A/N: Thank you so very much for all your reviews and follows! I hope you enjoy the latest chapter!
Abigail fell to the ground with an 'oomph' that turned into a gasp as Billy landed atop her. He grunted as something wooden struck and splintered into pieces against his shoulder. He hunched over her, protecting her face from the bits of wood that fell around them. She pressed her face against his bicep and held as still as possible.
When it seemed that no further 'attacks' were to be endured, she turned her head to try to meet his eyes. She watched as he kept absolutely still but as her eyes were drawn to the jump of his pulse in his throat, she became aware of everything.
The weight of his body on top of hers, the way he smelled of the sea and sweat, the way her own body was so very soft and slight compared to his. In a secret, quiet part of herself, these details thrilled her and she pushed the excitement down as best she could. As if to echo her thoughts, her hand rose to press lightly on his chest.
His head snapped down and his eyes flared as he stared down at her. He lifted his torso from her, bracketing her head with either hand flat on the ground.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I fear I should be asking you that. Are you injured? What struck you?"
He looked over his shoulder and rose completely off her to rest on his haunches, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the instrument that struck him. He rolled his shoulders causing the muscles in his chest to shift under his shirt and goodness, that thrill of hers certainly refused to stay suppressed.
She sat up, scooting back to regain some distance between them.
"It was that," he said nodding at something that still dangled from a tree from an old rope. It looked as though a bundle of sticks had been tied together, but now they seemed to fall apart even as they watched.
Abigail tilted her head and asked, "Is that some sort of…weapon?"
"No," he said getting to his feet and brushing twigs from his head and shoulders. "More of a warning." He squinted. "But to warn who?"
Abigail looked around and a dull glint off of tarnished metal caught her eye. But it was what the metal was attached to that made her suck in a gasp.
Billy glanced at her and she pointed. "Perhaps, it was to warn him?"
He looked in the direction she indicated and straightened when he also spotted the skeleton propped up against a palm tree, nearly hidden and overgrown with moss and other plants.
"Shit," she heard Billy mutter, then he said, "Stay there," as he walked towards the remains still wearing what looked like armour.
Well, that's two dead bodies in one day, Abigail, she thought, shakily getting to her feet and smoothing her hopelessly rumpled dress. You couldn't be happy with simply flaunting society, you had to develop bizarre morbid tendencies, as well.
Ignoring Billy's edict to stay put, she walked over to where he inspected the skeleton. As she walked, she could feel one of her garters loosening by the second and it wouldn't be long before she said to the devil with decorum and took it off.
"Who was he?" she asked when she was close enough to see that it wasn't so much a suit of armour that he still wore, but a rounded breastplate complete with a long thin sword at his side. A discarded helmet lay on his other side.
"Spanish," Billy said brushing some of the plants aside.
"Spanish?" she repeated. "But he's been here for some time, has he not?"
"So have the Spanish," Billy answered. "They've been sailing all over this part of the world for years. Not to mention things tend to rot faster in this heat and wet. But I'd still say that he was one of the first of them."
"The Conquistadors?" she asked, stepping to have a closer look and crouching beside him to look at the helmet. "Do you really think so?"
"Came across a small stash once, years ago," he said. "There were helmets and breastplates like this with some gold coin."
He flicked the breastplate and Abigail flinched as the skeleton shifted slightly to the left.
"Is he alone?" she asked glancing around, catching Billy's eye as he raised his eyebrows at her. "I mean, will there be any more bodies?"
"Had enough of them today, have you?" he asked, practically echoing her own thoughts, even as he smirked.
"Yes, actually," she said. "Quite enough."
He chuckled as he rose to his feet. "Yeah, I think he was the only one left. Died of some kind of illness, maybe. Or injury. Hell, even old age. They left him here and he set that thing up to warn him if anyone was coming."
"But that would mean…" Abigail's voice trailed off.
"That no one ever came back for him?" he finished for her. "Yeah. Something like that. And it's been a fair few years. That thing was falling apart long before we got here. Otherwise it may have done more damage."
"You never did answer me, are you all right?" she asked peering at his shoulder.
"Just a tap," he said. "Had worse."
"Oh, I'm sure certain of that," she said without thinking and her cheeks burned as he grinned briefly. "Do you think there will be any more of them? Traps, I mean?"
