A/N: Just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who is reading, following, and reviewing. I'm new to this fandom and have never been in one this big before. I'm a little overwhelmed by the positive response I've gotten. You're all so lovely. :)
Whom Slumber soothes not — Pleasure cannot please —
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense—the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
-The Corsair, Lord Byron
Chapter 3: In Which Emma Meets the Crew
After so many long days of captivity below deck, the brisk sea breeze greeted Emma like a long lost lover, wrapping itself around her and digging its fingers into her hair. She closed her eyes against the bright morning sun and drew in deep, cleansing breaths. The cool, salty tang set her soul to purring.
Gods above, it felt good to be outside.
A low, snarling voice startled her: "Captain?"
She opened her eyes to find one of the pirates she recognized from the assault on her ship standing a few feet away, one hand gripping a bit of rigging above his head. His overgrown beard reached well past the open collar of his shirt where she could make out the very top of a faded tattoo. A white, knotty scar served as a mangled left ear. His dark eyes shifted back and forth between her and Captain Jones, who stood at her side.
"Starkey," he said with a nod. "I believe you and the Lady Emma have already made each other's acquaintances."
Starkey sneered, showing off several gold capped teeth. When he took a step toward her, he did so with a pronounced limp, his hand moving to grip his thigh.
"That there's yer handiwork, m'lady," he growled. "Took sixteen stitches, it did, to sew up me thigh, with nothing but rum to numb the pain."
A snappy response bubbled up in Emma's chest — her pride begging her to point out that it was hardly her fault that he'd chosen a life of villainy, and that she'd been wholly justified in defending herself however the hell she saw fit when he came to abduct her — but she swallowed it back down, sensing that this was not the time. A hollow apology struck her as an even worse option; it'd be terribly obvious that she didn't mean it, and he might take it as an insult anyway. So she opted to say nothing at all, allowing her place next to the captain to speak for her. They both knew who had the real power here.
Killian shifted his weight so that his body swayed closer to Emma's.
"You've had worse days, mate," he said with a dismissive wave.
Grumbling something unintelligible, Starkey stepped around Emma and hobbled away, back to his duties.
"Excellent show of patience, love," Killian said. His hand settled at the small of her back, warm and reassuring, nudging her forward. "Now, come along. You've a lot to learn today. Let's not dally."
"What am I going to be learning, exactly?" she asked, still not sure what being forced to embrace a pirate's life meant.
He smiled. "To start: how to sail. If you're going to be part of my crew, you'll need to at least know the basics."
"Your crew?" She balked. "I'm a prisoner. I'm not going to work for you."
"If it makes it any easier for you to swallow, then think of it as earning your freedom."
It didn't, but Emma didn't suppose that would make any difference to him. Whatever had happened that morning with the battle she'd overheard, it had apparently convinced Captain Jones that she was going to be on the Jolly Roger for a while, and he didn't want to keep her locked in his cabin for that length of time any more than she wanted to stay there. So, ipso facto: she had to learn how to get around the ship without either hindering the crew or getting herself killed by one of them.
"Please tell me you at least know starboard from port," Killian continued.
Emma huffed, insulted. "Of course I do."
"Excellent. Then let's start with the grand tour, shall we?"
His arm jutted out. Emma pointedly refused to take it, though she remained close as they crossed the deck, weaving in between bits of rigging and swarthy pirates. In comparison to what the rest of the ship had to offer, Killian's arm span seemed a bubble of relative safety, even though Emma knew, logically, that he was probably the worst of the lot (ruthlessness likely made for excellent social buoyancy among pirates). But he was also a known quantity. Familiar. That alone gave him a comforting presence.
As they walked, Killian pointed out to her all the parts of the ship and its rigging. For approximately the first minute, Emma managed to keep everything straight. Bow and stern: simple. Foremast and mainmast: easy. But once he moved on to the rigging, gesturing to ropes that all looked identical to Emma but had a whole host of different names — sheets, braces, stays, and halliards, each of which came in an endless variety of fore and main — Emma's head began to swim.
Did he really expect her to remember all this?
The way he glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye, his tongue sliding over his teeth as he smirked, made her think not. He was enjoying this. Deriving some deep, male satisfaction from guiding her through his domain, the Jolly Roger his kingdom.
