Saying the climb was a difficult feat would be an understatement. She clung to the rigging, hands burning with repetitive movements across the rough rope, bending her limbs with all the strength she could muster. Her legs were slender, unaccustomed to such exertion and she knew she would no doubt get aches the next day. As she gained considerable height, Eleanor began to feel an anxious flutter in her chest. Her hands froze and she closed her eyes, breath hitching at her throat.
Well this was a stupid fucking idea, she grimaced. This is it. I'm going to die here.
His voice jolted her from the nightmarish thoughts and for once she was relieved to discover how close he felt.
"Focus your eyes on top and don't look down. Count the ropes as you climb, that might help."
Her heart fit to bursting out of her chest with apprehension, she managed a small "Alright," as a response. Gulping, she egged herself higher.
It was taking ages, but to his credit he was patient, shouting words of encouragement whenever she faltered. Occasionally, his fingers would come to rest on her ankle which meant he was very close behind. In another circumstance she would find this proximity abhorring, yet now the feeling was strangely reassuring. She felt safe. Not once did she hear him jeer at the state of her skirt, which she was confident was looking like quite a sight from his angle. Even if he had dared to tease, she was in no state to remark in kind, so she was grateful he was being quieter than expected.
She lost her count of ropes and of the stops she'd made by the time her hand felt the wooden bearing of the crow's nest. Relief washed over as she gave her torso one final push, body collapsing to the side of the railing. A second passed and he was sitting right next to her, eyes a mixture of concern and, if she was not mistaken, pride.
"Here we are," he said, "Truly remarkable we reached before nightfall considering your pace."
Her chest was heaving after the exercise, face moist with dripping sweat. Too breathless to retort, she gave him an incredulous look, narrowing her eyes at him to convey what her mouth could not. She had half expected him to give her some masked credit for this accomplishment, but now she scoffed. How foolish to believe he'd be anything but his frustrating self once they were safe.
After a few brief moments of gaining back her strength, she managed to pull herself into a sitting position. The space was dauntingly high and small, the railing barely covering the back of her head. Her stomach squirmed again and she tried to focus her attention elsewhere. Her face must be pale, she was sure of it, and she dare not open her mouth until this feeling settled.
He was already on his feet, not at all disconcerted by the dangers that preoccupied her. If he was giving her time to collect herself, she was going to take it. Shifting her eyes to him, she half hoped to absorb some of his carefree spirit for this ordeal and perhaps some to distract herself from her turning insides.
She took him in slowly, noticing how the strong wind caught in his hair, making the long thick strands even more prominent. He made no effort to tame it, instead casting his gaze ahead, deeply inhaling the salt tinged air around. She traced his clenching jaw, following his sharp cheek bones to the slight aquiline slope of his nose, eyes resting on his lips which were slightly curled into a serene smile, much different from his usual smirk. Years of hard labor had made his form lean and muscular. If she was being honest with herself, she would admit he made a majestic sight, but for now she was content with noting every small detail, denying attraction in favor of curiosity. There was a necklace adorned on his neck, leather it seemed with pointed spikes, and a silver chain that went deeper into his shirt which was bellowing wildly owing to the wind. From where she sat, she noticed just a hint of a strangely shaped scar on the left side of his chest. Too deeply burned and shapely to be one received by accident.
A brand.
She had seen tattoos all over Nassau on just about every pirate but brands such as these were a rare sight. She'd only ever laid eyes on one up this close, the unnatural markings of her father's initials etched across Mr Scott's arm. It never ceased to make her feel guilty; everything about it had always felt so wrong and out of place.
Even seeing it on him, a stranger in all respects, inadvertently made her heart constrict. All of a sudden, the boy in front of her with his short temper and easy smirks seemed like a fucking mystery. Something wild from another world altogether. How did he get that mark? Did someone buy his freedom? How did he even get here to Nassau?
He must have noticed her staring for he cleared his throat pointedly.
"Care to join me?" he asked, without turning to look at her.
Eleanor jumped out of her reverie, slightly embarrassed at being caught. Her face grew warm and she felt heat rising to the tips of her ears. Damn him, she thought. Here she was gawking at him like an idiot and wondering about him. Why on earth should she give a single fuck about where he came from? After all, she only needs him till she gets back. She'd be damned if she gave him reason to think she was taken with him! Given how his smile had already transformed into a knowing smirk, she'd never hear the end of it.
