Flame
It was in times like these when Lily wished she had a knife or two. After all, what was the use in learning how to fight with a sword and daggers and shoot a gun if you never got to carry one?
She tried to duck under the brawny man's arm, but he was too quick for her. He kicked her in the back of the knees and she went down on all fours, landing hard on the dirt floor of the dark alley. Her wrists were bleeding profusely from where they had cut her. She was loosing blood fast.
She had never been raped, kidnapped, or beaten. She'd lived in Tortuga or on a ship for most of her life. Where had these men come from? She didn't know them. The only person to ever harm her was her ex-boyfriend, Paul, who, after he beat her and cheated on her and she left him, came to hunt her down in Tortuga and kill her. He had arrived a week ago, and she had hidden as best she could. After all, her hair wasn't exposed, so how could he find her?
The small crowd of men, at seven, jeered and laughed at her. The big, blonde man that had first assaulted her tried to rip her hair bonnet off. She yanked it back down before any could see her hair.
She growled. "Ooh, touchy, now, aren't we, wench?" the man said. He was handsome enough, with blonde hair and blue eyes and skin tanned by life at the sea. He wasn't a pirate, but probably a sailor.
Another man spoke. "A pretty thing, isn't she, Rob? Though she dresses like a man an' hides whatever hair she 'as under that bandana. D' you 'ave hair, wench?" he asked.
The other men laughed. "She don't 'ave hair!" one jested. "What kind o' a woman is she, then?" another said, his high cackling laugh cutting through the air.
Before any could predict what would happen, Lily rolled over on to her back and bounded to her feet as quick as a flash. She threw a fist out towards Rob's face, and felt satisfaction in hearing a sickening crunch as her knuckles came in contact with his jaw.
"Ah!" He screamed, spitting out blood. "Wench!" He lunged for her, and she turned, attempting to get out of the enclosed, narrow alley as fast as she could.
He grabbed her head-scarf, and before she could grab it back, it flew off, leaving her head bare. She froze.
Thick red curls tumbled down to her back, as red as the poison berries on the bushes behind her house. It was as bright as the sunset, and, even in the dim moonlight, the orange, red and yellow streaks shone and danced like fire in the wind.
She hated people to see her hair. It attracted too much attention, and no one else one hundred leagues from here had hair even similar to hers. Scarlet, a whore in town, had dark red hair, but it had been fake, and now she was dead.
She turned around slowly, careful to keep her temper under control. The one time she had let it loose, she had killed a man. He was a bad man, but it was bad that she had killed him so ruthlessly; it wasn't proper for a lady, though typically Lily didn't give a damn about what was proper and what wasn't.
Rob and his gang stared with awe and something close to admiration. One man muttered, "So she does have hair."
Rob stepped forward and took a strand of her hair between his fingers. "Did you die it?" he asked.
She stood stock still. Her answer was cold. "It's as bright as the day I was born. I like to keep it hidden."
She kneed him in the groin so fast that no one had time to act. Rob dropped to the ground, clutching his crotch, and she whipped her bandana out of his lax hand. She moved towards the street.
A man stepped in front of her, grinning. She snarled and socked him in the stomach, next in the nose. He went down in a heap, blood spurting onto her cream blouse.
She ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She heard men behind her, trying to catch up.
It was a good thing she was fast.
Men came at her from all directions. She saw Paul, standing at the entrance of a pub on the main street that she had just come out of, looking to see what all the commotion was. When there eyes locked, green against blue, recognition flooded his face, and he drew his sword, running after her.
Sailors and some ex-military men recognized her by her hair, and ran after her, swords drawn.
She was wanted in Port Royal for killing a man. And for stowing away on a merchant ship headed for Tortuga. That was why she had started to hide her hair.
The only direction left open was toward the docks. Ships of all kinds floated there; pirate ships, merchant ships, trading ships, sailing ships, etc. A black one loomed above all others.