Below deck, matters got somewhat simpler. He showed her the crew and officer's quarters, the various holds and what each contained, including the main magazine stacked neatly with canon balls and barrels of black powder. It all struck Emma as very utilitarian. She'd expect a pirate ship to differ somehow from every other run-of-the-mill ship she'd been on in her life. But the Jolly Roger had no flashy treasure vault, no dark and terrifying chamber for housing prisoners. Nothing, in fact, to distinguish it as a pirate ship at all except for the flag fluttering at the top of the mainmast and the decidedly roguish flavor of its captain.
"You'll be spending the day here," he informed her when they reached the ship's galley.
"Seriously? Is that a joke?"
"I'm quite serious."
She crossed her arms. "You think because I'm a woman that you can just stick me in the kitchen?"
"Not at all," Killian replied. "I'm sure that you are just as unfamiliar with preparing a meal as you are with sailing a ship. The fact of the matter is that I need to leave you in trusted hands, and this is where they happen to be."
Emma stiffened. "Wait. Leave me? Where are you going to be?"
"Captaining the ship." He grinned. "Why? Missing me already?"
She scoffed, even though deep inside she did feel a small pang of alarm at the idea of him to leaving her alone with some strange pirate she'd just met. Darn it, she'd just gotten to know this one.
Inside, they found the galley empty save for one man who had his back to the door, his arms elbow deep in a bag of flour. When they walked in, he turned and dusted his hands off, clapping them together to form a great, white cloud.
"Morning, Captain." He nodded in Emma's direction. "M'lady."
"Emma, this is Ed Teyente, my quartermaster," Killian said, gesturing between the two with a flick of his chin. "You are to assist him with his duties for the remainder of the day."
Ed looked friendly enough. A bit dwarf-like, really, with his round face, broad shoulders, and short stature. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Emma, but outweighed her by at least sixty pounds. He wore a white apron tied around his waist, a green button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of brown doeskin pants. Not half as intimidating as Starkey, nor as striking as Killian, who departed quickly, before she could protest, with no goodbye other than a shallow bow. Half the light seemed to go out of the room along with him.
"You don't look too pleased about this," Ed said.
Was she that obvious? Growing up royal, Emma had been expertly trained in schooling her features, but for some reason all of her experience seemed to be failing her on board this ship.
"I…I guess I was just hoping to spend some time outside," Emma replied, "rather than trade being stuck in once place below deck for another."
"Don't worry. We won't be down here all day," Ed reassured her.
He set her to kneading dough, helpfully informing her it was something she needn't worry about messing up. Emma shrugged and gave it her all, gamely digging her hands into the cold, sticky dough, working it until her arms ached while Ed rolled out some of his own and stamped biscuits out using the mouth of an empty, overturned tin.
"Do you always do all the cooking?" Emma asked.
"Ain't much cooking that needs done on a ship," Ed replied. "We can only use the wood stove during fair weather. Too dangerous in heavy seas. The whole ship could catch fire. Since we're having such a nice, steady day, we've got to get as much done as we can. I enjoy it well enough, so I usually volunteer. Been my habit a long time now. Near on a decade, I suppose."
She glanced at him in surprise. "You've been on board for that long?"
"Aye. Since even before she became the Jolly Roger."
"What was she called before?" Emma asked.
"Used to be the Jewel of the Realm," Ed replied off-handedly, as if this weren't a juicy morsel of information. Emma was careful to keep her focus zeroed in on the dough in her hands, not wanting him to guess how intensely interested she'd become in the history of this ship and her crew. Or, more particularly, her captain.
"That doesn't sound like the name of a pirate ship."
Ed laughed. "It's not. She was a navy ship back then."
"You were in the navy?"
Just like Liam, she realized. And perhaps Killian as well. Though he couldn't possibly have been on board this ship for as long as Ed — a decade ago he'd have been just a boy. Besides, Killian didn't seem the type: his leather, jewelry, devil-may-care attitude, and simmering sexuality all so deeply ingrained in his character that she struggled to imagine him without any of it, uniformed, upstanding, and disciplined.
Ed was nodding. "Aye. I served on board the Jewel for six years."
"What made you turn pirate?"
"Seemed like the right thing to do at the time."
"And now?"
"Now, my loyalties are with the captain," he said, glancing out of the corner of his eye at her in a way that felt like a scolding.
Emma pried just a little further anyway. "Sounds like you've known him for a long time."