Rolling her eyes, she scrambled to her feet hurriedly - too hurriedly - and had to reach for the mast to keep balance, wrapping an arm around it. Without a word, he shifted position on the other side, his arm coming to cover hers, pinning her securely to the support. She looked at him sharply, trying her utmost to ignore the warmth that spread to the bare skin in contact with his, but he didn't remove it. Instead he gestured ahead,
"So tell me. Was it worth it?"
She followed where he was looking and for a second, she thought she'd stepped into one of the paintings in her father's parlor. The sun stood a fiery orb in the distance, almost receded into the waters below. The moon was on her other side, luminescent and pale against the darkening sky. The reds, oranges and yellows of sunset had given way to blends of pink and deep purple, the colors of approaching nightfall. It was a beautiful assortment of shades, and Eleanor stood speechless as she took it all in. She chanced a glance below, her hand instinctively grasping onto the mast harder, and saw the colors of the sky reflected in the water below. Waves clashed against the Ranger, streaked vermillion with the underlying blue. The sea and sky with their abrupt demarcation seeming like a meeting of two different worlds - the visible and the hidden. It was breathtakingly beautiful and she was transfixed before this magnificent sight. She'd seen sunsets on the beach before, but there was something about being this high above everything else that made this so much more powerful. It felt daring and bold and brought on a surging sense of invincibility.
No wonder he loves this, she thought. It is truly a sight to behold.
Even if she'd climbed on top of the Guthrie office on the island, she wouldn't be able to see as far off as the camps, but from here, Nassau was laid bare in front of her. She felt she could even make out the tiny window of her room if she squinted hard enough. Perhaps even search for Mr Scott's familiar figure in the veranda or the red haired man leaving the tavern with the heavy, bald one. Her gaze travelled to the streets which were beginning to light up with lanterns. Already the camps were growing less crowded as people made their way to the brothel for evening pleasantries and wilder pursuits. On either side of her, she saw her father's merchant ships and pirate ships anchored in the bay. Barely any stood as tall as the Ranger and she couldn't help but marvel at her favorable position. Above, she saw the blood red skull, sword and heart of it's flag flapping formidably against the warm, salt air, and she felt an odd sense of attachment as she clasped the mast harder, towering above everything else in sight. She could hear the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the wind whispering in her ear, and like the boy, she let it play with her golden hair.
The hues in the sky transitioned eventually, day transforming into night. Eleanor sighed, and even that slight sound felt like an intrusion to the peaceful moment. A smile had gathered on her lips while witnessing this spectacular vision and for however long it lasted, it made her forget why she was here and what had happened to her not so many hours ago. It was strangely empowering.
All this time, she could feel him watching her. The last thing she wanted, however, was to break this spell by speaking and acknowledging him. Eventually, the boy pressed his arm gently against hers. Turning to him, she knew that all her plans of insulting him and this place were betrayed by the look on her face. There was no point pretending.
"Didn't I tell you?" his smile was genuine. Even if she had managed to lie about this place, he'd see through it in a heart beat.
"You come here often?" she asked instead, refusing to offer any praise or confirmation if she could help it.
"Couple of times a week," he offered, "but I don't tire of it. Seems new every time."
She wanted to ask him if he'd ever brought anyone else up here with him, but held her tongue.
"It's quite...," she struggled for a neutral word to replace the insurmountable wonder she'd felt, "...something."
"Something?" he raised a skeptical brow, "If you aren't careful, I'd start to think you agree with me."
Her lips curled into a slight smile despite herself. It was unsettling to be with someone who she couldn't fool or subdue or even lie to, let alone physically need to get herself out of a situation, wasn't it? But to her dismay this adventure of hers was getting less irksome to bear by the minute and that was something she could simply not abide. Again, she reminded herself of why she was not in this moment safe on land and settled under the covers of her bed in her room. Because this boy, this pirate, was too fucking stubborn and proud to leave her alone on that skiff.
"My end of the deal is complete," she tried her most serious tone, "It's time to fulfill your end of the bargain."
"Perhaps," he started, mirth rising in his eyes "But where's the joy in that?" he shrugged nonchalantly, voice turning more gravelly, "Ever heard of pirates having no honor?"
"Plenty," she replied vehemently, "Ever wondered what it felt like to be flung over a ship?"
"If you kill me now, the men will be under the rigging waiting for you before you even start climbing down," he flashed his teeth in a wicked smile.