The Black Pearl. She knew it. It had been captained by Jack Sparrow, the craziest, most notorious, and best pirate in the Caribbean and England; maybe in the entire world. Though she heard that Captain Jack Sparrow had had a child who now was captain, and Sparrow himself was dead or in Port Royal. She did not know whether to believe them or not.
The Pearl was anchored a ways out from the docks themselves, too big to come into port. She was at the end of the dock now, and as she looked now she could see Paul dash onto it behind her, his boots landing heavily on the worn wooden boards as he ran.
She did the only thing she could think of. She dived into the water, her slender body cutting though the now calm waves like a knife.
Lillian Parr was an excellent swimmer. She could hold her breath for two minutes under water, and now was no exception. She shot through the water in the direction of the Pearl, and was glad not to feel another splash as Paul dived in after her. He knew she was a better swimmer than him, and he didn't dare try to get her in her own domain: the water.
She swam as if she was born in the water, only barely rising above the surface for air and a look to tell her she was still going in the right direction. Her cuts burned in the salt water, but she grit her teeth and went on. Her eyes were open under the sea water, unaffected by the salt and tiny organisms that floated around her. In front of her, she saw a fish flit like liquid silver through the water. She was lucky she hadn't attracted sharks with all the blood that flowed freely from her hands and arms. The dark red cloud of it lingered before her eyes before she glided through it.
A dark shadow came into view in front of her, blocking out all moonlight. She knew it was the Black Pearl, floating dark and foreboding off shore.
She broke the surface, taking in a gulp of air. She was fairly close to one of the anchors, and she glided over to it, latching onto the thick rope coming down from the giant ship. Its black sails blocked out the moonlight, some silver streams coming down through holes in the torn canvas. She wondered how such sails could make it the fastest ship on earth.
She started to climb, not caring about whom she would find on board and whether or not they were friendly. She sucked in a painful breath as her tender, bleeding wrists scraped the rough rope when she climbed. She used the rough, uneven planks of the ship for footholds and handholds, the rope for support. This was easy, but it hurt.
She paused and looked back towards Tortuga. Men stood all around, scratching their heads and fuming. Paul was no where to be seen. Had he followed her? Her eyes scanned the ocean. It wasn't likely, but she couldn't take any chances.
She peeked over the side of the ship, looking for life. Finding none, she scrambled over the railing, her bare, calloused feet hitting the floor with an almost inaudible thump. Still, no one appeared.
She crept down to the cargo hold, as silent as a cat. Water dripped off her wet form, and she was grateful for her brown vest that she always put over her cream shirt, lest any men saw her. Her cut off, worn down breeches stuck to her long, slender legs, and her calves were pale and shining under the light of the moon. Her hair hung down in wet, haphazard curls, falling to her elbows. She should have cut it.
The stench of rum, gun powder, and jarred foods floated to her nostrils. Her eyes watered at the potent combination. She looked around, and, spotting an empty barrel, its top on the floor, she crammed her small form into the large barrel, once full of rum. The smell of it still lingered. She pulled the lid in after her. Two holes were the only source of light and air. Her wrists still bled, and blood mingled with the few drops of rum left at the bottom.
As soon as she made her self comfortable, her knees pulled up to her chest, her bandana firmly in place, she passed out.
Ayden sent the word out to his crew to come back to the ship on the fourth night in Tortuga, and, as he came towards the docks, he was glad to see them all present. He smiled his wry smile and saluted dramatically. They laughed and saluted back.
"Alright men," he said, his voice carrying over the heads of his thirty-six men. "Let's pull out." They all piled into boats, and some just dove in, swimming beside the long, slender row-boats. They immediately began to row silently towards his vessel, the Black Pearl.
His father's boat. He missed his father, not knowing whether he was alive or dead. The last time Ayden had seen Jack had been on his twentieth birthday, ten months ago.
