Chapter Four: 4th and 5th kiss
This chapter takes place the next day. I borrow a bit from Tangled. (Sorry?)
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As the tavern began to fill up around them, Emma watched Killian Jones across the table.
He looked different in these early evening hours. The pinks and golds of the sunset slowly filled the dingy dining room, giving him more color and warmth than the stark moonlight of the night before. His eyes seemed somehow bluer, like the ocean before a storm. His hair was more chestnut brown than black. He looked younger too, less imposing and fierce...
"Careful Swan. You keeping staring at me like that, I might start to think you fancy me." He winked at her before going back to skimming the papers spread out across the table.
She rolled her eyes and dug into the steaming bowl of stew in front of her.
Emma had slept most of the day away, leisurely awaking in a warm bed and dry clothes for the first time in weeks. When she finally emerged from her room, yawning and pleasantly drowsy, one of his men led her downstairs to the empty tavern where the captain was eating dinner and looking over some maps and documents. He'd motioned for her to join him and ordered another bowl be brought to her.
Sighing with pleasure, Emma dipped a spoon into the stew. She didn't know what to make of a place like The Black Swan, but at least the food was decent. The stew was thick and boiling hot. Even though it was mostly filled with potato skins and carrots, she savored every bite. She dragged pieces of the hard rye bread over the spicy broth, enjoying her first warm meal in countless weeks.
She ate quietly, enjoying every mouthful, watching the sun sink low over the bay and thinking of nothing more than the meal in front of her until she scooped the last traces of stew with the last bit of bread. She drained the goblet and wiped her mouth before sitting back contently in her chair.
"Thank the Gods," she muttered.
The pirate looked up at her and smiled. "Good?"
Emma nodded, feeling wonderfully full. It was a sensation she'd never take for granted again.
He went back to reading, and she found herself once again tracing the features of his face, admiring the black locks curling along his collar, the glint of deep blue in his eyes, the dark scruff against the strong lines of his rugged jaw…
"You're staring again Swan."
She muttered an apology and quickly looked out the window at the forest of masts and spars floating against the sunset. She had to admit she did stare at him more than she should, but she couldn't help it. A lot of women probably couldn't help it.
He folded up the documents then tucked them into the pocket of his long leather coat. "I have to head out. How would you like a little fresh air?"
"Fresh air? You mean go outside?"
"Aye. Outside. That's where they keep it… I have business to attend to and would like the pleasure of your company. You wouldn't refuse me that much would you?"
She thought a moment, weighing the decision. It'd be better to stay here of course, tucked safely away in her room. Someone might recognize her if she went out and about through the village; then again no one would expect her to be strolling the boulevards with a famous pirate. And if she refused to leave the inn, he might begin to wonder why. He might begin to suspect who she was and why she was hiding…
Emma nodded, deciding at last. "Yes, I'll go with you. I don't mind."
"Good. It isn't often I get to have such a vision of loveliness on my arm."
"Stop it," she muttered, suppressing a smile.
"Yeah, I probably won't." He pulled out the chair for her and waited for her to fetch her cloak before leading her towards the door.
They emerged from the Black Swan's candlelit din into the noisy village streets. The sun was sinking low over the bay, casting the ships' sails in a pale pink hue as they fluttered above the harbor. The waters were green and spansive as the fading light began to disappear beyond the horizon.
Even though dusk was falling, the town seemed to be coming to life. The sidewalk torches held garlands of white and pink winter flowers and burned brightly above the crowded streets. Droves of laughing townsfolk were headed towards the main square. She stopped short, taking in the lively scene.
"What's going on?" she asked. She had to raise her voice over the music that was now thrumming through the air. "Is it a festival?"
"No love. This is what happens when kingdoms crumble."
Emma froze. "What do you mean?"
"The Northern Kingdom. There's a new queen who's decided to consolidate her power and close all the ports. As you can imagine, it's playing havoc with the shipping lines. Merchants and ferries have been stranded all along the coast. And what you're seeing is the result: refugees trying like hell to survive in these dark times." He offered his arm. "Come on. Let's join the natives."
"I think I already have," Emma muttered, threading her arm through his as he led her along the sidewalk.