"Let them wait," she took a step closer, poking her finger into the hollow of his chest, "They're too accustomed to dealing with a different Guthrie. Perhaps I can show them the difference."
He swayed closer, bridging the gap between them. Slowly, he removed her pressed finger, bringing it down to his side,
"You truly aren't your father's daughter, are you?"
"Not in any sense that matters," she retorted, hand forming a fist against his palm, "Neither am I helpless without him. I can make certain you and your brothers pay for the inconvenience you've caused me."
"Inconvenience," he stressed the syllables, "You really believe that's the worst thing to suffer at the hands of a pirate?"
He released her hand, "Strange. The way I see it any half wit would say you're lucky to be standing in one piece." Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against the precarious railing, "Especially after stealing from me."
She glared at him, a huff escaping her lips, "Feel free to spread that lie far and wide once we reach shore. Let's see if anyone beside your conceited self would believe Richard Guthrie's daughter would steal from a common, filthy pirate."
There. She'd finally hit it. Common. Something told her that might not sit well with him.
Arms unfolded, he placed them against the rail, staring at her. His jaw clenched repeatedly as he dug his hands into the wood, knuckles turning white.
"You think you're better than me, do you?" he questioned, his voice struggling to stay level.
She scoffed, "What do you think?", a challenge rising to her tone as well. His nerve to speak to her like this. Of course she was nothing like this brute, this savage. His audacity to think she'd regard him as an equal was baffling.
There was a long pause as he deliberated, a scowl evident on his face. Then quietly he said,
"What do you suppose happens when you return to Mr Scott tonight?" he started, "That is, if you're lucky to still be alive till then," Pausing, he gave her a curious look, assessing, "Running off alone on the beach, disappearing for hours on end, that too with a common, filthy pirate. The word can spread, you see. I only have to whisper of it in the right ears. You realize what'll happen to you after that, don't you?"
He was treading on dangerous grounds. She knew all too well where this empty threat was headed, what irking thought in her mind he meant to play with. It wasn't the first time it would happen, what he was implying. Last time when she had ran off, her father had refused her leave of her room for days. Ungrateful, he had called her. Improper. Nassau was no place for a woman, much less a girl of her upbringing to go prancing about so frivolously, he said. Looking at him, she had felt accusations of disgrace dripping stronger than ever. The only person she saw for an entire week had been Mr Scott and her governess, even wrote repeated apologies begrudgingly to prove how ashamed she was for her conduct. As indifferent as he was to spending time with her, he was equally fond of swift punishment. It was days till she was finally permitted to bask in the sunlight again, to once again feel sand plucking at her toes. Like before, Mr Scott would be forced to chaperone her indeterminately and the illusion of independence she created for herself, would gradually crumble like so many times before.
She gulped. There was no boast in the boy's voice, no malice. He simply stated it like it was the most natural order of things in the world,
"Scott, your father. All names of prisons you've built for yourself. And when you look out your window to the sea you won't feel for days after this, you'll know what I think."
Her mouth had turned dry. Swallowing hard she felt nothing but cracks in her throat. Worst of all, she could feel heat on her face again, vision rendered blurry by tears not yet spilled. Blinking, she pushed them aside, forcing composure to take over. She unclenched her fist that had twisted of its own accord, willing herself to say something. Anything.
"Don't presume you understand anything about my life," she managed to mutter through gritted teeth. Her voice was steady, there was that at least.
He was looking at her intently with those calm eyes, head tilted slightly and assessing her with such scrutiny that she felt the sudden urge to push him off the railing and be done with him.
"Then tell me why you're here," he said, "And what you were doing alone on that skiff."
There were so many versions of fuck off coursing through her head, she couldn't decide which one would convey her message best. Certainly he must know how prying he was being? How utterly despicable? What right did he have to ask her these questions? She'd never told a soul and she never would. Least of all him.
"That is not for you to ask, nor am I obliged to tell you like it's part of our fucking bargain," she contented herself to say, forcing herself to turn around from him and sit down in her previous position.
Hoping silence would help keep some distance from him, she fixated her gaze on the mast with determination, refusing to glance in his direction. Perhaps he made a noncomittable sound at her response, she couldn't say. He certainly didn't press the matter further.
