"Not a sound."

Neal Cassidy stiffened at the blade to his throat. The night was black as pitch on The Black Swan, a moonless night, keeping his aggressor within the shadows. He never should have taken the watch himself—but there was something very seductive being on deck of The Black Swan on a new moon. The stars danced, the wind howled between the sails, and Neal relished the spray of the sea.

"Remain calm," A quiet, distinctly feminine voice whispered in his ear. "I'm taking control of this ship."

"Oh, are you?" Neal retorted, curling his fists ever so slightly as he frantically thought of a plan. His crew was below, but Michael or John ought to be finishing up their nightly chores…

"Mmhmm," The voice purred. "You've got a lot of gold on your head, Neal Cassidy. The king wants you, the royal navy wants you…but I don't think you'd be surprised at the highest price on your head, Blaise Gold."

Neal inhaled sharply, his stomach turning to ice. "Well," He remarked. "That's not something I'm called every day. I assume my father hired you, then?"

"Daddy needs his heir, doesn't he?" The voice replied idly. He hoped that their banter might cause her to loosen her guard, but she kept the knife firmly at his throat. She certainly knew what she was doing, he'd give her that.

"You're going to take the helm," She instructed, pushing him forward. "And sail to Port Royal. We'll keep this nice and easy."

Port Royal. His father had taken up residence there and had quickly taken over the entire town. Rutherford Gold had everyone under his thumb and in his control, the governor, the mayor, the shopkeepers…Neal gritted his teeth. His father thought he could have control over everything, did he? Well, he was in for a shock.

"Remain calm, Michael," Neal said at the top of his voice. "We'll just do what she says."

She jerked against him, apparently alarmed at her discovery and Neal grinned that she fell for the bluff. He elbowed her hard in the gut, causing her to grunt in surprise while he unsheathed his sword.

Her reflexes were quick. Neal barely had enough time to admire the golden curls that framed her face and how mesmerizing her blue eyes were before he was suddenly sword fighting for his life.

"Well, well," Neal smirked. "For a hired hand, your sword work is awfully formal. Could it be you're from aristocratic origins?"

"I'm not into bonding over combat," She lunged towards him, barely grazing his cheek and he parried, leaping on a barrel.

"If I'm going to be forced to return to Port Royal, I ought to at least know your name," He pointed out. "As you know my real one."

She flashed him a smile. "Emma Swan." She swiped her sword at his legs and he jumped off the barrel and blocked her next lunge. He did a quick little trick with his wrist, disarming her with a snap, and she stepped away, nursing her own sprained wrist.

She snatched a dagger out of her boot. He drew his gun.

She narrowed her eyes. "You're cheating."

"Pirate," Neal sang. "I'm terribly sorry, Miss Swan, but I am going to have to escort you to the brig. I'll see to it that you're kept comfortable. Thing is, there's a man I have to kill, a mother I have to avenge, and returning to my father rather impedes that plan, you see."

Emma stared at him a long while before cracking a grin. "I know who you're seeking."

"Fairly obvious at this point," Neal nudged her with his gun.

"Very easy to swear revenge against Killian Jones," Emma pointed out and he gave a half-hearted shrug. "Not so easy to find him. And, as it happens, I know where he is."

"How convenient."

"I'm serious," Emma stared at him hard. "I'm not lying. I…worked with him, once upon a time."

Neal snorted. "A moment ago you were ready to force me to turn this ship around, never mind most of my crew would be arrested, all for a handsome price. Now you're switching teams. You really are a pirate."

"Never claimed otherwise," Emma grinned. "So how about it?"

"I'll consider it," Neal eyed her carefully. "But I want to know a few things first."

XXXX

A fortnight prior

"You cannot do this!" Maurice shouted. "I refuse."

"Temper yourself, Lord Favreau," Gold said in a bored voice. "You're lucky I allow this much flexibility to our deal. You're in quite a bit of debt. I've offered a solution."

Maurice Favreau attempted to compose himself. Gold watched with amusement as the idiot man clenched his fists, in all probability, biting his tongue till it bled.

"I thought," Maurice said through gritted teeth. "That you would only accept my daughter's dowry as recompense in a marriage between her and your son. That was the deal!"

"Strictly speaking, my words were, 'your daughter's dowry'," Gold's eyes flicked towards the window, gazing at the sea. "As my son is otherwise occupied, on his own version of a Grand Tour—"

"Pirating every port from here to England you mean!"