Ayden ran a calloused hand through his dark head of hair, now just past his ears. His face was starting to grow stubble; he needed to shave. He rowed harder, anxious to get back to his beloved ship. He left Margon behind, confident in knowing that the compact blonde could handle the job of guarding the Pearl.
They arrived at the great, black ship, and Margon threw down rope ladders for them to climb up. The Pearl was virtually impossible to climb, unless you were a great climber. That lowered the threat right there of someone stealing on to his ship.
"Avast, men!" he cried as soon as they were all on board. "Get th' boats up 'ere, you spineless fish! Pull up the anchors! Unfurl th' sails! We're heading west!" He pulled out his compass. "Liam, take the wheel. Figaro, check th' hold, make sure everything is tied down and secure. Get to work!" He barked out orders as fast as an auctioneer said bids and prices. He was the head honcho, even though he had been captain for only a year. His men, once his father's, respected him just as much as they did Jack.
He bore a fine resemblance to his father; his hair a black mass of curls atop his head, his skin like caramel, and his eyes a dark, chocolate brown. He was twenty now, a nice age, and he was broad and built and fit in a way that his father, strikingly handsome as he was, never was. His mother, Tara, had been a whore and had died when he was five, and he had inherited nothing from her except for his smarts. Sure, Jack had been smart, but only in the pirate/logic/sailing sense. Ayden was very smart, and didn't have the whole "permanently drunk" stance that his father had, though he was cocky and arrogant at times, and was unforgiving and ruthless when he had to be. His men feared him only slightly, knowing that he was capable of carving their guts out with one expert swipe of his long, curved sword. Mostly they respected him, and were able to joke with him and treat him as their brother; their older brother, who they had to obey.
He was a superb captain.
He was jolted out of his reverie by Figaro's loud, boyish shout. He was only sixteen, a slim reed of a boy, Hispanic of origin. He had come to Tortuga from Mexico, and spoke just enough English to get by with the crew, though Ayden himself and another man, Samuel, spoke Spanish.
"Captain!"
Ayden stalked over to the boy, concerned with the boy's expression. "What is it?"
"A girl."
Ayden sucked in a breath, surprised. "A stowaway?"
"Si. In barrel."
His men had stopped what they were doing. He walked after Figaro, down to the cargo hold, Margon, Daniel, Matt and Todd trailing after him. Todd was the first mate, Gibbs having retired when Jack handed over the ship to Ayden.
He pulled his sword, not willing to believe that someone had snuck onto his ship. It was impossible!
Figaro put a hand on Ayden's drawn sword, black eyes meeting brown. "No. Asleep."
Ayden sheathed his sword and walked over to the barrel that Figaro was pointing to. The lid had been taken off.
Inside there was a woman, presumably in her late teens. Her head was covered with a large, green bandana, and she wore a man's clothing, cut off brown breeches, a white blouse and a brown vest. Bandanas of all colors were tied around her arms, shoulders and neck, and she wore no shoes. She was unconscious.
When he looked down he found out why. Her wrists were bleeding, but the cuts were starting to clot. Blood flooded the bottom of the barrel, staining her bare feet, legs, and pants. It dripped onto her white shirt. She was wet.
He did not hesitate in lifting her out of the barrel, intent on getting her bandaged up and awake, whether her intentions were good or bad. How did she get on to the Pearl?
He shot an inquiring look at Margon, who looked embarrassed, angry, surprised and impressed all at once. Margon blushed under his captain's scrutinizing gaze.
"'M sorry, Captain. I failed."
Ayden sighed. This was the first time that anyone had tried to climb the side of the infamous ship without Margon noticing.
"No, Margon, not at all. She hasn't stolen the ship or murdered anyone or done any harm to anything yet, just passed out in a barrel. She's obviously running from something, or someone. Let's see if she wakes."