A few moments passed before either of them spoke. Eleanor didn't know what to do, what his plan was, and how soon she would get back. By now, Mr Scott would have likely searched the island twice, panicking like he had done so many times before, except this time...this time, she wasn't playing a game with him. This time she really was trapped, and the only way down and out of this place was one that made her insides squirm. The boy was right. What the fuck was she doing here? He had made an offer and she had accepted, and for what? To sate a challenge? Something as petty as that? She felt foolish. It would have been better luck had she stayed on the skiff and tried to row off herself.
"A few hours," he suddenly spoke.
Without meaning to, she turned to face him. He was sitting too, though his height kept his head well above the railing to keep watch. A broken piece of wood rolled lazily between his fingers as he fidgeted with it. His tone was matter of fact, a cold invitation to conversation, if that was what she desired.
"What happens in a few hours?" Nothing good, she assumed. She was on a pirate vessel after all.
"Next watch," he explained, "Someone'll be up to take my place. That's when I'll take you back."
She squinted her eyes at him questioningly, "Surely that means I'll be seen?"
"Can't say," he was not being helpful. The corners of his lips were twitching again as he toyed with her.
He met her perplexed gaze, eyes still incandescent in the dark and piercing into her,
"You don't trust me?"
"No," she replied without hesitation.
He merely kept looking, brow arched and amusement glinting from every angle of his face.
The truth was she didn't know the answer to his question. She was still alive after all, wasn't she? The men on deck, he'd manipulated his way around them, making sure they were out of the way before bringing her here. She recalled the brief moment of relief that had washed over her as he'd pulled her into the ship, his calm face as he watched the stairs waiting for her to come up. The way he'd lent out his hand for support, the feel of it on her ankle as they'd climbed up these forsaken ropes. Even now, the intent calmness in his eyes told her there was nothing to be afraid of, yet his words offered a different story. If someone was going to come up for the next watch, she can't possibly be safe anymore.
"If this is your idea of a ruse to toy with me, it's not going to work," she told him pointedly.
"You'll find out yourself soon enough," he chuckled slightly.
"As long as you remember what I promised if I'm not returned to shore safely," she reminded him, "If something happens to me, you won't be setting foot in Nassau ever again."
"You don't tire of the same threats, do you?" he took out a coin from his trousers and began fiddling with it, seemingly engrossed.
"Reality of our situation, I prefer to call it," she responded, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them, "One such as yourself would be wise to consider."
He rolled his eyes at the coin and leaned back against the rail, "Rest," he said, "I'll wake you when it's time."
"I most certainly will not!" she exclaimed, "Not when I can fall off this nest any instant and most definitely not on these rotten boards."
"Suit yourself," he let out an exasperated sigh, "I'll be over here keeping watch."
With that, he turned his back to her, broad shoulders blocking out a good portion of the view. He took out his telescope and scanned the water, pausing intermittently as he did so.
It was quite clear the boy was occupying himself with something less of a handful than she was proving to be. Not that he was much of a talker. A person of few words, it seemed, who by some miracle had been made to converse more than regular because of her provoking. She couldn't help it, everything about him from his intense, pale blue eyes to his wicked smirk made her agitated. The smug air radiating from every crevice of his body didn't help either. Perhaps it was for the better that they stay silent for a while. It won't be long before the next horror of this adventure creeps up on her.
Stretching her neck muscles, Eleanor tried to get comfortable against the wooden boards. Her skirt was even more of a mess than before, reaching well mid-thigh. She adjusted the clump to cover the revealing flesh, securing the knot tighter around her knees. The night wind was strong and chilly and her thin stockings were no real barrier against it. Bending her knees closer to her chest, she wrapped her arm around her calves attempting to preserve what little warmth her body offered. She fixed her gaze on the ocean, the waves silvery and glimmering in the moonlight. They danced around the Ranger, gently caressing it and pulling away like some shy lover. She saw the hazy outlines of the other ships in the bay, shadows now in the cover of the night. Her eyes followed their high masts to the sky, now ladden with stars brighter than any she had ever seen. She had the sudden feeling of being suspended in mid air from the sky herself; by some invisible thread holding her from the dark water below. Immediately she realized how bizarre the notion was, smiling secretly nonetheless. Slowly, as she stared out from the crow's nest, the wooden boards began to feel less rough. The wind stroked at her hair and ears, mingling with the flaps of the Ranger flag above. Eleanor closed her eyes, surprised by tiredness. It had been a long climb and her legs were not used to such exertion. She longed to rest her eyes and mind, if only for a brief moment, assuring herself no harm could come of it if she could trust herself to wake up at any slight movement. Lulled by the soft sounds of the waves and gentle breeze, Eleanor relaxed and drifted off.