As they got closer to the center to town, she noticed the crowds were centered around the various makeshift booths of merchants and artists. Children shoveled candy into their mouths and couples drank deep from tankards of ale.
"These don't look like dark times," Emma said quietly.
He nodded. "The upside is there's cheap liquor and discounted goods to be had. It's not much of a silver lining, but we'll take what we can get."
"I suppose so..."
"Not to mention the port's overrun with merchants and ferries. A ship like mine isn't likely to be searched. We can get repairs done and sell our wares without the harbormasters poking their noses where they don't belong. I'm going to take advantage of it while I can."
"That's nice," Emma replied in a hollow voice. She wondered how many of the people flooding the streets were once loyal to her parents, once living happily and peacefully in their decimated kingdom.
"Yeah, I thought so too," he said matter-of-factly, guiding her through the crowds. Most of the villagers made way for the captain and the handful of hulking men (she supposed they were members of his crew) who fanned out around them.
A shivering breeze carried the greasy scent of syrupy pancakes and sweet pastries being offered at several stands. In the midst of the vendors and visitors, gypsy girls danced with streaming ribbons, singers crooned from street corners, and merchants offered glinting jewelry and bags of bright candy. A scene from a fairytale was being performed on a makeshift stage. Children craned their necks to see the dragons and knights and distressed damsels flail about on cheap scenery.
She gradually sensed the looks from the townspeople watching them go by. Apparently knights and dragons couldn't compete with the sight of a famous pirate and his formidable crew.
Her hand tightened on his arm and he looked at her, concern etched on his features. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she muttered. A shiver of fear went through her as she thought about what would happen if anyone happened to recognize her for what she was…a fugitive from the North with a price on her head.
"You cold Lovely?"
She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her.
He eased her closer. "If you're cold I can get you something—a hot cider maybe. Or do you need a better cloak? They're some decent shops up ahead…"
"I'm fine. Thank you."
"You're not fine. You're shaking."
"I'm just not used to everyone staring at me."
"I have a hard time believing that. What's wrong with the menfolk where you're from? Were they all blind? What… too busy tilling the fields to notice a pretty face?"
"No." The menfolk were too busy getting slaughtered by an evil queen to notice much of anything. "I just don't like that kind of attention."
"I can see that. Come on then, stick close to me. Perhaps I'm pretty enough to attract their wandering eyes."
She smiled wryly. "I'm sure you are."
"Aye. But I suppose it's a cross I can bear."
A crowd had gathered in front of them, and with a practiced signal Killian Jones stopped his men from plowing through the mass of people. He took her hand and led her to the center of the spectacle. Some hairdressers were putting on a demonstration. They were doing up a young girl's hair in a complicated plait—twisting and braiding and dotting it with pink and white winter flowers and streaming ribbons. It looked like a meadow was blooming amongst the dark locks.
"It's nice, isn't it?" He motioned at the finished product as the crowd offered applause and coins to the buxom group of hairdressers. "It'd look well enough on you."
"I don't really bother with my hair much these days." What with fleeing for my life and being hunted down like an animal in the forest…
The pirate nudged her good-naturedly. "But do you like it?"
"Yes, I do," she reluctantly admitted. "It's pretty."
"Well then it's settled." He waved to one of the hairdressers hovering closest to them. He tossed some money at the simpering girl and smiled. "Whatever the lass wants, give it to her. Let's see you work your talents on her tangle of curls."
"I don't need my hair braided!" Emma protested.
"I know you don't need it. It's about what you want. Now be a good little brat and get your hair done. Who knows? You might enjoy yourself."
She squared her shoulders and fought back her rising impatience. After all, her hair didn't matter. It was the very least of her concerns. She wanted to argue with him, wanted to take his money and toss it back to him. But she didn't. Anything that altered her appearance should be welcomed; it might make the difference between escaping the realm and getting burned at the stake.
And besides he meant it in a kind way, thinking she'd be pleased. It was generous. Sweet really.
"Thank you," she muttered, trying her best to sound grateful.
"Thank me later." He chucked her chin. "Well, I'm off. I have business to attend to. You behave yourself."
He turned to the bevy of hairdressers who were looking him over with avid interest. "Get to work girls. Make my lovely Swan more beautiful, if that's even possible."
