds, stomach fluttering. Just when I deemed it safe to open my eyes, it came again:

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

I exhaled in exasperation. Persistent arsehole, aren’t you? Reluctantly, I stood, dragging myself to the door as I drew in a preparatory breath, one hand clenched at my side in case I decided to strike him.

I flung the door open, and found myself staring down the barrel of a pistol.

I took an involuntary step backwards, meeting the smug, sinister gaze of Nathaniel Redthorne.

“Good evening,” he said, all too cheerfully.

My first instinct was to slam the door, but my limbs suddenly heavy. My inaction didn't seem to matter, for he placed his foot firmly over the threshold. “Not a very secret code you and Grayson have worked out,” he remarked. “You ought to be a more discrete next time.”

“I’ll scream,” I said, but the threat was empty and weak when I was audibly struggling to make it.

He just chuckled, taking a step forward and forcing me further into the room. “Scream all you like, missy,” he said. “Though I suppose I should say ‘milady’. Everly Williams, isn’t it?”

I felt blood drain from my cheeks, and any chance I had at at summoning the strength for a scream was good and dead. My reaction made him laugh outright. “Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “Thought it was strange, Grayson keeping a woman like yourself all locked up alone. And there’s been a rumour going around that the daughter of Admiral Hangman himself was abducted by pirates.”

A stone dropped hard into my stomach, lungs constricting in a rush of panic. Relishing in my terror with a sneer, Nathaniel took another step, closing off my escape entirely. “Though I am surprised that Manderly’s crew would pull something like this. Didn’t think they had the balls.”

There was no way I could move past him, so I found my eyes darting around the room in search of some other option, any other option. Seeing this, Nathaniel shook his head and waved the gun at me in warning, advancing again. “Your father’s a right bastard, do you know?” he snarled, smile fading into a scowl. “Three months ago, he hung my brother; no trial, no last words, no nothing. And now, here you are—” His upper lip curled as he licked it, gaze crawling over my entire body. “—his daughter, dropped right into my lap. Seems like fate, doesn’t it?”

He drew ever closer, and I knew I didn’t have much more space to retreat before I’d reach the wall. The door hung open still, but it was out of my reach. When I cast a despairing glance at it over his shoulder, however, I caught a glimpse of movement in the hallway.

A glimmer of hope. A small figure darted back into the shadows, but I got enough of a look to recognise her. Ana, I recalled her name was, who had been bleeding and crying in my washroom just a few days ago. I averted my gaze. If I could stall him for long enough, maybe it would be time enough for her to get help. It was a thin straw to grasp at, but it was better than nothing. I swallowed hard and gathered what remained of my courage. “Killing me won’t return your brother,” I told him, expending an inordinate amount of effort to keep my voice from trembling.

Nathaniel let out a cruel laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m not going to kill you.” His lips pulled into a foul smirk. “In fact, no one has to get hurt at all, so long as you play nice with me.”

My heart rose higher into my throat, a thousand needles pricking at my arms and the back of my neck. Nathaniel took another step, making to close the space between us.

 Finally, I regained the ability to move. I raised my arms to push him away, channelling as much strength as I could muster. He moved faster, dodging the shove and seizing my forearm with a bruising grip. Yelping in pain, my instincts took over and I jerked my knee forward, aiming for the groin but delivering instead a blow to his shins.

Despite the miss, it caught him off guard and his grip loosened, allowing me to pull free. I threw myself to one side, scrambled for the heavy volume of Keats on the floor, and whirled to swing it at him. The book made contact with his shoulder and he staggered, which I took as my opportunity to drop the tome and make a break for the door.

Too slow. A sharp pain cracked against the back of my skull, somehow stealing the breath from my lungs. Splinters pierced my palms as they hit the wooden floorboards, then dug in further when I made a fruitless attempt to push myself up. My head felt like lead, the world blurring in and out of focus around me.

My mouth opened in the hopes of making a sound, some final call for help, but I had no idea if anything came out or not. My ears were ringing, dizzying pain shuddering through me and turning my brain into mush. It was all I could manage to lift my eyes and spot one more flicker of movement outside as the door to another room closed, and Ana retreated out of sight.

The world went dark.

Notes:

Hello friends :)
Like I mentioned a while ago, I decided to make a Discord server because why not. You can join here if you want: https://discord.gg/fQCrezuCen

I'm hoping to be able to write more stuff like this once FB finishes posting, so the Discord will be a good way to keep up with my progress and such.

Thanks so much for everyone's continued interest in this story!!

Chapter 26

Notes:

TW/CW: sexual assault

There was a dagger in the back of my head.

At least, that was how it felt. For a while, this pain was the only thing I was sure of, as I drifted in and out of consciousness. Blood pounded in my ears, drowning out my thoughts. Some part of me knew that I was in trouble, but in my addled state of mind I convinced myself that if I simply kept my eyes closed, the danger would pass.

Another stabbing pain in my skull prompted me to open my eyes, only to be greeted with utter darkness. I blinked several times to adjust, suddenly aware of another driving pain in my shoulders and forearms. As lucidity returned to me bit by bit, I realised that my hands had been bound and strung high above my head, forcing my arms into a permanent, uncomfortable stretch.

I struggled feebly, blinking several more times as the dagger in my head twisted. The room was dark, and I could just barely make out a few crates and canvas sacks littered around me. I tried to pull my arms down and was rewarded with further shooting pains in my shoulders, so I shifted my legs underneath me, hoping I could stand and relieve the tension. To my dismay, I discovered that my ankles were also bound and crossed, leaving me little hope of balancing on them.

Slowly, I recalled how I had come to be here, and a barrage of desperate questions filled my head. Was there any chance that Ana had told someone what had happened? Would that information have made it back to Grayson? If not, then how long would it take for him to realise I was gone? Several scenarios played in my mind, as I tried to imagine what he might do or think if he found my inn room empty.

It was becoming harder to breathe. The floor beneath me gave a soft creak, and with a start, I realised that it was gently moving up and down. Wait, am I on a ship? A fresh wave of panic crashed over me, but when I calmed enough to listen closely, I realised I could still hear the general activity and commotion of the docks—we had yet to leave port. I swallowed, trying to push my heart back into my chest. If we were still in Venina, there was still hope.

Unfortunately, it was of little comfort to me. My only option was to pray that Grayson would somehow find me. I closed my eyes again and focused on controlling my breathing. Panicking would avail me naught, and I’d only tire myself out. I needed to stay calm.

This sentiment was short-lived. Somewhere in front of me, I heard a door handle moving.

Light poured into the room, blinding me momentarily. There were footsteps, and I regained my vision just in time to see Nathaniel’s insidious grin as he grabbed my chin. “Morning, sweetheart,” he purred. “Sleep well?”

Gritting my teeth, I tempered my expression in an effort to hide my terror, jerking my head to escape his grasp. He held tight. “Don’t be difficult,” he said, with a tsk. “This will all be much easier if you behave yourself.”

“You know who my father is,” I said, voice wavering. “He’ll have you hanged if you try to ransom me.”

Nathaniel scoffed. “Oh, I know,” he replied. “I’m not about to make the same mistake my brother did.” His expression darkened, and my mouth began to feel incredibly dry. I swallowed hard. His thumb brushed my bottom lip, gentle, but his eyes were pure venom. It was a mockery of intimacy that caused acid to rise in my throat, and it was all I could do not to snap my jaws at him. “No, you’re much too pretty to waste on a ransom,” he said. His eyes travelled lazily down my body in a crude assessment. Instinctively, I jerked at my restraints as I tried to cover myself.