"Possibly," he said. "But the more pressing question is what was he left behind to keep an eye on?"
She blinked up at him. "Oh. Oh! Do you really think…? You can't mean…?"
"Treasure?" he said before shrugging. "You'd be surprised at the things the Spanish are always misplacing."
"Oh," she said looking down at the skeleton. "But this island is so small?"
"Never underestimate a man's determination to protect his investment," he said. "Or what can make a decent hiding place. Let's keep going."
"Are we just going to leave him here?"
"He's not in the way," he said. "And skeletons have a habit of falling apart when you try to move them. Do you want to have to put him back together?"
"Not particularly," she admitted and even though he ducked his head, she caught sight of his smile anyway. It sent a little tendril of warmth through her and once again, she did her best to supress her thoughts as they also turned warm.
"Let's see what water there is," he said walking on towards the break in the trees up ahead.
He walked just in front of her, clearly stepping carefully as he went, and Abigail stayed as close to him as she dared. When they reached the opening in the trees where the sun shone through, she breathed a sigh of relief. A small pool of water rippled gently in a bowl-like depression in some large rocks.
Billy walked over to the pool and cupped some water in his hand. His tongue darted out to taste it, then he drank all of it. He bowed his head and sighed. Abigail's heart sank and she wondered if she needed to start praying immediately for rain.
"Oh," she whispered, pressing a hand to her stomach.
He lifted his head and looked at her over his shoulder. And grinned.
"It's fresh."
Her eyes widened. "What? You mean…? Oh, you wicked, wicked man!"
She hurried over to his side as he laughed and said, "Come and drink your fill."
"You're terrible," she murmured before cupping the water in her hands and taking long slow sips of water. It was slightly fresher than the water she'd sipped from the leaves, but still lukewarm. She wrinkled her nose. "What is the source of this?"
"Rain," he said before scrubbing his face with wet hands. "It collects here." With droplets still clinging to his nose and chin, he pointed to the top of the pile of boulders that reached well above them. "It also collects up there and then runs down the side of the rock to land here."
"Won't it dry out?" she asked, following his example and splashing some water on her face and neck.
"Rain fall is fairly regular here," he said. "But we shouldn't use more than we need."
She paused mid-splash and glanced at him. He grinned again and she felt her own mouth quirk upwards in response.
"Go ahead," he nodded to her. "I'll tell you when we need to conserve our rations."
She smiled briefly before cupping some more water in her hands to drink. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand and firmly ignoring an outraged squawk in her mind at her manners that reminded her of her former school mistress, she sat up and looked at their surroundings.
It resembles a glen, she thought. If not for the sound of the surf behind them and the palm trees, she could almost believe she was in England at her family's estate. There had been a lovely park nearby that all the local children, including Abigail, had run about in before they were deemed too old. There had even been a small pond filled with minnows and Abigail wondered if she remembered how to correctly construct a net for catching fish. Their kindly groundskeeper had shown them all how to set a snare as well.
Perhaps a snare would be useful, she thought before she grimaced. Her unruly garter was certainly coming undone. And little wonder. I'm surprised I still have them both about my person after being tossed about in the ocean.
She got to her feet and spotted a dense thicket of what she thought may be palmettoes and knew they could provide her with some privacy. In any addition to her wayward garter, there were…other things she needed to see to.
She took a step away but a hand shot out and grasped her wrist. With a gasp, she stared down at his hand as it completely encircled her wrist (and then some) before meeting his eyes.
"Where are you going?" he asked casually, as though he grabbed women's wrists all the time.
Perhaps he does, the terrible secret thrill inside of her whispered giddily.
"I was…" She swallowed. "I was hoping for some privacy."
"Why?" he asked bluntly, but without any malice that she could see.
She opened her mouth to prevaricate, but the very real warmth of his hand wrapped so blatantly around her wrist dispelled any notion that she needed to assume any kind of subtlety. "I have private…bodily matters that I wish to attend to."
Once again, the corners of his mouth twitched and she flushed knowing she'd amused him yet again. He let her go and her body swayed towards him before she stopped herself and clasped her hands together.
"Attend away," he said, gesturing with his hand.
She nodded as sedately as she could with her face flaming away, and turned towards the bushes.