Gold's eyes flashed. "Watch your tongue, Maurice. I am still willing to accept your daughter's dowry as payment for the debt you've accumulated, but given the circumstances, I will have to wed the girl myself. She'll be well cared for, if that's your concern."

"Do you think I would let my only child wed a beast like you?!" Maurice blustered. "Good God, she's half your age!"

Gold rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in love, dearie. I'm interested in quelling the tide of scheming mothers that thrust their daughters upon my lap. I'm interested in having someone run the affairs at home while I am abroad—which will be often, until my son returns. I doubt I'll even see the girl again, once the nuptials are over."

There was a knock at the door and Gold looked away from the fuming man, fully concluding the conversation. A servant entered.

"Excuse me my lord, but Master Emmett Swan is here to see you."

"Good," Gold stood, nodding at the servant. "We're done here, Lord Favreau. Those are your terms—that, or the oblivion of your family home."

Maurice stared at him wide-eyed before storming out of his study. A tall hooded figure entered at his exit.

"Emmett Swan," Gold motioned for the stranger to seat themselves. "Shall I call for tea?"

"Never been much of a tea person," The stranger removed their hood and Gold was surprised to find a woman before him.

"So," She grinned at him cheekily. "Before I congratulate you for your impending wedding—let's talk about finding your errant son."

Gold tapped his desk thoughtfully. "I must admit, you're not quite what I expected," He told her bluntly. A woman in breeches of all things, not even making an attempt to hide her femininity, considering the long locks of golden blonde hair tumbling down her back.

"You wouldn't have called on me if you knew I was an Emma rather than an Emmett," Emma said blithely.

"You might be surprised," Gold said cautiously. "Very well. You think you can find my son?"

"This is something of a specialty of mine," Emma stood, sauntering across the room, examining some of the paintings hanging on the wall. "Finding people who don't want to be found."

Gold said nothing, merely watched her.

"And for the right price, I can have your sonny-boy back in time for your wedding. Hell's bells, I'll even make sure he jots down a wedding toast on the way." She grinned at him insolently but his face was impassive.

"And what makes you so confident, Miss Swan?" Gold asked calmly. "You're not the first person who's promised to track down my son and return him to his rightful place. I doubt you'll be the last."

"I'm confident because he and I are the same," Emma replied. She took down a small painting of Blaise as a boy and examined it. "Both searching for meaning on the high seas. Both abandoned by their parents—"

"I never abandoned my son," Gold said icily.

She gave a little shrug. "Have it your sway. But the truth is, Mr. Gold," She purposefully emphasized her omission of his title. "Only a pirate can find a pirate."

"And that's what you are, is it?" Gold asked flatly.

"I prefer privateer, since I always do it relatively legally and under hire," Emma said cheerfully. "My point remains. The sea is in my blood, Gold. And there's never been a single soul who's escaped from me."

Emma's easy confidence regarding the matter was unnerving, truth be told. He'd come to realize that arrogance of that nature was usually a protective shield against some very terrible wounds.

It was rather like looking into a mirror.

"Very well," Gold inclined his head. "I'm aware of the financial price—anything else?"

Emma's smile vanished and her eyes grew cold. "Yes," She said calmly. "I want you to help me find my mother and father."

XXXX

Present day, Neal's ship.

"We should cut her throat," Tamara said firmly. "If she escapes, she's sure to tell Gold our location. We're on Jones' heels, we can't afford anymore delays."

Neal sighed. His second mate, while fiercely loyal and whip smart, had a rather cold-blooded nature when it came to stowaways. "That's a little brutal for my tastes," He stared out the window of his cabin musingly. "Can't we just keep her in the brig for the duration of our journey?"

"And then what?" Tamara demanded. "After you kill Jones, what do you plan to do with her then? Mark my words, if we don't kill her now, we'll regret it for the rest of our lives."

Neal looked towards his third mate. The elder gentleman had thus far said nothing, smoking a pipe, watching Tamara rant.

"James, I could use your input," Neal exhaled. James Hook was the very bent of honor, but with a steel in his blood that could freeze even the most ruthless of pirates. They had been friends a long while, and Hook had just as much invested in revenge upon Killian Jones as Neal did.