Todd piped up. He was usually a silent man, with light-brown hair and blue-gray eyes, a man with good judgment and solid faith in God; he was only twenty-two. Ayden had never been a particularly religious man, but Todd was so sure of himself that Ayden sometimes caught himself praying or humming an old hymn.
"Captain, what's with th' scarf?"
Ayden frowned. Why did she wear a scarf on her head? No hair was visible. Did she have any? He intended to find out. He pulled the large, patterned bandana off of the girls head, and they all gasped in unison as her long hair fell from a pile on top of her head to her back, damp with water.
Ayden had never seen anyone with that color hair. It was long and curly, and it set off her pale skin. She was frail and beautiful, the most exotic thing he had ever laid eyes on.
Then something clicked in his mind. She was a fugitive! She was the girl that everyone had been talking about for the past two years, the one that no one could find. Ayden had thought it impossible that anyone could have red hair, but now he was proven wrong.
He grinned. "Boys, I think we jus' caught ourselves a wanted fugitive; and a pretty one, too."
Grins spread over their faces as they recognized her, too.
"Didn't she kill th' governor's adviser? 'E was a nasty man."
"How much d' ye think they're offering for 'er?"
"Can we keep 'er?"
"It is bad luck te 'ave a woman on board, remember!"
"Hush," he said, lifting the woman into his arms like she was a paper doll. She was so pale, but her lips were a shocking dark red, like the ruby at the pommel of his sword. "I'm going to find out. Daniel, go back to town with Herod, and ask around about how much this girl is worth, what he name is, and why she's wanted besides killing the governor's man. For that I'm grateful to her. But she could get us a butt-load of money if we turned her in."
They cheered. They all stomped back up to the main deck, and Ayden called out orders once again.
"Change of plans! Stop where you are, and anchor her again!" he turned to Daniel and Herod, who had just been summoned. "Be back in three hours. It's eleven o'clock right now, and I intend to be out of here before dawn. If you're not back by two, I'm leaving without you, even though it would pain me to do so. Go."
They did. Meanwhile, Ayden brought the girl to his cabin and laid her down on the table. Blood still dripped slowly from her wounds. He sent Figaro for some cloth, talking to him in Spanish. Figaro came back with cloths and a bucket of salt water.
Ayden dipped one of the cloths into the bucket, squeezed it, and lowered it to one of her exposed wrists.
As soon as salt water hit flesh, the girl jumped awake, eyes opening in a burst of green.
She lived.
Lily felt a burning pain shoot up her arm, and open her eyes, sitting up. The first thing she noticed was that her hair was unbound. The second was the pain of salt on her wrists wounds. The third: the man standing at the end of the table, holding a wet cloth over her arm.
She didn't know this man, and she didn't know whether he was good or not, but her instincts shouted at her, and in one leaping bound she surged up off the table she was on and rolled to the side. She spied a sword on the wall and grabbed it, holding it defensively in front of her.
The man, looking around her age, drew his own sword, wickedly curved and sharp. He looked like a master sword fighter, one that had been trained since birth.
So was she. She would have to take her chances.
He was strikingly handsome and dark, towering over her 5'6" frame at six foot. Black, curly hair framed his face, and almost black eyes peered out at her from beneath black eyebrows. His skin was that of a seafaring man, tan and calloused.
His eyes met hers the same time as his sword did. Fortunately, the sword that she carried down was much like the ones she was used to; slightly curved, light, and sharp. It was not ornamental, hilt made of plain silver, but it was sturdy and expertly crafted. She had a fair chance at beating this guy, though her wrists hurt like hell.
She parried his blows, swiping at his chest and blocking another one of his attacks. His sword was heavy, but he was strong and big and broad, and he carried it lightly. His sword hit her sword and she felt it vibrating violently against her palm from the force of his blows. He was backing her up.
She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain that shot up her arms like knives in her flesh. She moved forward, turning the tables, her footwork excellent. Step here, then there, then here, then there. Step, step, step, step. Backwards, forwards, sideways. Fire burned in the depths of her bright eyes, a yellowish green in the dim light of the candles and lanterns in the cabin.