"Wait," he said behind her.
Gritting her teeth, she turned back to him. He rose to his feet and reached for his belt. She watched as he removed the slim knife he'd recovered from the dead sailor. Flipping it lightly, he held it by the blade and offered the hilt to her.
Far too surprised to question what she was doing, she took it in her hand. It felt warm in her grip, as though the heat of his body had been captured in the metal. She stared at the knife in her hand and then up at him.
He stared back at her, then lifted his eyebrows. "The sharp bit goes into a soft bit," he said demonstrating a jabbing motion with his hand.
"Yes, thank you," she said. "I had gathered that much."
She pursed her lips, astonished that she had been so sharp, but he just smiled mildly.
"Then you're ahead of most people," he said. "First sign of trouble, jab first and then yell. I'll come."
"Oh, I know you will," she said meeting his eyes.
They both looked away when their eyes met and, flustered and embarrassed and everything in between, Abigail headed off towards the palmettoes. She thought she heard him mutter something under his breath and when she snuck a glance before slipping behind the bushes, she saw him submerge his entire head into the pool.
Well, she thought as she ducked behind the large fronds. It is terribly warm here.
She stood for a moment in the relative privacy, just holding the knife in her hands. She wasn't altogether certain that it would do her much good if she ran into true trouble; she had far more faith in Billy's bare hands than her dubious skill at jabbing.
And what hands they are, a little voice whispered in her mind. Her wrist still felt warm as though his touch on her skin was akin to the leather cuffs he wore on his own wrists.
After holding perfectly still for a moment, her self-resolve finally faltered and the knife slipped from her hand as she slumped, wrapping her arms around her waist. She bowed her head as the panic that had simmered earlier threatened to once again bubble over. She allowed herself a few more seconds of emotion before firmly putting a lid on them and setting her jaw, and then she gathered her skirts in one hand and took care of some very pressing matters.
When she was done, she kept her skirts in hand and spotting a small log, she propped her left foot on it. She tugged at her already loosened garter and it slipped undone.
As she dropped it to the ground and moved to remove her other garter, she heard Billy call, "All right?"
Startled, she wobbled a little, but called, "Yes! Just another moment, if you please?"
He made no further reply and she untied her remaining garter. After taking a deep breath, Abigail slipped one stocking and then the other down her leg, removing them completely. She took a moment to catalogue the map of bruises and minor cuts on her legs that she must have accumulated during her time in the sea.
She dropped her skirts and let them brush about her bare legs as she swished them into place. Adjusting her stays, she realised that already she felt cooler and less encumbered. The next thing to go would most likely be her petticoat. She knew that eventually she'd want some cloth for washing and it was the most likely substitute she had. As it was, she regarded her stockings and garters and wondered what to do with them.
The discarded knife caught her eye and she knew what she needed to do.
Taking both stockings in hand, she wound them around her waist once, and tied them so that the ends hung just at her side. She then slipped the knife into her makeshift sash and held still a moment. Satisfied that it was as secure as she could hope for, she did her best to untangle her hair, which she quickly plaited into one long braid. She tied one garter around the end and flipped the long plait over her shoulder so that it hung down her back.
She tied her remaining garter around her wrist.
The same wrist that Billy had clasped, but she didn't dwell on how it felt that by tying the scrap of fabric she had somehow captured the feel of his palm on her skin.
Taking one last moment to settle herself, she left the privacy of the palmettos and returned to the pool.
And him.
After hearing her reply that she needed another moment, Billy dunked his head into the pool of rainwater and held it there for a good few seconds. When he sat back up, he rubbed his face with his wet hands vigorously and then just stared down into the water. The water stilled only to ripple when water dripped from his face. He listened and he thought he could hear Abigail moving behind the bushes. Realizing that he certainly shouldn't be listening, he stood up quickly and went back to the Spanish skeleton.
This means something, he thought staring down at the weathered bones. You don't just leave someone like this. His gaze moved to the small trees around him. There's gold on this island.
The thought worried him as much as it excited him. However, he knew that even if he was to find a cave full of treasures in the next few minutes, it wouldn't do him much good considering he had no way to transport himself off the bloody island, let alone anything else.