The shockwaves of pain sent a visible shudder down my spine, and Nathaniel grinned. “I have a much better use in mind for you,” he said, face twisting in sadistic pleasure. “First, I’m going to fuck you.” His other hand dropped and slid into the bodice of my dress, making me gasp in surprise and try uselessly to writhe away. He seized my chin again to hold me still. “Then, I think I’ll keep you on board with me as my own personal whore. I’ll make sure that everyone knows the daughter of Admiral Benjamin Williams is a slut who sucks pirate cock on command.”

He grasped a handful of my breast from inside my bodice and squeezed. Another wave of nausea swelled over me, fear lapping at the edges of my mind and threatening to drown me. “And once I’m bored of you,” he continued, “I’ll sell you off to the highest bidder. You’ll be used goods, but that pretty face will still be worth something.” His fingers brushed my lips again. I kept my mouth stubbornly shut, but I could smell the dirt and salt coating his hands. My stomach churned in response. “I’ll have to be sure not to wreck it,” he hissed.

His fingernails dug into my bare skin, and I couldn’t take it anymore. With a rush of adrenaline, I opened my mouth and bit down on his hand.

He tried to jerk away but I clenched my jaw and sank my teeth in, fighting the reflex to gag at his foul taste. He finally managed to yank himself free, but not before I felt his skin break with a pop.

I spat grime and blood onto the floor. Nathaniel looked stunned for a brief moment, but his expression quickly transformed to one of fury. “Bitch,” he snarled, and struck me across the cheek.

I shrieked, the sting radiating all the way to the back of my head. I tasted blood again, mine this time, and felt hot tears welling in the corners of my eyes as he grabbed a handful of my hair, jerking my head back up.

Before I could react, he shoved a piece of wadded-up fabric between my teeth, muffling any further protests, and bound it in place with another strip around my head. I couldn’t stifle a whimper when he pulled my hair again, forcing my head to tilt backwards. “I warned you about misbehaving,” he growled, teeth bared. “You know how I deal with disobedient women?” He leaned closer to me, breath hot on my face and stinking of rum, and I squeezed my eyes shut to keep them from watering. “I break them,” he told me, voice low. “I was going to wait until we set sail to fuck you. But I think you need to be shown your place now.”

Goosebumps crawled their way down my arms and neck. Nathaniel let go of my hair, but his hands quickly moved down to my bodice and ripped the fabric of my dress open. I let out another shriek, muted though it was, and tried to wrench free, no longer caring about the pain in my arms, but to no avail. Nathaniel grinned, catching my nipple and pinching hard. A jolt of pain shook my entire body, and then another as he twisted, and my next cry came out closer to a sob. “You might as well get used to this, sweetheart,” Nathaniel said. “The more you fight, the worse it will be.”

The lump in my throat grew, and I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe. Once he became bored of torturing my breasts, he made to lift my skirts, and with a whimper of resignation, I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth.

From somewhere above us, a pounding and a cacophony of shouting stopped Nathaniel short. I opened my eyes. He had twisted to glance at the door behind him with a puzzled expression, and after a moment, the shouting was followed by the unmistakable bang of a firearm.

My shred of hope from earlier found its way back to me, as Nathaniel growled, getting to his feet. “I’ll be back to deal with you,” he sneered, then threw the door open.

The door swung shut, and once again I was swathed in darkness. I shivered—Nathaniel had completely torn open the bodice of my dress, leaving both of my breasts exposed, and with my hands bound above me I had no way to cover them. Biting down on the wad of cloth stuffed into my mouth, I made another attempt to reach the knots that bound my hands. I only succeeded in chafing my wrists worse, and I winced. It was wound so tightly that it bit into my skin, and as I twisted and turned trying to free myself, pain pulsed from them all the way down to my palms.

The shouting continued, rising in volume. I strained my ears, but it all blended together and was impossible to decipher. Several more seconds passed, and there came three more gunshots. My stomach lurched. Could it have been Grayson after all? Had he figured out what had happened? There was far too much commotion going on for one man, so I could only assume he had rounded up the rest of the Libertas’ crew.

Still, the thought made me cringe at the sound of yet more gunshots. Bang. Bang. Bang. Three, in quick succession, and the idea that Grayson might have been on the receiving end was too much for me to stand. Then again, maybe it wasn’t him at all. Maybe this was a completely unrelated pirate scuffle.

I did not find this notion any more comforting.

Several minutes went by as I sat there in both physical and mental agony, helplessly listening to the confrontation outside until heavy footsteps finally marked an end to my solitude. I sat up, optimistic that they might belong to my rescuer, only for those hopes to be dashed when Nathaniel threw open the door again. Blood ran down one side of his face, but I didn’t get a good enough look to see where it was coming from before he moved towards me, drawing a knife.

I flinched away, but he only sliced the rope holding my hands above my head with a single, clean cut. My arms dropped into my lap, still bound, but overwhelmed with relief at no longer being forced to hold the position. The relief was fleeting, as he bent down to seize me by the waist, hoisting me up and over his shoulder.

My scream was muffled as I found myself staring down at the floor behind him, blood rushing to my head. I squirmed out of instinct, but he gripped me harder. “Shut up,” he growled, in response to the stream of protests I tried to make. “And unless you’d like me to drop you, hold still. You and I have unfinished business.”

Chapter 27

Notes:

TW/CW: sexual assault, attempted rape

The sound of clanging metal was the first thing to reach my ears as Nathaniel carried me out of the dark storage cabin, and I had to squint against the sudden blinding light. I tried desperately to clear my vision, but it didn’t matter; we were still below deck, well out of view of the action. I let out another muffled scream, pointless as it was, in the hopes that I would somehow be heard.

Nathaniel made his way quickly down the hall, carelessly jostling me up and down. Above the din overhead, I caught the sound of someone running down the stairs—heavy, tromping, panicked steps—and I lifted my head in time to see Grayson come barrelling around the corner, so fast that his shoulder rammed against the wall.

We locked eyes for a fraction of a moment before Nathaniel spun around, jerking him out of my view, and pulled something from his belt.

Bang.

The air exploded with gunpowder. My ears rang, drowning out everything else. I faintly heard a second shot and let out another shriek, heart climbing into my throat and blood icing over in my veins as I frantically twisted to see what had happened. Nathaniel turned and sprinted with me down the remainder of the hall, affording me one last brief glance at Grayson—who had either fallen or thrown himself to the floor. My stomach dropped as I assumed he’d been hit, but he thankfully lifted his head, his mouth parting to form my name. I lost sight of him when a door slammed shut in front of me.

Nathaniel dumped me on the floor, and slowly the high-pitched ringing faded from my ears as he grabbed a chair from one end of the room, cramming it beneath the door handle. Regaining my breath, I struggled to sit up. I did so long enough to realise that he had brought me into a personal cabin—there was a bed just behind me. Having barred Grayson’s entry, Nathaniel spun and seized me by the arms.

He yanked me painfully upright and dragged me to the bed, practically pulling my arms out of my sockets as he tossed me onto the mattress. There was a thud from the other side of the door, and the handle began to shake wildly. I heard Grayson shout from behind it, pounding furiously on the wood. Nathaniel paid it no mind, swiftly climbing onto the bed to loom over me.

“Looks like we’ll have to make this quick, eh?” he hissed, cutting my ankles free and then grabbing the hem of my skirt and throwing it up.

I tried to jerk away, and without thinking, snapped my knees up between his legs, connecting with a sensitive area. The motion made him fumble, and he loosed a pained grunt. I took advantage of the momentary distraction to try and wriggle away from him, but he recovered quickly and grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head and leaning in close to me with a sneer. “If you want to play rough, that can be arranged,” he snarled. I strained against him, craning my neck to try and see the shuddering door behind him, as if I could will it to open.