"I have. Since he was a lad."
Which meant that even if he hadn't been in the navy, young Killian Jones had at least been in close contact with naval officers. Perhaps his brother had raised him, or had merely brought him around the ship frequently when he'd been at home. She couldn't know for sure without asking directly, and that would give away far too much of her interest in the matter, so she settled for silently mulling it over, spinning different scenarios in her mind as to what would lead a young boy who grew up in and around the navy to turn pirate.
"You can go ahead and judge him and all the rest of us all you want from that castle of yours, m'lady," Ed suddenly said, noting her silence. "But we're out here living in the real world, where life sure as hell ain't fair and where anyone with enough power can do whatever they damn well please. Least us pirates don't pretend otherwise. Least we live by a code."
That hadn't been what Emma had been thinking at all, but she couldn't help asking, "What exactly does your code have to say about kidnapping?"
"It don't have any problem with it. But that ain't what happened to you, m'lady."
"Isn't it? Sure seemed like kidnapping to me."
Ed turned to face her, his mouth forming a hard, serious like. "Captain Jones saved your life."
"He…Sorry. What?"
"You heard me."
"I did. I just…there's no way you can construe what he did as saving me from anything except maybe boredom. I still don't even know what he's planning to do with me. Ransom, I guess, since none of you have bothered to try to kill or rape or—"
Ed waved her quiet. "We do plan to ransom you. But that's not why we grabbed you."
"Okay," Emma said slowly, not sure where this was going. "Then why did you?"
"To thwart the Evil Queen. She had plans to take you herself, and we have all sworn, above all else, to never let that woman have anything she wants."
"Why?"
"It's a personal matter. One you'll have to ask the captain about."
It sounded an awful lot like pretense to Emma. But, seeing as Ed clearly wasn't bound by logic, it didn't strike her as worth arguing over.
Did he really believe that they'd saved her life? That they were marauding the high seas, thieving and pillaging for the greater good? Perhaps everyone on board had bought into the same story. She, at least, recognized it as a load of pure bullshit. Regina hadn't been plotting against her. She had no motive, especially not after expressly promising Emma safe passage through her kingdom. And Emma's ransom wasn't just some happy side effect — some weird, twisted reward for saving her from an imagined danger. That was just ridiculous.
Although…Captain Jones had said something about snatching her only because he didn't want someone else to have her.
She frowned and blew out a sigh.
It figured he'd be crazy. That handsome and unattached, something had to be wrong — even outside of the whole pirate business.
Once Ed declared her dough ready, he helped her to roll it out, then let her cut out biscuits while he put the ones he had prepared into the tiny, wood burning stove. Together, they filled a large, canvas bag with the warm, brown little morsels. More than enough, Ed assured her, to last the crew for the next two days.
Next, he took her down into one of the holds to fetch a barrel of apples and some salted pork. Emma hauled the heavy pork while Ed rolled the barrel, the two of them falling into a much more companionable discussion. Emma told him all about her favorite meals that she longed for back home, her mouth watering when she described chocolate. And Ed told her of the soft, flakey turnovers his mother had baked on cold mornings when he'd been a little boy, and how he'd always planned to make them for his own children someday but had never gotten the chance to start a family after being drafted into service at the start of the war against the ogres.
It felt good to be doing something, to be occupied, useful, and engaged in a real conversation rather than the verbal sparring she so often fell into with the captain. As her mood lightened, so did Ed's. When they popped open the barrel of apples, the both of them leaning into the bar they used to lever the top off, he plucked one bright red fruit off the top, polished it against his breast pocket, and handed it to her.
"Take a break, we're almost done here," he said, then smiled broad and earnest when she perched on the edge of the table next to him and took a big bite, all of his gruff pirate demeanor dissolved away into something fatherly, friendly, and so damn dwarf-like that she couldn't help the spasm of affection that took hold of her heart.
The galley had grown stifling hot inside with the stove running. Ed dabbed sweat off his brow and glanced up at the ceiling overhead.
"Will we be heading up on deck next?" Emma asked.
"Aye. And then, m'lady, I'll be teaching you how to steer a pirate ship."
Not a bad way to spend an afternoon Emma supposed with a smile.