A chorus of sighs and giggles swelled to a ridiculous crescendo as he departed amongst a fluttering of lashes and inviting grins.
Emma stared stonily ahead, pretending to notice none of it, trying to keep her composure as the girls swarmed around her, combing and separating the long pale locks tumbling down to her waist. Two of the brutes who had accompanied them stayed by her side, watching the proceedings with bored detachment. They seemed more interested in eyeing the cleavage of the hairdressers than keeping any kind of watch on her.
"He's handsome." She heard one girl whisper to another. "Very handsome. I tell you, blue eyes will be the death of me. I can't say 'no' to a man who has them."
Another sighed. "Why would you want to say 'no' to a man like that? Why would anyone want to refuse Killian Jones anything?"
"He can pillage and plunder me any day." A peal of giggles erupted.
"Mmmmm. I know what you mean. Tall, dark and disgustingly gorgeous… I'd lick him til there was nothing left but a belt buckle and a hook."
The girls broke out in another chorus of laughter. Gritting her teeth as a heated flush arose on her cheeks, Emma kept her eyes trained on the ground. She wouldn't face what she was feeling: a nameless, niggling type of anger that in-no-way-shape-or-form resembled jealously.
In no way at all.
In any way.
No…just…no.
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Nearly an hour later they were done with her. She felt the pulling and pricking and tugging slow to a stop. A giggling girl held up a mirror and showed her what they'd accomplished.
Emma hated to admit it, but the result really was beautiful. Her hair was pulled and twisted in a thick braid falling down her back, with flowers and ribbons artfully arranged throughout the golden folds. She'd never seen anything quite as pretty.
"Thank you. It's lovely."
"Thank you." One of the hairdressers grinned. "And tell the handsome Captain he's welcome to come by our shop any time. We'll take good care of him."
"I bet you would," Emma muttered, heading into the streets with the two hulking guards trailing behind her.
There was a buzzing excitement in the crowd as necks craned to see the new fairy tale being enacted onstage; this one involved a witch casting a spell on a fairy princess. Some children covered in green paint and dressed as pixies danced around the performers, spinning and flailing and falling over each other.
Onlookers peeled oranges and grapefruits, littering the streets with the golden rinds and filling the air with the sharp smell of citrus. Overhead a girl dressed as a forest nymph began singing from a rooftop. Metal clattered like raindrops as onlookers tossed up coins to her. The awnings began to flutter like ship sails as the winter wind shivered in the air, carrying notes of music and laughter.
The noise and cheerfulness almost made Emma forget herself. No one had recognized her, and as the liquor flowed more freely and the darkness of evening fell, no one was likely to. Here she felt safely invisible; she wasn't hunted or living under the constant threat of dark curses and harrowing death. She was just some nameless girl wandering through the village square, no different than anyone else, watching couples dance and drink and children chase each through the crowds.
Through the torchlight she could just make out Killian Jones approaching from the opposite end of the town square. With his broad shoulders and handsome features, he stood out even amongst the boisterous merchants and colorful performers. He was laughing with his burly crewmen and drinking deeply from a tankard of ale. Whatever business he attended to was obviously profitable, judging by his jaunty step and smile.
She locked eyes with him and waved, his warm grin and wink creating a small trill of pleasure that she refused to acknowledge. Villagers (the ones who were still sober anyway) parted as he made his way towards her.
Killian hopped on the curb next to her. He offered her a sip from the large tankard. "Hello Swan. I've been looking for you. Quite a crowd isn't it?"
She nodded and gestured to the braid fluttering to her waist. "What do you think? Do you like it?"
"It's very pretty." He ran his finger along the decorated strands. "It suits you."
She shrugged and drank deeply from the tankard. Whatever was inside tasted sweet and frothy and had layers of spice throughout.
"What is this?" she asked, wiping the foam from her lips.
"It's ginger beer and rum. In these parts they call it a 'Dark and Stormy.'" He wiped a bit of foam from her chin. "Goes down easy, doesn't it?"
She smacked her lips. "It's good."
"I'll get you one, come on."