Hook considered. "To be frank," He cleared his throat. "It's optimistic to say 'we're on Jones' heels'. We've a lead, a small, insignificant lead in the grand scheme of things, and if Miss Swan is telling the truth—her knowledge could be useful."

"There's the rub," Tamara scoffed. "If she's telling the truth."

"Granted," Hook acknowledged, polishing his silver hook with a handkerchief. "But it would not wholly surprise me. Killian's love of women and notorious affairs throughout the Spanish Main are common knowledge."

Neal frowned. "And you think Emma Swan could have been one of those affairs?"

"I've not a clue," Hook said airily. "But two things are for certain. Killian's women know more about his liaisons and where he makes berth than anyone else in the world. Secondly—we will never know if we slit Miss Swan's throat."

Tamara sighed impatiently. Neal twisted his lips, considering.

"All right," Neal said with finality. "We'll keep her with us. We'll dock in Tortuga, see where she leads us—and go from there."

Tamara ground her teeth. "Captain, I fear this is a mistake—"

"She'll stay in the brig, Tamara," Neal said gently. "Under careful watch. We're the slyest dogs on the seven seas, no one person could get the best of us, not on our home turf."

Tamara nodded curtly and went for the door. The door was not quite slammed shut, but closed with such a decisive snap that Neal knew his second mate was seriously displeased.

"They say it's terrible bad luck to have a woman on board," Hook remarked. "Not that I hold stock in such nonsense, it is refreshing to have civilized company—but my dear boy, you seem to have two tempests on your ship."

XXXX

Gold straightened his cravat and stared at himself in the mirror critically. He never thought he'd see himself in wedding attire again, not after Milah. He glanced out the window and was pleased to see that storm clouds had gathered—it looked as though a thunderstorm was approaching. He thought swiftly of his son and hoped that wherever Blaise was, he was safe.

He sighed impatiently, looking at the clock hanging on the mantle. He was briefly reminded of when Blaise was a small child, how the little lad had hated attending church, sitting in the stiff-backed pews, listening to the chaplain drone on and on. He felt a surge of kinship—he could think of nothing less pleasant than dragging himself down to the chapel to attend his nuptials.

The walk to the small chapel on the grounds of his estate was a lot shorter than he'd imagined. He took his time, enjoying the relative peace of his estate, inhaling the scent of rain. A thunderstorm would be a rather nice symbol of his feelings towards the marriage. Never mind. A few dull words, a short conversation explaining that he intended on leaving the following morning, leaving her to idle herself however she pleased—and that would be that.

He noticed Maurice standing outside the chapel, looking very irritated. Gold smirked in triumph.

"Lord Gold," Maurice said tightly. "My daughter is inside. Since you insisted on a private reading of the vows…"

"Good," Gold said crisply. "I'm not a patient man. It wouldn't do if she kept me waiting." A stray thought occurred to him that perhaps he'd kept her waiting, as he was a few minutes late to the ceremony, but he brusquely pushed it aside. He opened the chapel doors and strode down the aisle.

She was wearing white, but thankfully it was a simple wedding dress. He could not see her face, which was veiled, and he tried not to count the long, droning seconds as the chaplain read the vows. He repeated them mindlessly and noted that when she returned the vows to love him in sickness and health, that her voice was low and husky, with a soft, lilting accent.

That was a mercy. He'd feared marrying a shrilled-voice woman.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," The dim-witted chaplain with a thoughtless smile beamed. "You may kiss your bride."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Gold unveiled the woman and stopped short in the action.

He tried not to stare, but it was hard. She was…nothing short of lovely. Breath-taking, even. Eyes the color of the sky above the ocean on a clear day, dark chestnut curls that framed her ivory skin. She gave him a shy smile at his surprise—a smile that held the barest hint of mischief.

Gold lowered his head. He'd originally intended on hastily brushing his lips against her cheek, but he found himself gently kissing her small mouth. It was not a kiss of passion, a bare moment of contact, terribly chaste—but strangely, he found ardor in it, and the desire to haul her against him and explore her fully.

He broke away from her quickly before he lost his senses. She smiled at him again and he suddenly felt dizzy. Trying to regain his bearing, he looked away from her, gently taking her fingers and leading her down the aisle.

Gold had to get control of himself. He had other things to worry about than a little snip of a girl with a siren's smile.