He crouched down and carefully slid the Spaniard's blade from its scabbard. It was a rapier, longer and straighter than his own blade. The metal was well-formed and he hefted it in his hand, appreciating the lightness.
Standing and pointing it out in front of him, he could tell it was well made and a decent weapon. He wasn't as accomplished a swordsman as Flint or Vane, but he could hold his own. He tried out a few thrusts and parries, before slashing the blade through a vine to test the sharpness. It cut through the vine, but he felt it stick before slicing through and knew he'd have to sharpen it later.
His attention was caught by Abigail emerging from behind her screen of palmettos to walk past the pool towards him.
The first thing he noticed were her bare feet and ankles. They looked so pale against the dead leaves and the brown sand as she walked and something odd tightened in his chest at the sight of them. The next thing he noticed was the small knife he'd handed her was safely tucked into, Christ, were those her stockings around her waist?
Well, she was resourceful, he'd give her that.
He lowered the rapier.
"All right?" he asked.
She nodded, her hands clutching at her skirts, before smoothing them down.
He looked up at the sky and reckoned they were well into the afternoon and Christ knew he was hungry, so she had to be as well.
Jerking his head towards the beach, he said, "Need to get some shelter set up. Then we'll find something to eat."
"Oh, that would be lovely," she said brightening as she walked towards him. "What can I do to help?"
"Dunno," he said slipping the rapier through his belt, opposite his sword. "Depends on what we can find."
He moved to head to the beach, but paused to glance once more at those pale, little feet. "Can you get about like that?"
She peered down at her feet and then back up at him, nodding. "Oh, yes. Much better than with my stockings."
"Just look out for insects," he said as he turned back towards the beach.
"I'm just grateful there are no nettles," she said.
He laughed out loud. "Christ, nettles. Haven't seen those in years."
"There was a horrible patch of them next to a fence at school," she said and he could hear the smile in her voice without even looking at her. "I was forever brushing up against them on our daily walks."
"I remember there was a way you could grab them just right," he said starting to smile himself. "They wouldn't sting if you did it right. My brother, Jack, dared me once to do it."
"Did you do it?" she asked.
"Of course."
"And did it work?"
"Not even close," he said. "Hand stung like a right bastard for two whole days."
"And was there no dock leaf to ease the stinging?" she asked between giggles.
"Not a bloody stalk of it in sight," he said.
She laughed and Billy was immediately back in the corner of the park he and his siblings had roamed in. Her laugh reminded him of English bluebells; brilliant, delicate petals of bright blue hidden in the earthy gloom of a forest.
So engrossed was he in the sudden remembrance, he missed what she asked next. "What?"
"I merely enquired about your brother," she repeated. "You had one?"
Fuck.
Had he…?
He had.
He hadn't thought about his family in any kind of detail for years.
And he wasn't about to start now.
"Yeah," he said, the smile gone from his face and his voice low and, he hoped, forbidding. "Once."
He must have made his point for she asked no further questions the rest of the way to the beach; she simply followed him, stepping in the grooves his boots made in the sand with those tiny feet.
The silence followed them all the way to the shoreline where he looked at the line of debris they'd collected. When he was certain of his own restraint, he glanced at her only to see her looking at him calmly, her deep brown eyes appeared knowing and filled with something he thought he recognized as compassion.
"I'm sorry," she said. "For bringing up bad memories you'd rather forget."
"They aren't bad," he said with a sigh. "They're…a lifetime ago and have no bearing on who and what I am today."
He hoped that would satisfy her and end the conversation.
It did, but only to a point as she replied, "I'm afraid I disagree with you, but I would mention it again, if that's what you wish."
"It is," he said meeting her eyes.
She nodded. "Very well. What would you have me do?"
He eyed her slight form but determined gaze and thought. Then he said, "See that bucket that you, ah, found earlier?"
Her cheeks flushed as she no doubt remembered the impressive heave she'd given said bucket and he once again wondered what offense the thing had done her.
"Yes," she said. "I see it."
"Take that to the pool and fill it with water, then bring it back here," he said.
"That's all?" she asked frowning.
"For now," he said turning his back on her and heading to gather the sturdier pieces of wood he'd found earlier, in addition to the tarp the sailor had been wrapped up in. He could feel her staring after him and he smirked to himself. If she thought gathering a bucket of water was a simple matter for someone not used to doing such a task, she was in for a surprise.
But, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her march over to the bucket, inspect it, and then head into the trees.
He allowed himself a full smile as he watched her go, but then shook his head and got to work.
While he constructed a tent, it occurred to him that he really had no idea as to how long they'd be stranded together. He had to set some guidelines for himself. And for her.
No more conversations about pasts or family was the first one he thought of. He had no desire to think about what he'd done and where he came from. He could admit to himself that he was curious about just what Miss Abigail Ashe's reasons were for embarking on such a voyage as she had, but he sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up.
He'd have to keep his distance. Which considering the size of the island was going to be challenging, but he'd do it.
He had to.
She was a lady and he was a godforsaken pirate and while they might have some shared history that was the extent of their similarities. He wouldn't add to the damage that he and his crew had already done to her reputation.
Besides, he thought bitterly as he thrust a tall, thin plank of wood into a patch of sand close to the edge of the trees and out of the wind. You've already broken your promise not to lay a hand on her by fucking throwing yourself on top of her. So no ideas about Abigail Ashe's pretty little ankles, my lad.
He stuck another plank in the ground and taking another bit of wood, he hammered it down until it felt secured. He repeated the motion with another plank, making sure all three were in line with each other.
Grabbing the tarp, he draped it over the planks, but his eye was caught by Abigail emerging from the trees, bucket in both hands.
The front of her skirts were wet and she'd clearly had trouble walking with the full pail. Water was always heavier than you expected it to be. He considered making a jest, but when her eyes met his, they practically dared him to say anything, so he merely bit his tongue and nodded to her.
With her chin lifted, she carried the water over to him with only the smallest splashes of water spilling over the edge. She set it down with obvious effort and rubbed her hands on her skirt, but made no complaint, just looked him in the eyes.
Well, damn if his estimation of the girl wasn't rising by the moment.
Along with other parts of him, but he willed that down quickly.
Woman, not girl, his mind said. That there is a woman.
No, another part of him said. She's a lady. And don't you fucking forget that.
However, the longer she stood in front of him, with strands of her hair wisping about her face in the sea breeze, and her damned bare feet covered in sand, he found it incredibly difficult to deny just how lovely she was.
"What would you like me to do now?" she asked, brushing her hair from her face with the back of her hand.
Place your hands on my face and press yourself close to me, he thought wildly. He shook his head and rubbed his jaw, looking away from her.
"Ah, gather up all the smaller bits of wood and some driftwood," he said. "They may be too wet for a fire, but we can try them."
She nodded and headed off to the shoreline.
He finished draping the tarp over the planks and then pulled one side out. Taking out his cutlass, he sharpened the points of some smaller sticks into stakes, then jabbed them through the tarp, pinning the tarp to the ground. He did the same to the other side.
Standing and looking the tent over, he tested the stability of the middle make-shift poles. There was some give, but as long as it didn't gale overnight, it would hold.
Not that he'd be sleeping in it.
He'd be outside on the ground, while she was safely inside.
He spared a moment to wonder at how after all these years, he still knew what propriety actually was.
A clatter of wood behind him had him turning and he saw her staring at the tent with a bright smile, driftwood in a pile by her feet.
"That's remarkable," she said looking it over.
"It's just a tent," he said.
"It's hardly that," she said coming closer. "It's skill and knowledge. I think I'm quite lucky to be stranded here with you."
Jesus Christ, she needed to not say things like that, he thought as he turned away from her. "Not sure I'd call it luck."
"What would you call it?" she asked, lightly touching the edge of the tarp and sliding her finger down it.
"Penance?" he suggested.
She laughed and shook her head. "No. Penance is sitting in a room with five grey-haired ladies while they criticize your embroidery skills. This is far more enjoyable."
"I'll have to take your word for it," he said smiling a little despite himself. "My embroidery skills are pretty rubbish."
"So are mine," she said coming to stand beside him. "Thank you. For the tent."
"Don't thank me yet," he said. "There's still the matter of dinner to catch."
"How are you going to go about it?" she asked her brow furrowing.
He pulled the rapier from his belt and looked at the ocean. "The old way."