In his quarters, Killian had maps spread all across his desk. None agreed with one another on where exactly Skull Rock was located, which made plotting a course around it rather difficult. His own fractured notes from the one time he'd visited the gods forsaken isle weren't much better. So, with the day wearing thin, he came to his best estimate, noted down the particulars, and then painstakingly sorted everything back where it belonged. He had left most everything in the captain's quarters unchanged since inheriting the space from Liam, and that included his brother's byzantine filing system. He'd always hated it. Had spent many hours, in fact, complaining to Liam about it while serving as his lieutenant. But now he held onto it as one of the last tangible pieces of his brother, the entire room a shrine to his memory.
Up above, the steady footsteps and muted chatter of his crew multiplied as meal time approached. Killian had been holed up in his cabin all day, missing lunch while he used his Emma-free hours to bathe and sleep before settling in to get some real work done.
How had she managed on her first day as a pirate, he wondered?
Ed was a steady fellow, the sort who had weathered a lot of rough seas without ever batting an eye, and he had earned the respect of everyone on board. No one would bother Emma under Ed's watch. Killian had no doubt that his crew had behaved themselves. But Emma? She was another matter entirely.
Curious now, he pulled on his coat and climbed the ladder up onto deck, meaning to go find her and see how she had been getting on.
As it happened, he didn't have to look far.
She stood mid-deck, the gentle breeze shifting through her long blonde hair, her eyes squinted against the setting sun which showered her from head to toe in radiant gold. All around her, his cut-throat pirate crew scurried about, obediently setting up a stately dinner on the middle of his ship. The table from the galley sat just in front of the mast, chairs crowded around it, a few perilously close to bits of rigging that would swing around hard enough to brain the poor soul sitting there should the wind suddenly turn. Emma adjusted the silverware around the plate at the head of the table, while Ed arranged large platter of salted pork into a spiral.
Neither noticed Killian as he approached.
"Something going on here I should know about?" he asked, startling them both.
Ed fumbled all over himself to explain: "Aye! Captain! I thought that…or — erm — Princess Emma wanted, sir, with the weather being so fair…we thought we might dine on deck tonight. Turley offered to help move the table and chairs. And Mullins is down in the galley right now baking apples—"
"Mullins?" Killian interrupted, surprised. He hadn't pegged Mullins as someone Emma could win over quickly, seeing as she'd knocked the man out with a water pitcher only a few days ago.
"Aye, sir. Apparently he has a family recipe using molasses and rum."
Killian glanced to Emma, who stood leaning with one hand against the back of a chair, her head cocked in a confident, victorious way that made her look so bloody beautiful he had to physically fight back the desire to pull her close and kiss her. Behind her, the rest of his crew paused, everyone waiting to see how he would react.
"I'd hate for all the lady's hard work to go to waste," he said after a moment. "Tonight, we'll eat under the stars."
Emma sat him at the head of the table, then sat herself at the other end with Ed and Turley at either hand. The rest of the crew sat where they pleased, everyone looking uncomfortable until Emma started the meal by spearing a piece of pork with her fork and flopping it unceremoniously onto her plate. With that, everyone else followed suit and dug in. Mullins appeared a few minutes later bearing a bowl full of steaming hot apple slices smothered in a sweet brown coating.
From his place at the head of the table, Killian ate silently, blocking out the conversation going on around him in favor of observing what was happening at the other end.
Ed and Turley looked utterly besotted, the both of them hanging on her every word, their eyes as big and wet and round as a puppy's whenever they glanced up at her. She had her head inclined toward Ed, telling him something that Killian couldn't make out over the other voices. Whatever it was made Ed break out in a loud guffaw, his hand coming down to slap the table.
"You want some, Captain?" Mullins asked.
Killian snapped to attention and found Mullins holding out the bowl of baked apples. With a nod, he let the man spoon a heaping pile onto his plate. He eyed the fruit with suspicion before spearing one with his fork. In all the years he'd known Mullins, the man had never once expressed an interest in cooking. Aside from the time he'd offered to slaughter a goat they'd picked up on trade, Killian didn't think Mullins had once been involved in any of the ship's food production. He prepared himself for the worst as he bit into the warm slice of apple and chewed, Mullins watching him hopefully.
It surprised him. Not exactly tavern quality, and he thought it tasted like it might be missing an ingredient or two, but quite serviceable in spite of that.
"S'good," he said with a nod and took another bite.
Mullins beamed.