He was dressed in simple finery, breeches and a white shirt and a red bandana around his neck, with black leather boots; nothing was gaudy about his appearance, and he had the look of someone who worked hard, but he was in nice clothes that showed that his income was fine, and he had an air of arrogance, intelligence, and authority about him. As he moved past her she caught a whiff of his scent; he smelled like the sea and the sun, musky and strong and masculine, like he was outside all day shirtless on a ship, with the sun beating down on him, making him sweat. He was definitely the captain, no doubt about it.
This wasn't Jack Sparrow. She had seen drawn portraits of him everywhere, how his hair was long and tangled; how he was slender and decked out with gold and jewels, rings on every finger; how he swayed under the effects of rum; how his teeth were capped with gold tips. No, this was not Jack Sparrow.
This had to be his son, handsome, broad and strong, the new captain of the Black Pearl. She had to admire him for that.
She had him backed against the wall, but he fended her off like he was swatting at a fly. He dwarfed her, and she soon found herself tiring, though she refused to give in. He would kill her if she did.
The door opening was all the distraction she needed. Not stopping to see who it was, she grabbed the pistol on his desk, disarmed him in one fluid motion, and pointed the gun at his chest, the cold tip of it touching the broad pec that his heart lay under.
He glared at her, looking surprised and angry, and then glared at the man standing in the doorway. The man was tall and lanky, with light brown hair, freckles, and blue eyes.
"Uh, Captain?" the man asked, hand on sword, unsure about what to do in his position.
She wasn't so sure what to do either.
The woman was even more beautiful when she was awake. Ayden was dumbfounded at her ability to beat him in a fight; no one but his father had ever been able to do that before.
She had dealt with easily, though he could see the pain on her face when she used her sword. Her wrists must have hurt like the dickens, but she had beaten him nonetheless.
"Anyone moves, he dies." Her voice was deep and strong, a note of dull panic shining through. Her hands were steady, holding a gun to his chest and a sword to his throat, and her eyes were on his own. They were a brilliant green. He'd never seen her hair color before, and he'd never seen her eye color before. She was peculiar.
More of his men had gathered around the doorway. Todd, the compassionate man that he was, threw his hands into the air at the mention of his death.
Ayden glared. "Todd, you idiot," he said, "I'm not worth it. Just let 'er shoot me, and get th' money for the fugitive 'ere. Let 'er shoot me."
Todd shook his head furiously. "No. You're th' bes' captain we've ever had, besides Jack. There's no way we're letting ye die such a dishonorable death."
The girl laughed. It was easy to see now that she wasn't a girl at all, eighteen at the least. "Oh, how touching," she snarled. "But, I have to say, I'm only worth one-hundred American dollars. Not much. Seems like the government realized that I did them a favor by killing ol' John Hopper, the bastard that he was. Plus, it was in self defense." She shrugged. Her finger slid along the trigger of the gun, almost in a caressing gesture. "I'm not worth it. All I ask is that you get me safely away from Tortuga and Port Royal. Then I won't kill Captain Sparrow here."
Ayden cocked a brow. "How do you know my name?"
She laughed again, a lovely sound that sounded like tiny bells ringing in his ears. It was pleasing.
"Everyone knows that your father was the captain of this ship. I have pirate blood in me myself; it would be a disgrace to our general pirate family to not know what the Black Pearl is and who Captain Jack Sparrow is. I assume that you're his son?"
"Indeed," he replied, cleaning dirt from under his fingernail as if he didn't have a gun and sword ready to take his life. She talked properly, as if she was raised in a good English family, but her underlying slang betrayed her as someone who had spent a lot of time in Tortuga. She talked proper, but stealing onto a pirate ship, beating a pirate in a fight, threatening the captain of said pirate ship, and wanting to gain passage on a pirate ship were not exactly very lady-like or proper. "And if I grant you passage on our ship," he said, using "our" in respect for his men, "what d' we get in return?"