Nathaniel yanked my undergarments down to my thighs. I shrieked and tried to raise my legs again, but he planted his knee painfully on top of them to hold me down. The backs of my eyes burned, tears pricking at the corners while I stifled a sob, uselessly thrashing as he began to undo his trousers.

Suddenly, the chair underneath the door creaked loudly in protest. It was the only warning Nathaniel got before it was violently knocked aside, the door finally bursting open less than a second later. Nathaniel twisted and snatched the pistol from his belt, but Grayson was faster. He grabbed Nathaniel’s shirt from behind and threw him off of me, just as another shot went off. I screamed again, but the bullet whizzed by Grayson’s head and hit the wall behind him, leaving a smoking hole where it struck.

I scrambled to sit up, flinching as another gunshot went off beside me. This bullet went straight through the ceiling as Grayson wrestled with Nathaniel, forcing the barrel upwards as Nathaniel tried to aim. Another bang, though it was somehow not as loud as the first three; my ears seemed to be numbing to the sound. In a startled attempt to get out of the line of fire, I wound up falling to the floor on the other side of the bed, catching myself painfully on my elbows.

From underneath, I saw Grayson stagger. I pressed myself flat to the floorboards, and it was then that I noticed Nathaniel’s pocketknife under the bed, just within my reach.

There wasn’t time to think. I snatched it, fumbling to turn it around to cut myself free, but after a few moments of sawing I got through enough of the rope to break out of the bonds and peer over the side of the bed.

Grayson reeled backwards from a blow to the chin, finally letting go of the revolver. Nathaniel took immediate advantage, and I got to my feet just in time to see him point it in Grayson’s direction.

It happened in an instant, yet incredibly slowly at the same time. My body acted on its own volition as I lunged across the bed with the pocketknife and jammed it into Nathaniel’s back, right between his shoulder blades.

He gave a strangled cry and lost his footing for a moment, only a moment, stumbling and jerking the knife loose—but it was enough. Grayson lurched forward, ripping the gun out of his hands, then pulled the trigger.

I didn’t even hear it go off. The only reason I registered what had happened at all was because I saw the spot of red on Nathaniel’s forehead before he collapsed and lay motionless.

Several seconds of chilling silence followed, broken only by the sound of the pocketknife falling from my hand and clattering to the floor.

Grayson tossed the pistol aside and reached out to undo the gag wound around my head. “Are you all right?” he asked breathlessly, as I spat the wad of fabric out. I nodded, swallowing down the foul taste of the rag and trying to slow my racing heart. I wanted to look at Grayson, but I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from the body on the floor, a pool of blood quickly accumulating beneath it.

Observing this, Grayson moved to block my view, cupping both of my cheeks and gently directing my gaze towards him. “Everly,” he said. “Are you hurt? Did—” He broke off, as if he was afraid to finish the question he had on his tongue. “Did he…”

I opened my mouth to answer him, only to be drowned out by a boom from outside, and the entire ship shuddered with the weight of many pounding footsteps overhead. We looked up. The shouting had begun again, followed by more gunshots. “What’s going on?” I managed to ask, voice breaking.

Grayson didn’t reply, but the colour drained out of his face. “We have to go,” he said, putting a hand around my waist to help me off the bed.

The sound of marching boots reached my ears and the door was thrown open, flooding the room with a sea of red uniforms, a collection of shouts, and orders to stop where we were.

Everything moved around me in a blur. In what felt like a single moment, Grayson vanished and something heavy was draped over my shoulders as I was pulled to my feet.

“Lady Williams, are you hurt? Lady Williams?”

It took several seconds for my mind to catch up to what was happening. I snapped into reality in time to find myself being herded out of the room by several men dressed in the unmistakable uniforms of the British Navy. One of their coats was wrapped around me to cover the exposed parts of my body. More shouting. With a flash of realisation, I pulled away from the men who were trying to lead me out of the cabin and whirled around. Grayson. I caught a brief glimpse of him, still standing further in the room with his arms raised in surrender to the muskets pointed in his direction.

“Wait,” I said, pushing the soldiers off me. One of them tried to say something, and though the sound reached me the words didn’t, as I struggled to find Grayson again through the throng of Naval uniforms. “Wait!” I protested again, louder. “Don’t hurt him!”

No one seemed to hear me, hands taking hold of my arms and voices telling me to come along or that everything was all right now or some other nonsense that I didn’t care to hear. As I pushed and struggled, I saw him again, and this time we made eye contact.

He was unmoving, a quietly resigned look on his face. His mouth twitched in what was meant to be a small, reassuring smile, but it only served to make me feel worse as I could do nothing but watch the soldiers seize him.

Chapter 28

I caught the briefest of glimpses at the port, beset as it was by British ships, before I was hurried aboard one of them. There, I was ushered into a spacious cabin, where several servants began to fuss over me. At some point, a nurse entered the cabin to examine me for injuries—and, humiliatingly, to see if my purity had been soiled.

I felt numb. Everything happened around me; people spoke and undressed me, carefully treating my cuts and bruises, but I wasn’t really there. The whole scene played in my head on repeat, as if I was trapped inside of a waking nightmare. I saw Nathaniel’s cruelly grinning face as he tried to force himself on me, heard the gunshots going off one after another. More than anything else, I saw Grayson, surrendering whilst I was ripped away.

The tattered remains of my dress were removed, and the servants dressed me in brand new undergarments and a loose-fitting white gown. Slowly, dully, reality pieced itself back together and I returned to the present, just as the cabin door flew open.

My father burst through, fully uniformed and with what had to be the closest thing to genuine concern I’d ever seen spread across his face.

He crossed the cabin swiftly, pulling me into his arms with an exhale. I was too stunned to move, my cheek pressed against the cotton fabric of his uniform. When was the last time he had embraced me? In fact, now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure he had ever displayed this level of affection to me. When he pulled back to examine me again, I noticed the dark bags under his eyes.

He glanced at the nurse, still standing by. “Well?” he asked.

The nurse nodded. “Her maidenhead is intact.”

He turned back to me with a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he said, cupping both of my cheeks in his palms. “I’m so glad we arrived in time.” He looked at the two soldiers who had entered with him. “Round up however many more you can find,” he ordered, hands dropping away from me. “Most will have fled by now, but there may still be some stragglers.”

With a cursory nod and a “yes sir”, they made their exit. Father directed his attention to the servants, all standing to one side. “Get her cleaned up,” he told them. “We’ll be leaving this Godforsaken place soon enough.”

“Yes, milord.”

Without another word to me, he turned and stalked out.

The next thing I knew, I’d been hurried to a different part of the ship and was watching a servant prepare a bath, while I continued to slip in and out of a dreamlike state. A hand landed on my shoulder and tugged at the gown I wore, and for whatever reason, a rush of adrenaline shot down my spine. I whirled, and for an instant, saw Nathaniel there, grinning with yellow teeth and lust-filled eyes.

I heard the scream, but it took a few seconds for me to realise that it had come from my own mouth. The maid flinched and leapt back in surprise, eyes going wide. Blinking, I looked around. The other servants had all frozen in place.

My heart raced, pounding as if to escape my chest, but I swallowed and tried to regain my composure. “I…” For the first time since being rescued, speech came to me. “I’m…perfectly capable of bathing myself,” I said, but my efforts to salvage a shred of dignity were severely sabotaged by the tremor in my voice. “Leave, please.”

After exchanging a few hesitant, bewildered glances, the servants bowed their heads and did as I asked.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the tub filled with steaming water and trying to sort out my still-muddled head. It seemed silly to climb into a bath while, just outside, my father’s men were chasing down pirates, and Grayson was probably being thrown in a cell somewhere below me. Unfortunately, there was little else I could do. So I undressed, then submerged myself, feeling goosebumps erupt across my skin as I adjusted to the temperature of the water.