In the end, it wasn't fishing so much as it was crabbing. Using a good amount of force and patience, Billy managed to capture five sizable crabs by using the rapier as a spear and simply thrusting it through their middles. Abigail had wrinkled that little nose of hers at the crunch of the first casualty, but gamely stayed close and quiet while Billy waded in the shallows.
When he'd caught the fifth one, he decided to call it a day, as they were quick little buggers and he wasn't sure if he could take the weight of her stare much longer. She'd watched him the whole time, her head tilting to one side and then the other as she observed him. She actually clapped when he got the first one and he'd grinned widely, something like happiness flooding him. It unsettled him something fierce. Her gaze felt too appreciative and too kind and he honestly didn't know what to do with it.
He gathered up the crabs, one or two of them still twitching, and headed up to the area by the tent.
"We can cook them on the fire," he said. "May take a while and it'll char them some, but it'll do. Shame we don't have a proper pot. They're better boiled."
She frowned and then brightened. "Oh, but we do have a pot!"
"We do?" he asked glancing at her.
"Well, I think we do," she said before biting her lip and saying, "I'll be right back."
She hurried away and he stood like an idiot watching her skirts swirl around her ankles as they flashed across the beach into the trees.
He debated going after her, but decided he was too tired and she seemed more than capable at the moment. Besides, the second she called, he'd come running. He set about making a sizable fire, one that could be seen from the sea, using his own flint, ever grateful that they'd stayed in his pocket and hadn't washed out to sea. Most of the driftwood was too wet, so he set those pieces aside to dry.
He'd just gotten the flames to a reasonable size when Abigail appeared carrying…was that the Spaniard's bloody helmet and breastplate?
"Will these work, do you think?" she asked breathlessly kneeling beside him and setting the armour on the ground. "By the way, you're quite correct about skeletons being rather delicate."
"You…" He swallowed and tried to make sense of what he saw. "You took these off him?"
"Yes, oh!" Her hands covered her mouth. "Should I not have? Have I disrespected him? Was that very wrong of me? Oh, dear, I didn't think. Oh, I should have thought…"
"No, no," he said chuckling as he picked up the breastplate. "It's fine. He's not exactly fit to use them at the moment." He looked the breastplate over and tested it's durability by trying to bend it. "The fire'll probably blacken the metal and bend it some, but hopefully it'll hold well enough."
He looked at her hopeful and expression and with a half-smile, he pulled her hands from her mouth. "It was a good idea. We can try it out."
She breathed a sigh of relief and clasped his hand with hers. "Good. I'm glad."
Her touch was light and cool on his weathered fingers and he found that his chest ached at her touch. He dropped her hand and shoved the breastplate at her. "Fill it with some water and we'll put the crabs in. I'll make something for it to sit on over the fire."
He got to his feet and he could tell that he'd surprised her, but fuck, she'd surprised him. What kind of a lady thinks that a suit of armour makes for decent cooking?
A clever one, lad, Mr Gates said in his head. And they're the ones to look out for.
The next hour was spent in silence as they sat with some distance between them, staring at the fire and the oddly shaped pot suspended just above the flames.
The metal scorched as Billy had predicted but held up to the heat and before long, he was pulling hot boiled crab out and dropping them on some large leaves that he'd plucked from a nearby tree.
Abigail stared at her crab and then over at his. Knowing she was watching, he took his cutlass and poked the tip into a small crack at the seam of the crab's shell and then twisted his cutlass slightly. The shell popped open and he tipped the meat into his mouth. It burned his tongue but he was well past caring, he was so hungry.
He licked at the shell, making sure to get all of the meat he could and mid-lick, he glanced at Abigail to see her staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips.
He licked his own lips and asked, "Do you need me to open that for you?"
She looked down at the crab in front of her and narrowed her eyes.
Then, as she pulled the knife he'd given her earlier from her sash, she said, "I have no doubt that there are going to be a great many things that you will need to do for me while we're here. However," she picked up her crab and inspected it, then slid the knife into the shell, "I refuse to have 'cutting up my dinner' be one of them."
She twisted the knife and while the shell didn't pop off quite as cleanly as his had, enough was removed for her to pick out thick chunks of crabmeat. She put some in her mouth and closed her eyes as she chewed.
"All right?" he asked keeping an eye on her as he cracked open the claw of his crab and sucked the meat out.