She raised both eyebrows and smiled chillingly, displaying a set of perfect white teeth. "You, Captain, get your life. And you," she said, turning to his men, "get your captain. Sound fair?"
His men nodded. He didn't. "Captain?" she said, smiling a fake sweet smile.
He stared with such intensity that he thought she might stumble backwards, but instead she just trembled a bit and cocked the gun more firmly into his chest. "Fine," he managed to say. "Can you work?"
She smiled again, this time sincere. "As well as any man."
"Can you fight?"
I don't know, Captain, can I?" She grinned triumphantly.
"Of course. Can you do laundry?" Some of his men laughed.
"I can do everything but whore; that's where I draw the line. I am well familiar with the life of a pirate; I was one for two years."
Some of the men sighed in disappointment and turned away.
"And your name, lass?" Ayden asked.
"Lillian Niala Parr, but call me Lily. Daughter of Captain Thomas Parr of the Tiger Lily. I'm sure you've heard of him?"
Their eyes went wide. "Thomas Parr?" Ayden choked out. Thomas Parr was the most feared pirate captain in the Caribbean before he died. Captain Jack Sparrow was infamous and looked upon as a hero among pirates, but Captain Parr was feared, and grudgingly respected, by everyone; even the navy. His ship, the Tiger Lily, had disappeared off the face of the earth five years ago, and then reappeared suddenly two years later, only to be blown to pieces by a Royal Navy ship. "He had a daughter?"
Lily smiled sadly. "Three. Nineteen years ago."
"Triplets?"
"Aye. My sister, Violet, was killed when she was fifteen by a man named John Hopper. The other, Roseanne, or Rose, is still out there somewhere. I intend to find her; last I heard she was held captive on the Gratin, captained by that evil man Kevin Harlow."
Some of the men shifted on their feet. Todd spoke grinning, the dimple in his smooth cheek coming out when he smiled. "Were they as pretty as you?"
Lily blushed, showing embarrassment for the first time since they met. "They were prettier. Two of the most beautiful women in the world, I reckon."
"They 'ave your hair?"
"No. They were blonde, like my father. But Rose did have my eyes, though Violet's were blue." Lily paused for a moment, staring off at the wall behind Ayden's head, remembering something.
There was more to this woman than he thought.
"Aw, Lils, that's not fair!" Rose shouted, running after her red-headed sister as Lily climbed the ratline of the mainmast. Lily giggled. She knew Rose was afraid of heights.
"Come and get it, Rosy!" she shouted, sticking out her tongue. They were six, on their father's beloved ship the Tiger Lily. Lily loved this ship.
Violet laughed, sitting cross-legged on the main top, cradling her doll in her arms. "Lily, come on," she said, her blue eyes twinkling. "Stop jesting with our poor sister here an' give it back."
Lily pouted. "But that's no fun!"
One of the sailors, Jared, a young, spry boy of sixteen, came through the lubber's hole and stood on the main top with them. "C'mon, Lillian. Yer mom is angry with ye fer stealing Rose's seashell. If yer dad finds out, yer toast, darlin'."
Lily pouted. She hated it when people called her Lillian. "Fine. I was just playing." Her red hair was done up into a messy bun on top of her head, shining brighter than the Orange Tubastrea coral that her father once showed her when she was small. She still held a piece of the hard coral that she broke off, and it lay nestled in her dress pocket.
She climbed back down the ratline, the ropes tangling annoyingly around her bare feet and frilly dress. She jumped the rest of the way down, a mere five feet.
Her mother was waiting for her down on the main deck. Pirates milled around her, passing widely around the temper-prone woman, in her blue dress and gold jewelry. Her hair was up in an elaborate bun, the same color as Lily's, and her beautiful face was set in a stern expression.