Weeks’ worth of dirt, grime, and sweat were wiped away. The hot water stung against every scrape, but I only felt it peripherally. What had happened? I was confused—I had been abducted by Nathaniel, and then Grayson—along with, I assumed, the rest of Captain Manderly’s crew—had come to rescue me. I was certain of at least one thing: Grayson had shot Nathaniel. This, I remembered very vividly.

I also recalled that I had barely said a word to him before we were set upon by the British Navy.

Had this been Father’s plan all along? Perhaps he was even craftier than I had given him credit for. Instead of ambushing my abductors at the exchange point, he had decided to take it a step further: he must have somehow found out where we were and set the meeting date to buy time, knowing that he would arrive in Venina long before the pirates ever left. It had been fortuitous timing on his part, too—anyone out on the deck of Nathaniel’s ship would have been sitting ducks. All because of me.

If there was one thing I could take solace in, it was knowing that Grayson was still alive, along with whoever else had been captured. Father would never have killed them here if he could help it. No, he’d have them brought back to England to be very publicly hanged, so he could make a demonstration out of executing the pirates who had wronged his family. It was a miniscule comfort, but I clung to it, lest I sink completely into the despair and guilt that threatened to drag me down.

I scrubbed at my skin until it was red before starting on my hair, which had become coarse and unkempt during my time with the pirates. Despite my anxiety, it was a relief to finally feel clean. As I washed, I considered what would come next, desperately grasping for some way to stop it. Putting aside my unresolved feelings for Grayson, it was unfair for him to be hanged for being aboard that ship, when he was the one who’d rescued me from Nathaniel’s clutches.

After several long minutes of combing tangles out of my hair, the servants re-entered. I was returned to the large cabin where they’d examined me and urged to rest from my “ordeal”.  

Rest was the last thing I wanted. When the billow of the ship’s horn signalled that we were pulling out of port, I peeked into the corridor. Thankfully, Father hadn’t seen fit to place guards outside my door. I slipped out and found my way to the upper deck, not quite sure what I meant to do, but intent on doing something.

I looked over the stern to catch a final glimpse of Venina as we departed, finding that it didn’t even look like the same town. Father’s men had done a thorough job of clearing it out; the docks that had brimmed with activity only a few days ago were now deserted and littered with debris; smoke rose from a few of the buildings further in; and chunks of a broken vessel floated despondently in the shallows. I swallowed down the lump forming in my throat. They really had chased everyone out, and probably indiscriminately at that. My thoughts drifted to Johanna, Sofia, and Ana, all of whom were just trying to make a living. What had happened to them? What would Father’s men have done with three prostitutes?

One of the soldiers noticed me standing by the railing and hurried over to politely suggest that I go back to my cabin.

Instead, I began to question him. “How many pirates did you capture?” I asked.

He blinked, taken aback, then cast an uncomfortable glance over his shoulder. “Lady Williams, I don’t think—”

“How many?” I asked again, this time firmly.

Another moment of hesitation, but he did respond. “Twelve, I believe.”

Fewer than I had expected, which meant that they hadn’t captured the entirety of Captain Manderly’s crew. Of course, that didn’t mean they hadn’t simply killed them. At least I was a step closer to finding out what exactly had happened. After trying and failing for several minutes to wring more information out of the soldier, I finally threw my hands up in frustration and stalked off.

I made my way back below and began searching for my father. The sheer size of the ship threw me off at first; it was double or perhaps triple the size of the Libertas. Luckily, it didn’t take me long to find him, in one of the large cabins. I entered without knocking to find my father holding court at his desk, seemingly in the midst of receiving reports from his officers. They all fell silent the moment I entered.

“Everly,” Father said, with a note of surprise. “I was told you were resting.”

I stepped closer, clearing my throat as the soldiers gawked at me. “Could I speak with you for a moment?” I asked.

Father dismissed the officers with a sharp jerk of his head. They saluted and quickly made their exit, closing the cabin door behind them. Father turned back to his desk to shuffle some papers. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Actually, there is,” I began. “I wanted to…I wondered if we might…” I stumbled over the words I had rehearsed on my way here, second-guessing myself. Frustrated, I exhaled and tried again. “It’s…” Suddenly overtaken with a wave of cowardice, I abruptly changed course. “How did you…come to find me?” I asked.

Father blinked, and was silent a moment—surprised that I had asked, and then deciding whether or not to humour me. Thankfully, he chose to. “I’ve been tracking those pirates as best I could ever since I learned of the attack on the Oasis,” he told me. “Sources told me that they looked to be heading for Venina, and I just needed confirmation. Your letter provided that.”

It lined up with my suspicions, but there was still a pang in my chest upon hearing it. So the letter had been the final nail in the coffin after all—Father had likely drafted his reply far before he even received it. “Is that all?” he asked, picking up one of the scrolls on the desk.

“No.” I swallowed hard, clenching and unclenching my fists as I steeled my nerves. “When…when your men found me, they apprehended the pirate who was with me, correct?”

Father’s expression immediately darkened, brow furrowing at the scroll before he lifted his gaze towards me. “A number of pirates were captured and arrested,” he told me, dodging the question. “They will all be hanged once we reach port.”

It was a struggle to keep my frustration from showing on my face, but I tried to maintain my composure. If I appeared too emotional, he would shut down on me entirely. “The pirate in question came to my rescue when another was going to…” My tongue began to feel dry again, and despite my efforts, I was unable to complete the sentence. Father raised an eyebrow at me, mouth pressing into a thin line. I let the silence hang as I searched for my next point, feebly hoping that he might pick up on what I was trying to say.

“So?” he prompted me.

Damn it. He was going to make me say it. I drew in another breath. “So,” I said, “If not for him, I’m not sure I would be standing here now. Perhaps—”

“You would not be standing here if not for the tireless efforts I and my men made to find you,” he interrupted, stepping out from behind the desk. “My soldiers risked their lives against these murderous curs, for your sake.”

My stomach twisted, and once again I wrestled with my own face to keep a scowl from marring it. “I know, and I am grateful,” I made myself say. “Father, I only wanted to ask if you would consider, as a favour to me, sparing just that one pirate.”

“Spare him?” Father repeated. He came all the way around to the other end of the desk, and although my instincts wanted me to back away from him, I kept my feet. Father’s brows shifted, confused as he assessed me with a discerning glare. “Everly, I don’t think you understand what it is you’re suggesting.”

This time, my tongue slipped. “Don’t patronise me, Father,” I snapped. “I am fully in my right mind. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to allow a measure of leniency, given the circum—”

“Regardless of what he may or may not have done,” he cut me off, voice rising above mine and immediately drowning it. “The man is a pirate, is he not?”

It was so painfully rhetorical, but he looked expectant for an answer regardless. “Yes,” I mumbled. “But—”

“Then he hangs,” he told me, with utmost finality as his brows twisted into the quiet, stern anger that I had grown familiar with.

All the composure I had come into the room with escaped me as nausea once again brewed in my stomach. “Father, please—”

“Everly,” he said sharply. My voice died in my throat instantly, and Father’s hand raised to his forehead, as if he’d been stricken by a migraine. “I understand you’ve had a harrowing experience,” he said, lowering his voice, “but I would ask you to quash any sympathy you may have developed for these brutes. These reprobates abducted you, and I will not stand to hear you defend them.” He made to return to his desk, waving a hand at me. “Go now.”

I tasted acid at the back of my mouth, but made a final attempt to argue. “Would you at least consider—”

“I said go, Everly.” Father sat down, picking up his quill. “I don’t want to hear another word about this. You’re tired.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re tired.” His eyes snapped back up to look at me, and I flinched. “You are to return to your cabin and rest, and by the time we reach England, I expect that you will have thought better of this foolishness. Do I make myself clear?”