"Oh, yes," she said around her mouthful. "That's heavenly."
"They always say that hunger is the best spice of them all," he said pulling the thin crab legs off and sucking out the meat before tossing them to the side.
She carried on slowly pulling out pieces of meat from the shell while he stared on his second crab. He noticed her dart her eyes to him before she followed his example and resorted to licking the shell clean. He hid a smile and went about eating.
"Do you just," she asked eyeing the crab legs, "pull them off?"
"Yep," he said. "Quickly and then suck out what's inside."
She struggled to get a good grasp on a leg, but soon figured it out and giggled when she finally tasted the legs.
"It's so salty," she said wiping her mouth.
"That's the sea for you," he said. "Have the other one."
"Are you sure you don't want it?" she asked.
"Three is my limit," he said, tossing the remaining crab onto her leaf. "Eat up, Abigail."
She smiled at him and did as he said.
The sun was just reaching the horizon when she finished and Billy stoked the fire. He heard her sigh as she looked out at the sea and even he had to admit that the sight was a spectacular one that he never tired of seeing. The sun reflecting off all that ocean, the sky turning brilliant shades of pink and orange.
He sat staring out at the setting sun, before reaching for the whetstone in his pocket and setting to sharpening the rapier. The task calmed him as did the sound of the steel rasping against the stone.
They sat in silence that felt almost comfortable and he could tell she was getting sleepier by the minute; her head kept drooping lower and lower. He was about to suggest that she go into the tent and sleep when she spoke.
"I was sorry to hear of Captain Vane's death."
Well.
He certainly hadn't expected that and he paused mid-stroke of the rapier.
"Were you?" he asked, keeping his voice measured.
"Yes," she said quietly.
"He held you captive," he said continuing to sharpen the blade.
"He also never lied to me," she said simply, pulling her knees up close to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before resting her chin atop one knee. "There's an honour in that which I've discovered is quite rare. Lately, I've come to value the truth above the majority of any of the other virtues."
Billy had no desire to counter such a statement, so he merely hmm'd.
"Captain Vane also rid the world of Ned Lowe," she said and he heard a wealth of anger in her voice. "Any man who did so deserves a great deal of gratitude."
"Never met the fellow," Billy said. "But by all accounts, I don't think the world will miss him."
"He was a madman," she said and the anger slid into something like fear and his grip tightened on the rapier. "He would come into my cell and sit close to me and just…stare. Nothing more. He wouldn't touch me, he wouldn't say anything, apart from the one time I spoke and he struck me for it." Billy gritted his teeth and glanced at her, but she was blind to the world around her as she remembered. "I hated it. Feeling him look at me. It felt…cold."
She blinked and shook her head before lifting her head and looking at Billy. Her lips lifted briefly in some semblance of a smile.
"I was grateful to be taken from his ship," she said. "Even if it was by another pirate. Captain Vane struck me as ruthless, but not mad."
"No," Billy said, remembering that day in the square. "Vane wasn't mad. And you're right. He told the truth. Even when it was at great cost to him."
"I didn't think you liked him," she said frowning.
"Don't have to like a man to think something of him," he said going back to his regular strokes of the steel.
"Very true," she said nodding her head before yawning. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"
He chuckled. "Get some sleep. Been a long day."
"Has it only been a day?" she said looking down at her hands. "My goodness." She lifted her head and smiled slightly. "I think I will retire, thank you."
She got to her feet and dusted off her skirts, then moved towards the tent. She paused and he knew precisely what she was thinking, so he said, "I'll just be out here. Keeping watch."
"Surely you need rest, too," she said.
"I'll get some," he said, eyeing the rapier and testing it's sharpness with his thumb. He set it aside and picked up his cutlass to sharpen next. He realised she still stood looking at him, so he met her eyes and gave her a small smile. "It'll be all right. Sleep, Miss Ashe."
She held his eyes long enough for him to feel his face heat up, but then she nodded and looked away. "Good night, Mr Bones."
He stared after her and only said, "Good night," once she was inside the tent.
If he looked hard enough, he could see the bottoms of her feet, still so pale despite walking on the ground all day.
Looking away, and setting his cutlass to the whetstone, Billy drew the blade across over and over and did his level best to not think about the woman asleep behind him.