"Where are your shoes, Lillian? And what have you done to your dress? My goodness, child, when will you ever learn?" she said, her green eyes filled with irritation, concern and anger. Lily bowed her head.
"I'm sorry, Mother," she muttered, holding out Rose's seashell for her mother to take.
"Don't give it to me, go give it to Rose. And apologize. Go now."
Lily did as she was told. She walked over to her outing sister Rose, and held the beautiful seashell out to her, its blue and white swirls catching the light.
"Sorry, Rose," she said in the most apologetic voice she could muster. Rose smiled, taking the seashell back.
"That's okay, Lils. I forgive you. All in good fun, right sis?"
"Right." She loved her sister. She was so forgiving. Violet was always ruthless, fair and logical, while Rose was sweet, forgiving and carefree. Lily herself was a hothead, showing no mercy for some, and being extremely nice to others. She was the most adventurous of the three, always wanting to explore the ship and dive overboard and go swimming and pull pranks. Violet would just roll her eyes, and Rose would giggle. She had the broadest personality, while they were both beautiful without compare. Lily had never thought of herself as beautiful, just different.
Her father bounded up from the gun deck to the spar deck, young and handsome and blonde, a cropped goatee present on his smooth face. Lily shrieked and rushed to him, her arms outstretched. Thomas Parr lifted her up in his strong arms and swung her around in a wide arc, her legs flying behind her. She giggled in delight.
"Now, my Tiger Lily, what have you been up to?" he asked in a playful fatherly voice, his fist knocking her under the chin gently. Violet and Rose ran up behind her, their eyes dancing in delight. He called her Tiger Lily because he named her after his beloved ship. She had always been his favorite, resembling her mother in all aspects except for her rigid, proper nature. He loved her more than he loved his ship, loved her more than he loved his wife.
"Nothing. We've been playing together. What have you been up to, Daddy?" she asked, his big hands holding her small ones. Violet and Rose hugged his legs, pressing their faces against his thighs.
"Ah, Tiger, I've been supervising my crew's work, and have found it spectacularly pleasing. A great start to a good day, eh?"
"Yes!" they all chorused, laughing in delight as their mother approached with a smile on her face. Their father kissed her briefly but lovingly on the lips, and Lily and her tow sisters "ewed" in unison, mock puking, sticking there fingers in their mouths. Their parents laughed.
Her mother, Tulia, reached down and picked Lily up baby style, kissing her on the forehead. "I love you, my Lily," she whispered.
"I love you too, Mom," she said, clutching at her mother's dress. She set Lily down and drew all three sisters into her arms, kneeling at their height, kissing each one in turn. "I love all of you, very, very much. And your father does, too."
They knew. They had the best parents in the world.
There father came up behind them. "Make it a great day, girls, a great day," he said. They all grinned, and ran off, joyful, carefree, and eager to make it a great day.
Lily shook herself mentally. It hadn't been a great day. It had been a terrible day.
She looked at the captain of the Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow's son. "And your name is?"
"Ayden. Captain Ayden Sparrow. Just 'Captain' t' you."
His voice was deep. She was grateful that she had earned at least their respect. The man in the door way was exceedingly attractive, as was Ayden, as were numerous others in the crew. She could have fun with this.
Have fun and still be detached. She didn't trust men. She would never trust men again as more than friends, after what happened with Paul. After what those men did to Violet before they killed her; after what they did to her mother.
"Fine. We have a bargain, then?" she asked, the gun still at his chest.
He stuck out his hand solemnly. "We 'ave a bargain." She shook it. His hand was broad and warm, long fingers closing firmly around her slim ones. His touch sent security as well as electricity through her hand and up her arm.
She dropped the gun onto the floor, and stuck the sword into her belt. Surprisingly, she got no objections from the captain or crew, and Ayden clapped her on the shoulder in a friendly gesture.
"Alright, Lily, let get those arms of yours fixed up. No one likes a bloody woman."