I gave no response, but he didn’t need one. With a jerk of his head, he dismissed me, putting an unequivocable end to the conversation.

Chapter 29

The days that passed following my rescue were some of the worst of my life. Though I hadn’t been explicitly confined to my cabin, the servants and soldiers did their utmost to keep me contained, appearing uncomfortable whenever I stepped out for any reason and offering to bring me whatever I needed or wanted, leaving me no excuses to go above deck.

It was suffocating. Even on the Libertas, I had been allowed a breath of fresh air every so often. After weeks of captivity, it almost felt as though nothing had changed—I’d traded merely traded my small, rusty cage for a gilded one.

I couldn’t put Grayson out of my thoughts. Rather, I wouldn’t let him leave my thoughts. I couldn’t allow myself to ignore him, not when it was my fault that he was locked up in a tiny brig, my fault that he was going to be hanged, my fault that any of this had ever happened to him. I couldn’t close my eyes to any of that, as much as I might have felt better for it.

For several nights, I laid awake in bed staring at the ceiling, desperately trying to stay afloat as wave after wave of despair crashed down on me. I repeated the conversation with Father in my head endlessly, imagining what I could have said or done differently, how I might have persuaded him if I’d only chosen my words more carefully.

But in the end, it wouldn’t have mattered. Deep down, I knew that. Father would do whatever he felt was best, and nothing I said would have changed his mind. He’d already decided to hang Grayson once we reached port, and his decisions were always final.

It left me with no choice. I had to make sure Grayson got off this ship before we landed.

I had seen soldiers descending into a hatch below the main deck during one of my brief forays outside my cabin, which seemed to lead further into the belly of the ship. It had to be where the prisoners were kept. With his compulsive need to control everything, Father would want to keep them close by. If I was to make my way down there, though, I would almost certainly need a key.

Once I had formulated a plan, I chose a target. That part was all too easy. The soldier who brought my breakfast each morning was a young, fresh recruit with a pristine and pressed uniform, likely no older than eighteen. This might have been his first ever voyage. When he arrived the following day, I waited until he had set the tray down before I let my knees go weak, then rolled my eyes back and crumpled to the ground.

Back home, I faked fainting spells more often than I cared to admit, normally in an attempt to get out of some dinner party or tedious social event. A few of the regular servants had gotten wise to the trick, but this young soldier took the bait eagerly, running to catch me in a flustered panic.

I fluttered my eyelids up at him, reaching out weakly to grab his jacket.

“Lady Williams?” he asked, colour drained entirely from his cheeks. “What is it? Are you ill?”

Sitting up, I lifted a hand to my forehead. “I…I’m sorry,” I whimpered. “I think I’m a little seasick.”

The soldier’s eyebrows went up, mouth opening and closing several times. “Sh-shall I fetch the nurse for you?” he asked me finally.

I shook my head. “If you could just get me a glass of water, please…” Delicately, I lifted a hand towards him, and he was quick to offer his arm, hoisting me to my feet. As he helped me balance myself, I snagged the key ring from his belt, tucking it into the folds of my dress in one quick movement.

None the wiser, the soldier hurriedly moved to pour me a glass of water, hands trembling as he lifted the pitcher. A part of me felt a little sorry for him.

I had a seat at the table and thanked him, taking care to keep the keys from sight. He stood there uncomfortably for a few more moments. “Erm…” His eyes darted around the room. “Well, I…I’ll be right outside, so if you do feel unwell again, do not hesitate to call for me.”

“Of course,” I reassured him.

He gave a short bow and took his leave. Once I was alone, I examined my prize, counting the keys on the ring. Six. I had no way of knowing if any of them would be useful to me—but there was only one way to find out.

The guards lurked outside my cabin during the day, but the utter silence from behind my door late at night made me suspect that they left once they thought I was asleep. A few days ago, I had heard some soldiers talking outside my cabin about how they sometimes nipped off to have a drink when they were assigned guard duties late at night—something that I fully intended to take advantage of.

That evening, I waited quietly in bed until the servants finished coming and going, and then a few minutes more before I stole into the hallway with the keys in hand. A quick sweep of the corridor confirmed that I was alone, and I released a quiet sigh of relief.

I approached the hatch, wincing at each creak of the floorboards beneath my feet, and then gave the door a tug. Locked, naturally. I held my breath as I tried my keys one after the other. Wrong…wrong…wrong—

The fourth one slid into the lock without resistance, and I had to take care not to exhale audibly. Slowly, I eased the hatch open, drawing a steadying breath before descending into a much darker and damper portion of the ship. There, only a few oil lanterns burned, providing sombre light. When I reached the floor below, I immediately saw a chair sitting against the wall to my left—beyond it was another, darker corridor.

My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to orient myself, but I was still alone. The empty chair was a godsend. I’d had several excuses ready and waiting in the event that I encountered a particularly fastidious one down here, but thankfully it wasn’t needed, and I was able to continue down the dark hallway unabated.

My eyes adjusted very slowly. Small, cramped cells lined the hall on either side. Some were empty, others were occupied with who I could only assume were the captured pirates, huddled or curled into balls in an attempt to maintain some warmth. I moved as quietly as I could manage, struggling to peer at each one of them without drawing attention, but none of them looked familiar.

There were a few empty cells towards the back end, and I began to fear that Grayson wasn’t being held on this ship after all when I noticed movement in the corner of the very last one. I crept closer, chest tightening and hoping to God I’d find him in there. If he had been placed on an auxiliary ship, then there was truly nothing I could do.

My legs wobbled with relief when I finally determined that it was him, lying on his back and staring blankly at the ceiling. He didn’t notice my approach until I was nearly at the cell door, at which point he glanced up and regarded me with surprise. My eyes were now as accustomed as they could be to the lighting, and I was further relieved to see that he wasn’t much worse for wear.

After looking at me for a moment, he returned his gaze to the ceiling, releasing a quiet, bitter chuckle. “Here to say your goodbyes to a dead man?” he asked softly.

My mouth opened, but words stuck at the back of my throat. I’d wondered if he’d be angry with me—it was because of me that he was here, after all. My face heated with shame, but he didn’t appear bothered; he just sighed. “Serves me right,” he muttered, without waiting for my response. “I should have listened to you. It was a mistake to try and negotiate with Admiral Hangman.” He blinked slowly at the damp planks above. “We should have run while we still had the chance.”

My heart twisted. I had to close my eyes and remind myself of what I was here to do; as much as I wanted to open the cell door and fling myself into his arms, that would do neither of us any good now. “I am here to say goodbye,” I told him, opening my eyes. “But not to a dead man.”

I drew the keys from my dress again and fumbled with them for a moment, searching for the one that would open the cell door. The jingling drew Grayson’s attention and he looked up, expression shifting to alarm as he quickly rose and reached through the bars to grab my hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“What does it look like?”

“Everly,” he hissed, shaking his head. “If someone finds out you’ve done this—”

“That’s my problem, not yours.” I pulled my hand from his grasp and tried the next key, which fit. I began to turn it, but Grayson seized my hand again, this time with more urgency.

“Stop,” he said, firmer. “I can’t let you. You could be arrested for this.”

I couldn’t suppress a scowl, blowing out a sigh of exasperation. “Oh, please,” I snapped. “You want to know what will happen to me? I’ll be confined to my bedroom for a number of days until I’m foisted off onto some older gentleman, who will give me child after child until he finally keels over.” I glared down at the key in my hand. “That’s my future, and it makes no difference what I do. It won’t change.”

He opened his mouth, but had no rebuttal, and thus made no further attempt to stop me as I unlocked the door and pulled it open. I stepped back to let him out, throwing an anxious glance down the hallway. “I don’t recognise any of the others,” I told him, with a nod in the direction of the other cells.