"I had no idea you were such a woman, Mullins." Skylights sniggered. "The princess cut off your balls after she wiped the floor with you, or what?"
The carefree atmosphere around the table vanished in an instant.
"Shut your godsdamned trap," Mullins shot back. "Who invited you down out of the crow's nest anyway?"
Skylights tossed back a long drag of rum, then laughed. "Guess you still got at least one left. But I'm not the only one who sees that you got yourself right pussy whipped by the bint."
"Hey!" Ed shot to his feet. "There'll be no bad-mouthing the lady at this table!"
"Weren't bad-mouthin' her, just pointing out the obvious."
Turley unsheathed the dagger he kept at his waist. "You're digging your own grave here, Skylights. Shut your ass before I come over there and do it for ya."
Killian had just opened his mouth to tell all four of them to sit down and knock it off when Emma brought silence to the whole table by standing up, snatching Ed's sword as she did so, and announcing: "There's no shame in getting beaten by a worthy opponent. I'll take on any one of you to prove it." Her eyes scanned the crowd, hot and challenging. "Any volunteers?"
His jaw slack with astonishment, Killian watched as she glanced past him, over the frozen faces of his crew, until her gaze landed squarely on Skylights.
"Afraid you might get whipped by the bint?" she asked.
The whole crew let out a roar, Mullins and several others banging their forks and tin cups of rum against the table top until Killian's plate nearly rattled off the edge and into his lap. Hands shoved at Skylights, propelling him out of his chair, even as the rest continued to jeer and shout. When Emma swept confidently around the side of the table to meet him, testing the weight of Ed's sword in her hand, Skylight's face went visibly pale. But he collected himself quickly and began popping back and forth from one foot to the other, an exaggerated smile plastered on his face.
"Sure you want to do this?" he asked.
"Are you?" Emma retorted.
They moved the table back to give the pair room. Killian leaned against the edge of it, his arms and ankles crossed. He had half a mind to put a stop to this whole thing, but he wanted to see her in action, and he figured he could step in if things went too far, if there was any chance she might actually get hurt.
Skylights made the first move, lunging forward, his sword making a wide arc as he swung. Emma countered easily with an efficient flick of her wrist, then took a step back to throw him off balance, allowing him to fall forward into striking distance. Someone had trained her well. She made short work of Skylights, his sword clattering to the deck after just a handful of exchanges, the leading edge of her own weapon poised with deadly accuracy at his throat.
"She's bloody amazing," Ed whispered.
"Aye," Killian replied just as quietly, his voice thick.
Shame faced, Skylights retreated back into the crowd.
"Anyone else care to try?" Emma asked, her stance losing some of its threatening posture, becoming more playful, more joking. She was playing the crowd masterfully.
Everyone took a turn, except for Ed and Turley — who both refused to raise a sword against the princess, even in jest — and the trio who had been unfortunate enough to face her during the abduction. She won every round, only Bill Jukes giving her a real challenge. The two remained locked in heated battle for a long time, Bill close to winning at several breathless points where Killian's heart nearly stopped at seeing Emma's arms shaking under the assault of her stronger, well-rested opponent. When she finally threw him off, sending his sword flying, she grinned and blew a disheveled bit of blonde hair out of her flushed face.
"How about you, Captain?" she asked. "Care to give me a go?"
Gods. She had no idea.
"You're exhausted, love," he replied.
Her eyebrows shot up. "Worried about me?"
"No. I just prefer a fair fight."
"Okay then. I'll catch my breath first." She strode over and sat down on the edge of the table next to him, her feet swinging free just above the deck, Ed's sword positioned between her knees. The last battle had, indeed, left her out of breath. Killian could feel her shoulder brushing his every time she inhaled.
"You don't have to do this," he whispered to her. "You've made your point — won them over."
"I know. But I want to see what you've got. Just how good are you with that sword?"
"Second to none, darling."
"We'll see."
He had no doubt that if he'd met her unprepared, unsuspecting, she'd have him beat. But he knew what to expect from her now and had been watching her fight. She had obviously devoted herself to daily practice. The forms she struck at times were so textbook, so flawless, that she'd she'd turned battle into art, her lean, lithe body poised and graceful and strong. But she lacked real world experience, and that was where he felt he had the clear upper hand.
After a few minutes, Emma took a long drink of rum, then slid off the table onto her feet.
"I'm ready if you are, Captain."