As they made their way along the streets, she was relieved to find the crowds no longer staring. The novelty of seeing the pirates had apparently worn off and the villagers were too intent on drinking and dancing to notice them. Emma linked her arm with his as they shared another sweet frothy beer and took in the sights around them. Spice merchants, jewelers, artists… they went from booth to booth looking over the tables of exotic wares.
Through it all, she was hoping to hear news from Northern Kingdom, some kind of clue as to what happened to her parents or what Regina had planned for the kingdom. But everyone she spoke to seemed to have little idea as to what was happening in the overrun lands. There were rumors of course—that the royal family had been slaughtered like sheep, that Snow White was dead and King David had secretly married Regina, that Regina had plans to turn the kingdom into a winterish wonderland rivaling Arendelle…
Though Emma knew most of it was nonsense, she held out hope that someone knew something remotely accurate. But in the end, there was no definite news and little hope of getting any. She fought back tears as they proceeded along the sidewalk, wondering if she'd ever hear anything of her parents, much less ever see them again.
"What's wrong lass?" Killian Jones asked gently, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
"Nothing," she muttered. She turned away as tears trickled down her cheeks.
"Ah, you're a worse liar than you are a thief, and that's saying something."
She waved him away, and to his credit he didn't press her. He just squeezed her hand and led her to a crowd gathered near a rooftop. One of the nymphs had begun to sing and was attracting an audience. It was a sweet, plaintive song in French, with elegant phrases like le count Roland, oltre mer, and la fin del secle ki nus est en presen…
Emma closed her eyes, listening to the sad melody. "I've never heard that song before."
"That? It's an old one. Popular in these parts."
"What's it about?"
The pirate paused a moment, trying to make out the lyrics. "It's about a maiden. A young frightened maiden."
"Frightened of what?"
"Well she's lost and far from home. She's been driven from her land and forced to live in a terrifying forest."
"Really?"
He nodded. "She's also a brat who can't hold her liquor…"
"Stop it," Emma replied, shoving him playfully, smiling despite the tears in her eyes.
"I'm just translating." He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. "Now hush, this is the good part. You see, this particular maiden is beautiful. The most beautiful in all the realms."
"Is she?" Emma feigned surprise.
"Aye that she is." He wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "A sweet beguiling little creature. It's said that her eyes are like pale emeralds, like meadows blooming in the bonny spring."
"Please…just…no…" she fought back a smile.
"…and her lips taste of rainwater warmed by the midday sun."
"Stop it."
"… her hair's spun gold, like amber moonlight against wildflowers."
"The terrifying forest is looking pretty good right now."
"…her smile's a winter sunrise, touched by frost and unforgettable in its beauty."
She shook her head and laughed. "You know, I think I liked it better in French."
"Swan, do you want to know what the song's about or not?"
"Fine." She grinned, settling against him. "What happened to the maiden?"
"Well, she gave her heart to a sailor…"
"I thought you said she was lost?"
"Right…And while she's busy being lost, she gives her heart to a poor lonely sailor. And he takes it and he buries it on a deserted island. To keep it safe."
"Naturally. Good plan."
"But now she wants it back and she has to find him, because until she finds her beloved sailor, she'll never know what love truly is."
She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Is that really what the song is about?"
He gave a slight shrug. "Damned if I know. I don't speak French,"
Emma clapped a hand over her mouth and let out a laugh. "You're horrible!"
"I know," he replied, tossing a coin to the singer. They made their way along the sidewalks, sidestepping the crowds. "It's actually an ancient ballad. About a hero who's betrayed and dies gloriously in battle…although personally I prefer my own version."
"Well I don't."
"Aye but you're smiling, so I suppose the bad poetry's worth something." His hand found hers, and she held it tightly as they strolled through the square.
"But yours isn't real."
"What? A lost maiden can't fall in love with a lonely sailor? Stranger things have been known to happen my Lovely."
She shrugged and smiled, relieved that her brimming tears no longer threatened to fall. The wave of despair and hopelessness she'd felt only minutes before had receded, and she let herself lean on him, clasping his arm as it came around her waist, taking comfort in the strong steady feel of him against her.
By now they were close to the inn, having made a full circle around the town. The pirate led her through a quiet street toward the Black Swan. They went up a back staircase and soon they were in the dimly lit hallway outside her door.