“Neither did I, when we were all being rounded up,” Grayson admitted. “I think they’re Nathaniel’s crew.”

My head snapped back to look at him, as a bolt of fear shot through me. “Then—what happened to—”

“I’m not sure,” he said, but was quick to provide reassurance. “I think they fled, when the British ships turned up. I was…the only one who went below deck, so…”

I swallowed. Perhaps there had been enough time for most of them to escape. Or perhaps not. I knew—and so did Grayson, although he wasn’t saying it—that it was equally likely that some or all of them had simply died at the hands of my father’s men. And their deaths, just like every other death that had happened in Venina that day, were on my shoulders.

No. I couldn’t let that drag me down, not yet. I shook off the oncoming wave of guilt and exhaled. “I’ll buy you as much time as I can,” I told him. “Most of the soldiers are asleep or drinking now, but you have to move quickly. There’s at least one life boat on the—”

His hand landed on my arm, and immediately the rest of the words I’d prepared vanished. I’d been dutifully avoiding his gaze, but was pulled into it when he tugged. “You know I’m not leaving this ship without you,” he said. “Don’t you?”

Somehow, even though I could barely see him in the darkness, I felt his gaze keenly, piercing straight through my chest and directly into my heart. I pressed my lips together, as if I could somehow stifle it. “Grayson,” I said softly. “In Venina, when I…when I suggested that we run, do you remember what you said to me?”

He flinched, and withdrew his hand from my arm, opening his mouth to defend himself, but I cut him off. “I know now why you said it,” I told him. “It’s the same reason why I can’t go with you now. If you leave immediately, you can be far enough away by morning that Father might not find you when he sends out a search party. But if we both disappear, then I know for a fact that he will stop at nothing to track us down.” The words stung as they reverberated through my chest, but I pushed through. “It’s too dangerous for us to…be together. That’s why we…I can’t.”

Grayson’s brow furrowed, and silence hung for several seconds. He had to know that I was right. In fact, I was sure he did, based on the way his forehead creased before he shook his head at me. “You don’t want to stay here,” he said, phrased almost as a question, but his certainty in the statement left me no reason to answer.

I looked down at the floor, with an exhale. “It doesn’t—”

“It does matter,” he interrupted, guessing at what I was about to say. “I should have fled with you, back in Venina, and I’m not making that mistake again. I won’t—” He hesitated, jaw clenching for a moment before he continued. “I won’t lose you.”

The ache in my chest worsened, then gave way to annoyance. “My father will hang you, Grayson,” I reminded him. “I’ll be the one who loses you. We don’t have a choice. You have to go.”

“You’re wrong,” he argued. “I’ll only be hanged if we’re caught, and I don’t intend to be caught.” His gaze flicked over my shoulder, completing a quick search of the dim hallway before returning to me. “When they arrested me, I saw a cutter among the ships your father brought. He was using it to scout ahead, I imagine.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“In a lifeboat, they would almost certainly catch up with us come morning,” Grayson explained. “But in that cutter, we’d have a chance.”

I blinked at him, first stunned that he would even suggest such a thing, and then angry again. Why did he insist on making this harder than it had to be? Why is he so goddamn stubborn? “Have you lost your mind?” In my frustration, I raised my voice higher than I meant to and quickly cut myself off, glancing down the dark hallway again. Thankfully, we were still alone. I swallowed, trying to compose myself as I faced him. “I came here to save your life. I’m not going to let you just…throw it away again for my sake.”

Grayson’s mouth wrenched to the side in displeasure, and suddenly, he stepped closer and lifted a hand to cup my cheek. A part of me wanted to step back, to dodge his touch, but the moment he made contact I was anchored to the spot. “Listen,” he said, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “I think we can pull this off. I just need you to trust me. Please.” His thumb moved gently on my cheek, steadily keeping my gaze. “Don’t make me leave here without the woman I love.”

My heart lodged itself in my throat, as the next argument I might have offered died.

Damn him.

I had been ready to let him go, ready to accept whatever consequences would be in store for me, and ready to live the rest of my life without ever seeing him again. I’d made my peace with it, and resigned myself to the bland, meaningless existence that laid ahead of me.

And then, he’d gone and said that.

Now, all the feelings I’d worked so hard to bury and smother burst back to the surface, stronger than ever, and this time they refused to be silenced.

I knew, somewhere, that I should have struggled against it. I should have done the safe thing and refused him again. But when my mouth opened, my heart betrayed my brain.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked.

Chapter 30

It was a clear night, making it easy to spot the cutter, bringing up the rear of the line. I sucked in a breath of cool air, feeling the chill resonate through my lungs as I scanned the area before me. As expected, the lower decks were empty. I was sure that there were at least a few men on duty somewhere, likely somewhere above. Swallowing hard, I made my way towards the stern, keeping a careful eye out.

It wasn’t until I neared the davits where the lifeboats hung that I spotted someone patrolling the railing: a man I recognised as the one whose keys I’d stolen. I peered at him from behind one of the masts, then threw another glance behind me. The lower decks were still otherwise deserted—and with any luck, they would stay that way.

Time to put on a show.

I turned my eyes to the water and moved over to the railing, clasping my hands around the smoothed wood and putting a vacant expression on my face. It was only a few seconds later that I heard the soldier’s footsteps falter, then pick up again as he approached. “Lady Williams?”

My head swivelled. “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry. I thought no one would be out here.”

“Erm…” The soldier appeared uncomfortable, eyes flicking around the deck. I suspected that he was racking his brains for a way to politely send me back to my cabin. “It’s quite late,” he decided on. “You ought to get some rest.”

Lowering my eyes, I let out a forlorn sigh. “I know,” I said. “I just…haven’t been sleeping well at night. I have so many nightmares.” I took a step backwards, keeping my eyes fixed on the water. “It’s…well, it’s difficult, you know. I was held captive for so long, and sometimes I…I feel as though I need to remind myself that it’s all over now.”

Silence. I snuck a peripheral glance at him. He wasn’t just buying the act, but he was fully investing in it, as if I’d cast a spell on him with my demure, doe-eyed display. He cleared his throat, and the deck creaked as he took another step towards me. “Is there anything I can do? Perhaps…is there something I could fetch for you?”

“No, thank you.” I gave him a smile. “I just wanted a breath of air.”

“I see.” The soldier nodded, clearing his throat again awkwardly as he hovered for another moment—perhaps trying to decide whether he should leave me alone, or ensure that I returned to my cabin.

To spare him from having to make that choice, I turned and offered a modest curtsy. “Good night.”

“Ah.” His features relaxed. “Good night, Lady Williams.”

I started back in the direction I’d come, holding my breath as I approached the mast. Grayson was there with his back pressed against it, and he flashed me a quick smile before he moved.

He seized me by wrapping a hand around my mouth and dragged me back into the open, raising a knife to my neck. I released a muffled shriek. The soldier whirled, hand darting towards the pistol on his belt, but froze when he saw us.

“No sudden moves,” Grayson warned, “or I slit her throat.”

The claim was nearly laughable: Grayson held the blade just above my skin, in a perhaps overly cautious effort not to cut me. Nevertheless, I widened my eyes, filling them with as much fear as I could muster and staring back at the soldier with a soft whimper. I could practically see his mind racing, thoughts moving a mile a minute as he ran through all possible courses of action; but ultimately, he slowly withdrew his hand from his weapon.

Grayson exhaled beside my ear. “Good,” he said. “Now, let’s all be quiet and civilised about this. You do exactly as I tell you, and the lady remains unharmed. Understood?”

White-faced, the soldier nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as he swallowed.

“Remove your weapons and place them on the deck,” Grayson instructed. “Slowly.”