"No turning back now," he warned her.
"I wouldn't think of it. Come on. Show me what a real pirate is made of."
His men hooted and cheered, at least half of them now so drunk that he doubted they'd even remember seeing this in the morning. Distantly, he recalled a time when he'd been so much younger and more naive, when he'd routinely chastised anyone found drinking on his brother's ship. Now he rarely spent a day without having one himself. The rabble-rousing and debauchery that so often colored life on the Jolly Roger didn't bother him — not really — but striding toward Emma, her face alight with goodness and innocence, her presence a shaft of sunlight on a cloudy day, he became suddenly aware of how much Liam's death had changed everything.
"Ready?" Emma asked, her sword raised.
He unsheathed his own and gently tapped her blade with his, the two swords ringing one another like a bell.
She came at him.
It was a familiar move, one which reminded Killian vividly of learning to sword fight with his brother aboard the deck of this very ship. His coat billowed out behind him as he swung around, avoiding her blow, letting her step past him. She recovered quickly, countered his attack. They parried. Gave ground. Gained ground. Met one another and pushed one another away. All across the deck, he pursued her and she pursued him, gold and black, perfectly matched. A thing of beauty.
As the game wore on, Emma began to dig deep, pulling out moves he hadn't expected her to know.
"Good form," he said, their faces close as he managed, at the last minute, to catch her sword with his.
Her eyes locked with his, and she hesitated.
Only for a split second. Less than a heartbeat...
"But not good enough," he added, catching her leg with the back of his foot, knocking her off balance so that a strong push sent her stumbling backwards, right into the mast.
He followed, his heart pounding as his sword ground down the length of hers, scraping and creeping, leaving them both breathless the moment his hilt met hers. Still, he pressed closer. His knee brushed the inside of her thigh. Beneath her thick lashes, he could see her eyes dark and dilated, her chest heaving.
"Bit of advice." He dipped his head so that his lips hovered close to her ear as he spoke. "Quit while you still can."
The breathy sound of her mouth falling open made his eyes flutter shut.
"Why would I do that…?" she asked, her arms relaxing just enough to let him sway into her, his nose brushing her hair, "…when I'm winning?"
His eyes snapped open, but not before her knee shot up between his legs and sent him sprawling backwards, gasping. He should have seen it coming — she'd tried to do the same thing once before, after all — but he'd been so wrapped up, had been enjoying their duel so much, that he hadn't figured she might fight dirty.
"That's breaking the rules, lass," he managed, still half bent over.
Behind him, he heard a pained grumble of agreement from the crew.
"I don't remember setting out any rules," she replied. "Do you need a moment? Or would you like to continue?" Her sword waved, drawing a little pattern in the air in front of his face.
"No, no." He chuckled and bowed in defeat. "Congratulations. You bested me. I can count on one hand the number of people who've managed that."
Magnanimous in victory, she fetched him a chair and a cup of rum. He downed the drink and lowered himself into the chair only when she pulled one up beside him for herself. Ed clapped her on the back with a big grin, then traded her a fresh apple in exchange for his sword back.
Darkness had fallen, so that only the big moon in the sky and flickering lanterns lit the deck. The men who had been up since early that morning excused themselves below deck to sleep, Starkey passing out before he even made it that far so that Bill Jukes and Skylights had to drag him to his bed. Ed and Mullins both began to clean up, quietly trundling dishes and leftover food back to the galley. With his stomach full and the pain in his groin beginning to abate, Killian felt as close to content as he could remember being in a very long time.
"How did you come to be so handy with a sword?" he asked. "Doesn't strike me as typical for your sort."
"My sort?" Emma tossed one arm over the back of her chair and turned her body to face him.
"Princesses," he clarified.
"Well, my family's not exactly typical."
"Ah, yes. Snow White and her Prince Charming. I've heard of them. Though I've never been sure how much of it to believe."
Emma sighed wistfully. "Both of my parents have always told me that sometimes you have to be willing to fight for what you want. Whether it's for the good of your people, or for love, or family. And if it ever came down to actual fighting, they wanted me to be equipped to succeed. My father taught me how to use a sword from the time I could hold one. And then when I got older, I started training with one of his trusted knights."
"He taught you well. You're incredible. Bloody amazing."