Standing alone in the darkness, Emma suddenly felt nervous. She wrung her hands and bit her lip, amazed at how quickly the cheerful mood had changed. There was a tense pull now, a heightened awareness of him, a low thrum that ran like a river current between them. She didn't know what to call it—a kind of simmering intensity that came to life whenever they were alone together.
She hesitantly raised her eyes to him, studying the striking features which were outlined by moonlit shadows.
"You're staring again Swan," he said softy. His eyes held hers even in the darkness.
"Maybe I am," she murmured with more courage than she felt.
"See something you like?"
She lowered her gaze and bit back a snide comment. Something stopped her from making a joke or denying it, some sense that he'd see through the lie. Instead she swallowed hard and gave a slight nod: "Yes. I see something I like."
"Do you now?" He eased forward and his hand gently cupped her cheek, tracing her lips with his thumb. "Do you really Lovely?"
She nodded again, feeling the heat coming off his body along with the crisp scent of the sea that always clung to him. Without thinking twice she slowly circled her arms around his neck as her mouth found his in the darkness. She pressed her lips to his softly, hesitantly, as if she expected him to pull away. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. He gathered her to him and returned the kiss tenderly, his mouth caressing her own, brushing gently against her.
With a sigh she parted her lips and deepened the kiss, letting the feel of him against her and inside her envelop her senses. He tasted like ginger and sweet spices. Like rum and hot cider. The familiar warmth blossomed beneath her skin and she melted against him, nipping and teasing and tasting him. Her fingers tangled in the mess of his hair, gripping his soft black locks as his hold on her tightened. She groaned as the heat of their contact began to build between them and surrendered herself to this sweet sumptuous kiss that burned through her with a searing intensity.
She eventually eased away with a contented sigh, resting her head on his shoulder. Her arms were still around him, his lips tasting her throat, her hands lost in his disheveled hair.
"That's four," he whispered against her skin.
"Four," she echoed quietly.
"Shall we make it five? Four's not a number I'm particularly fond of," he murmured as he guided her lips back to his own. He captured her mouth once again, claiming it in a heated embrace that left her breathless.
She gripped his collar as their lips brushed over and over again. A dark heat began to build, welling up inside her, burning her even as she shivered. She clung to him as his mouth raked over hers, tasting her and claiming her; first gently then roughly, slowly then quickly. She found herself lost in a kiss that was as changing as the sea and just as enticing.
She broke away only when her lungs screamed for air, surfacing as if she'd been tossed beneath the waves.
"That's five Swan," he breathed against her lips. His body was flush against her, his hand tripping over the swell of her breasts, teasing the fabric of her blouse as his lips teased her own.
"Five," she repeated, knowing her voice was just as unsteady. She gripped his collar and found she had to stop herself from taking his hand and dragging it over her skin, pressing it to where she needed it most…
At that moment Emma was distinctly aware of two voices warring within her. One told her to stay with him here in the hallway, to take what he was offering her, to seize the moment and the pleasure he promised. It was a compelling argument. Very compelling. Especially when it came to the pirate and the long, hard length of his body pressing against her own, promising more kisses, more touches, more embraces that set her skin afire.
But then the other voice, the right voice, the proper voice, told her that the best course of action would be to leave now, to push him away and duck inside the safety of her room before she found herself past a point where she could no longer control herself. Which would probably be sooner than later.
With a resigned sigh, she gently unwound herself from him and eased open the door behind her.
"Goodnight Captain," she muttered as she disappeared into the darkness of her room, missing the feel of him even before she'd even said goodbye.
Emma closed the door tightly behind her. Her breath was hitching, her heart fluttering, and a deep blush flooded her cheeks. Her body was screaming in protest even before the heat of his embrace had left her.
She took a deep breath and sank to the dusty floor. Resting her chin against her knees, she hugged herself, burying her face in her arms. Her breath heaved and her body shivered. She found herself wishing he were with her, wishing she could still feel his strong steady body against her own.
"Five. Five kisses so far," she murmured to the empty room. Only the plaintive notes of the distant street music and the lapping of the endless ocean answered her.
With five kisses, the lost maiden was in danger of losing her heart to the lonely sailor.
And Emma knew such stories only ended happily in fairytales.