The soldier hesitated, but Grayson accentuated the command by tugging on a handful of my hair, pulling my head backwards. It was the motivation the soldier needed, hastily removing first the pistol and then the cutlass from his belt. Grayson relaxed his grip on my hair in response.

The soldier took a careful step away from his weapons, now abandoned on the deck. So far, so good. Grayson jerked his head at the lifeboats. “Put one of those into the water,” he told him.

The poor soldier lost more and more of his colour as he moved to obey. Grayson pulled his hand away from my mouth with an obligatory warning not to scream, and I watched the soldier carefully lower the lifeboat into the water below while Grayson rustled in his pocket. A moment later, he pulled a strip of fabric in between my teeth and secured it at the back of my head. “Hands behind your back, milady,” he sneered, malicious enough that I almost believed it. With a performative whine, I did as he said, allowing him to loosely bind my wrists with another, longer length of cloth.

The lifeboat dropped into the water with a gentle splash, and the soldier took a step away from the railing, looking back to Grayson for his next instruction. His eyes flicked only briefly towards his weapons on the deck, but leapt back to us as Grayson nudged me forward. “In you go,” he said, and lifted the knife off my neck for a moment to point it at the soldier. “You too.”

The soldier blinked, surprised, and had to be spurred by another threatening motion from Grayson and another flinch from me. Clumsily, he clambered over the railing and carefully lowered himself in, then had no recourse but to watch as Grayson and I followed. 

“That cutter over there,” Grayson said, after he’d lifted me into the boat. “How many men are on it right now?”

When he didn’t answer right away, Grayson gestured out to the boat in question.

The soldier turned to look at it and swallowed hard, for a third time. “I…I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Grayson said, and dragged my head backwards again, putting my bare neck on display. “Tell me. I’d hate to have to spill anyone’s blood.”

“I think…” The man stuttered and fumbled over his words, once again motivated by the wide-eyed look of terror that I gave him. “I think three. Maybe four.”

Grayson considered this. Three or four men, in addition to the one sitting in front of us, was a lot to handle, even with me as a hostage. Then again, the soldier could have been inflating the number to discourage Grayson from commandeering it. Cutters were small ships, mostly suited to chasing and scouting, and now that we were on our way home, there was no reason for more than the bare minimum number of men to be stationed there.

Grayson seemed to arrive at the same conclusion, because he nodded. “Start rowing, then,” he told him. “Because if anyone spots us out here, things are going to get ugly.” I felt the cold steel caress just below my chin, sending a wave of goosebumps down my neck.

I assessed the ships around us, struggling to keep myself upright against the uncertain rock of the lifeboat as the soldier picked up the oars. The three-masted ships were all in front, with the flagship situated in the middle as well as several yards ahead. There were a few frigates, and then the cutters, but from where I was sitting all of their respective decks looked quiet. It was a peaceful night, with clear weather and not particularly strong winds, so there was no need for anyone to be out and about at this hour.

Our captive soldier seemed to realise this as well, judging from his pinched expression of distress as we drew closer to the cutter. I felt Grayson slip two fingers in between my wrists and the fabric he had used to bind them—trying to make sure it wasn’t too tight or chafing, most likely. A bit foolish of him to be worried about a thing like that when his very life was on the line in this gambit. I clenched my jaw around the gag in my mouth, unable to shake the discomfort building in the pit of my stomach. This was going too well. I kept waiting for a complication, for the soldier to try some heroic gesture and call Grayson’s bluff, for something to go wrong.

And of course, were that to happen, I knew how it would end. Grayson would be recaptured or killed, and we’d be right back where we started. I had told him as much when he’d explained this idea to me—but he’d insisted on taking the risk. “The only one in danger will be me,” he’d said, as if that was reassuring. “No matter what happens, I promise you won’t get hurt.”

“You know damn well that’s not what I’m worried about,” I’d snapped back. “And even if it works—then there’s still no guarantee that Father won’t find us come the morning.”

“I’ve made up my mind about this, Everly,” he’d asserted. “If we fail, we fail. If we’re chased down and brought back, then so be it.”

And so, here we were. Drawing ever closer to the cutter we meant to steal, my anxiety compounding as I tried to keep from imagining every way this could go wrong. At the very least, it meant I didn’t have to try too hard to keep a frightened expression on my face.

It didn’t take long at all for us to reach the small ship, and the soldier tentatively set down the oars with another distraught glance at Grayson. “Much obliged,” Grayson told him, then without warning pulled me to my feet, rocking the lifeboat perilously as he kept the knife to my throat with one hand, and let out a shrill whistle using the other.

My stomach leapt, sure that one of the other ships would hear it, but the crashing of waves covered the sound. I heard a man’s voice from above, and then an officer appeared at the railing, immediately paling at the sight before him.

“Evening,” Grayson said, almost cheerily. I could hear the wicked grin in his voice. “I’m going to have to ask you all to get off that ship.”

Chapter 31

As it turned out, the cutter was only occupied by two men, both of whom soon joined their fellow soldier in relinquishing their weapons and retreating to the lifeboat once Grayson and I were safely aboard.

“Many thanks for your cooperation, gentlemen,” Grayson said, leaning over the railing of the cutter and lifting the knife to his forehead in a mocking salute. “Lady Williams and I will be taking our leave now, but I must warn you—” He dragged me closer by the arm and pointed his blade at my chin. “—if I see this lifeboat moving before we’re at least a mile away, I’ll have to cut her throat.”

A mile was generous. I would have been surprised if they waited more than ten to fifteen minutes before rowing themselves back to the flagship to report this whole incident to my father, but I knew Grayson thought that with the cutter and a small head start, we’d be able to outrun them.

Surprise, then alarm flashed across all three of their faces as he issued the command. Of course, they’d expected Grayson to release me once he had what he wanted, and it was easy now to see the panic mounting behind their eyes as they realised just how bad this situation was about to become. I certainly didn’t envy the fact that they’d have to brief my father on how they had allowed one of the pirates to escape and abscond with his recently-rescued daughter.

We actually might pull this off, I thought, as the soldiers meekly agreed to these terms, exchanging worried glances. I was suddenly reminded, as Grayson gave my arm a squeeze, that I was still supposed to appear frightened. I wrung out a dry sob, feebly struggling against Grayson’s grip.

He took that opportunity to swing me around and toss me to the deck, throwing me against the wall of the ship as gently as he could manage while still maintaining the act. “Sit still,” he snarled, an apology flickering briefly across his expression when I winced at the impact.

Grayson whirled and made a beeline for the rigging on the other side, hands moving quickly as he manoeuvred the sails to turn the cutter around, to put as much distance as he could between us and the rest of my father’s ships. Part of me wanted to look at the men sitting in the lifeboat behind us—I kept wondering if one of them had a hidden firearm, if one of them would start shouting to alert the other ships, or if they would immediately begin making their way to the flagship to tell my father to give chase. Nausea built in my stomach as I imagined the possibilities, and I squeezed my eyes shut for several moments as I waited for something to happen.

I worked to keep from reeling to one side as the cutter made a hard and fast turn, using my unbound legs to press against the wall and listening to the roaring of the waves beneath us, the creaking of the ship, and the ruffle of sails as they turned and caught against the wind. I found myself holding my breath, as though the fear was gripping my lungs.

No gunshots. No shouts. No cannon fire.

I opened my eyes. Grayson was still pulling at the rigging, keeping the sails filled with wind and casting glances over my head every so often. I chanced a careful peek over the side of the ship, and was relieved to see little to no movement from the rowboat, which drifted gently in the current, growing farther away by the minute.

Grayson pulled hard on one of the ropes and tied it down, then crossed the deck to me and knelt to finally undo my bonds. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, as he removed the gag from my mouth.