This was, by far, the most open she had ever been with him, all of the walls she'd put up around herself to avoid telling him anything personal or ever giving him an inch in their verbal sparring matches gone.
They were alone now on deck, everyone else having either passed out below or gone about their own business. Ed and Mullins hadn't reappeared yet from their last trip down the galley. Killian felt at ease leaning in close to her, twirling a finger in the ends of her hair, and adding: "I told you that you'd make one hell of a pirate."
She looked away, all of her walls slamming back into place.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Of course."
Her eyebrows drew together and she walked over to lean against the side of the ship and look down into the water below. Killian followed even though he got the impression he was no longer welcome at her side.
"What happened this morning?" she asked, not meeting his eyes. "Who attacked us?"
Her slip of the tongue did not go unnoticed. Us. Not you. As if subconsciously she considered herself part of his crew, part of his life on this ship.
"It was the Evil Queen," he replied, figuring that he could tell her at least that much.
"Ed said that you have some vendetta against her. That it's personal."
"Did he?"
"Said I should ask you about it."
"You can ask, darling. But we won't be discussing it." Not right now, anyway. Not yet.
She didn't press, just moved on, the wind shifting her hair across her neck and shoulders as she turned her face up to meet his eyes. "Ed also said that you saved my life. That the queen had her own plans to kidnap me."
"Aye. That's what we heard. I have spies inside of her regime."
"What would she want with me?" Emma asked.
"I don't know."
She scrutinized him long and hard before finally breaking eye contact, her shoulders sagging with a sigh. "I don't think you're lying. I've got this thing with lies. But…it doesn't make sense."
"In my experience, the queen's nefarious plots rarely do." He shrugged. "She's evil purely for the sake of it."
Emma's hands clenched and her eyes searched the waves, troubled and full of thought. Perhaps if she stewed on it long enough, she might come up with some answer as to the queen's motives. And if she could give him a solid lead on how to destroy his enemy, then perhaps he could be convinced to forget about her ransom. In the meantime…
"We both ought to get some sleep," he suggested.
She nodded and started toward the door leading down into his quarters.
"Ah. Not so fast, love." He caught her by the arm, spinning her around. "You're a pirate now. Part of the crew."
It took her a moment to work out what he meant.
"You mean...? You want me to sleep down in the crew's quarters?" she asked, aghast.
"That is generally how it's done."
"I…seriously? No!"
He stepped closer, unable to keep his distance despite the memory of what had happened the last time he invaded her personal space. "You would rather share a bed with me then?"
Her jaw formed in an angry line, the answer to his question clearly yes, though she was unwilling to say so.
"We wouldn't have to share the bed any more than we've been doing the past few days," she finally replied.
"I'm not going to keep sleeping on the floor, love. Not on my own ship."
"What happened to being a gentleman?" she snapped.
"Pirate. Remember?" he said with a smirk. "I'm going to be sleeping in my own bed tonight. You can sleep there with me or in your own bed in the crew quarters. But I will not have you on the floor."
For a second, Emma looked like she might hit him. "You're a cocky bastard for someone who took a knee to the nuts today. You know that?"
The word cocky set his mind to overflowing with potential retorts, but she didn't give him a chance to use any of them, just turned on her heel and stormed away, across the deck toward the crew's quarters. Disappointment weighed heavy in his stomach. As much as he wanted his own space back, he'd hoped she'd fight harder to stay there, near him. It would be a mite lonely without her breathing beside him in the dark.
Best he not get too used her presence, he thought with a frown. Emma wasn't exactly his to keep. Far from it.
He dropped down the ladder into his cabin and tossed his coat across the table, laying down his sword on top of it. He'd just unbuttoned his waistcoat when someone knocked at the door — an impolite and insistent banging. When he climbed the ladder and opened it, a solid wall of something flat and pinstriped met him, nearly knocking him down as it was shoved through the doorway. The mattress landed with a thud on the floor at his feet.
A second later, Emma followed, slamming the door shut behind her.
"What's this?" he asked.
"My bed from the crew's quarters," she snapped.
He let out a breathy laugh. "You brought it all the way back up here?"
"It's not like you left me much choice. Now help me get it made up or get out of the way." She shouldered past him, scooting the mattress along the floor with her feet until she had it wedged between the bed and the table.
To be honest, nothing about Emma surprised him anymore. Except, perhaps, how difficult it was becoming with every passing day to imagine life without her.