“No,” I told him, swallowing. I looked out at the rowboat again, while Grayson reached behind me to untie my hands. “They won’t wait, you know.”

“I know,” Grayson breathed. “Don’t worry. I can outrun them.”

“But—”

He grabbed hold of my chin and brought it back to face him, then silenced the remainder of my worried protest with a kiss.

I blinked in surprise, but it didn’t last long. After a few seconds, he released me with a grin. “It’ll take them some time just to row themselves back to the line, especially with the current working against them,” he said, standing as if nothing had happened at all and returning to the mess of rigging on the other end of the ship. “They’ll have to get themselves organised, and I’m sure they’ll send the frigates to give chase, but if the wind stays on our side, we’ll be long gone by then.”

He seemed so impossibly sure of himself. I found myself jealous of his confidence, my hands still trembling slightly from the sheer weight of what we’d just done, but watching him work the sails so deftly with a practically giddy grin on his face helped ease some of the tightness in my chest. With a deep breath, I got to my feet. “Can I help?”

Grayson glanced at me with a note of surprise. “You know how to sail?”

“No,” I admitted. “But tell me what to do, and I’ll try.”

I couldn’t have defined how much time passed, but between the two of us, we kept the cutter both afloat and moving, with Grayson instructing me on which ropes to pull and when as he worked the mainsail. I’d seen this sort of thing being done before, but obviously never had the opportunity to try my hand at it. Luckily, with a ship this small, it was rather simple. Living up to its name, the cutter sliced cleanly through the current, and after some time my father’s ships were nothing but specks on the horizon. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from looking back, waiting for them to reappear.

My apprehension did not escape Grayson’s notice. “Staring at the skyline isn’t going to do any good,” he called over to me.

I bit down on my lip and guiltily turned my attention back to the sail I was currently wrestling, trying again to make it turn the way I wanted. I heard Grayson’s footsteps approach from behind, and a moment later he took hold of the rope. “Like this,” he said, giving the sail a pull. I glared up at the white fabric as it bent instantly to his will, swallowing the wind with a flawless tilt.

Grayson fastened the rope to one of the metal loops on the side of the ship. “You all right?” he asked.

“Am I all right?” I repeated, barely containing a snort of disbelief. “Am I—Grayson, I’m terrified, and I don’t understand why you aren’t. Even if we escape tonight, we’ll be hunted our entire lives.” As soon as my mouth opened, I couldn’t stop myself, spilling every anxiety and worry I’d spent the past few hours fighting with. “Just by coming with you, I’ve condemned you to a life of constant running, and if we’re caught? I may as well have signed your death warrant.” I shot him what I hoped was a sobering stare, knitting my brows together. “Don’t you realise that?”

Grayson’s listened with his head cocked to one side, and despite the very serious look I was giving him, his lips quirked into a smile. “Everly, you’ve just described being a pirate.”

“It’s more than that,” I argued. “You know it is.”

Exhaling, his smile faded, and he gave the newly secured rope a tug before dropping his hand away. “I know,” he admitted. “But…when you’re locked up alone in a cell, even for just a few days, you have a lot of time to think. A lot of time to sort out your priorities.” He took a step closer to me, slipping his hand around mine and giving it a squeeze. “Most pirates accept that they aren’t going to live long lives, myself included,” he confessed. “And I’ve decided that my life, however short it may be, is much better spent with you than a longer one without.”

The ocean chill did nothing to stop my cheeks from warming, and I found myself shyly averting my eyes. Even in the dark, the blush caught his attention. “Rest assured, Everly Williams,” he said with a mischievous smile, snagging me by the waist. “I plan to do everything within my power to keep you as my captive for quite some time.”

I blew a strand of hair from my forehead, trying to contain an eyeroll. “Your first sentiment was much more poetic,” I remarked, still uselessly hiding my flushed face.

Grayson clicked his tongue, amused, and looked up at the sails again. “In any case, we’re in good shape for the moment,” he told me. “If we can maintain this speed, I don’t think they’ll catch up with us anytime soon.”

I followed his gaze up to the mainsail. Sure enough, it was filled with wind, the fabric rippling almost in rhythm with the water below. Grayson made a sound as if he were about to say something else, but then stopped. I tore my eyes back down to see him furrowing his brow in thought. A flicker of uncertainty in his eyes confirmed that there was something on his mind. “What?” I asked, when he said nothing.

His mouth twitched in hesitation, but only for a moment. “Perhaps you don’t remember,” he began, “but I very much confessed earlier that I’m in love with you.”

Caught off guard, my lower stomach stirred, and I felt my mouth open of its own accord. It was several seconds before any words actually made their way past my lips. “I…” I stammered before finally managing an actual response. “O-of course I remember.”

“Good,” he said, rocking back on his heels and turning his gaze up at the sail again. Was that…embarrassment, marring his expression? Was there slightly more colour in his cheeks now? I furrowed my brow and tried to study his face more closely, but he quickly turned back towards me, clearing his throat. “Given the fact that you’re here with me, I…” One corner of his mouth curled downwards, and he elected to start the sentence over. “Can I assume you feel the same way?”

Despite the way my heart had picked up speed, I found a smile on my face as I listened to him stumble over his words. “I never…thought I’d have to use that word,” I admitted.

A soft chuckle bubbled out of him. “You think I did?”

I closed my eyes for a moment, drawing a preparatory breath. “Grayson, I…” I struggled to wrap my tongue around the words, as if they were foreign. “I do love you,” I said finally. “I think I have for longer than I’d care to admit.”

I could tell from the way his jaw stiffened that he was trying to suppress the wideness of his grin, but it was in vain. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “And you can be certain that, once we’re in the clear, I very much intend to celebrate it. But for now—”

His hand suddenly cupped my cheek, and his eyes sparkled bluer than ever as he entrapped my mouth with his, gently but firmly working his tongue between my lips. A soft whimper escaped my throat, unbidden, and he growled low in his throat in response. His teeth grazed my bottom lip before he pulled away, running a thumb along the edge of my jaw. “Let’s keep up the pace,” he said softly, then finally released me with no small amount of reluctance.

He moved back to the rigging on the starboard side, but I was anchored to the spot, watching him adjust the sails and then turning my eyes out to the vast, empty waters before us. A question sprung to my mind that hadn’t occurred to me to ask before. “Where are we going?” I asked suddenly.

“Where do you want to go?”

He turned the inquiry around on me without missing a beat, and I was left at a loss for an answer.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.  

“Well,” he grunted, as he pulled hard on the mainsail. “First things first, we’ll need to get to a port and ditch this ship as soon as we’re able.”

“What about…” I faltered, feeling my forehead crease. “What about Captain Manderly, and the rest? If they survived…where would they have gone?”

“I couldn’t say for sure.” Grayson looked over at me quizzically. “Livorno, maybe. Why? Interested in a life of piracy?”

It seemed strange to say that I was, but the idea was tantalising. I had grown to quite like the salty taste of the air at sea, and the more I stared at the ocean ahead the more it seemed to promise me. After narrowly escaping a life that had promised nothing but captivity, the only thing I yearned for now was freedom.

At that moment, a life of piracy sounded about as free as one could get.

“Why not?” I found myself saying.

Grayson’s mouth formed another smile, as he let out a soft laugh. “Why not indeed,” he agreed.

Notes:

The end!

Thank you to everyone for reading and for all your nice comments. This has been a passion project for me over the past year or so and I'm glad I finally had the courage to post it. Even though I wrote it mostly for myself, it makes me happy to know that other people have enjoyed it. :)

Shoutout to my good friend Onesmartcookie78 for her very thorough line edits and for always scolding me for my semicolon abuse. :)

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Thank you all so much again! :)