A second later, or perhaps several hours she had no way of knowing, her eyes snapped open. Disoriented, she blinked several times, momentarily perplexed by her surroundings.
Still the Ranger, of course, she recalled in dismay.
As she gathered her bearings, she realized the previous chill from the wind was gone. She felt warm. Protected. Her head no longer rested on the uneven wood, but something softer. Her cheek grazed against fabric, the distinct smell of salt and leather reaching her nose. Whatever it was, moved slightly and she felt the surface tense under her. Raising her head ever so slightly, she discovered it was no object she was leaning against at all. Broad shoulders stood rigid against the board her head was rested on previously, arms brushing against hers. The boy was propped up with back straighter than ever, his gaze intent on some unknown object ahead, apparently refusing to glance back at her form intertwined with his. Her eyes gaped in horror to discover that legs, previously clasped tightly to her chest to ward off cold, were now folded to the side and latched firmly on his lap. She froze, willing the ground to open up and swallow her whole.
Her mind crowded with questions, but nothing was felt more keenly than the sudden rise of heat on her cheeks, so hot she was sure the fabric of his shirt would catch fire by the contact alone. Oh god, she thought in panic. What the fuck is she doing like this? Her body refused to move, lest the situation surmounted in uneasiness. Not that it was at all possible for it to grow worse. She shut her eyes close for a second, hoping, praying that this was not another chapter of this hellish nightmare. Hasn't she suffered enough indignatation at the hands of this boy? Perhaps if she feigned sleep, he would move aside of his own accord and then she can pretend it never happened. But even as this thought crossed her mind, the boy made a hoarse sound from his throat. An indication of being very aware of her state, yet unwilling or too unsettled himself to make the first move.
Oh fuck it, she thought exasperated. What's the worse that could happen? Surely she can't expect herself to lie there in ignorance. Something had to be done about it, and if she had somehow gotten herself into this tangled mess, she was going to get herself out.
Resolved, she slowly lifted her head from his shoulder, only to discover his face was now inches from hers. Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't realized when he'd turned his head, but now he was giving her a skeptical look, lips pursed and forehead furrowed. Before she could find something appropriate to say...
"Your doing, not mine," he muttered.
"I find that hard to believe," she looked back daringly.
His eyes shifted to their linked arms, his breath warm and tingling against her face. It was taking everything to not pull away from him completely. Eventually she would of course, but not by making it so transparent how perturbed she was by his proximity.
"You were swaying towards the rigging in your sleep," he offered impatiently, "So I moved next to you."
She looked back at him in disbelief, squinting eyes as if mocking every word. However, as she tilted her head towards the rigging, she discovered how close to it they were and had his body not been the barrier in between, she certainly could have swayed right onto deck of the Ranger.
"Could have woken me."
"Mm, could have," he moved in closer, "But this seemed far more tempting. And by the look on your face," he added, a throaty chuckle escaping, "seems it's paid off too."
"Not at all, actually," she replied with confident air, "Seemed you went rather frigid yourself when I woke. Or was that part of the plan all along?"
She felt him tense again against her, eyes unflinchingly set on her face, determining his next response. If he was going to attempt to make her uncomfortable, it was not going to work, and she sensed he'd reached the same conclusion. His features softened, forehead clearing of the previous frown, and she saw the first traces of the typical smirk twisting on his lips. For a moment she thought he was going to try something - or perhaps it was just her mind playing tricks on her - his head tilted forward indiscernibly, eyes resting but for a second on her mouth before travelling up again, his weight shifting subtely towards her - but just like that, the moment brushed past her, like water rushing between her fingers. She swallowed, unsure what precisely was going on behind his stoic face, but unable to break eye contact.
"I certainly did not devise you coiling all around me, if that's what you mean," he stated simply, hot breath caressing her cheeks.
Fucking hell.
Her legs were still crawled halfway on his lap. Instinctively, she untangled her clumped skirt from the smooth leather of his pants and, although her legs had gone quite numb, she forced them up from his thighs, placing them firmly on the floor. She stared back at him all this time, determined not to seem disheveled or taken aback by his subtle accusation.
His smirk widened at her movements, body refusing to make the slightest attempt to haul his body off her in any way. Huffing in exasperation, she finally managed to put some space between their arms, shifting to the side. It felt odd to feel the warmth slip away so suddenly, but better this than another second of being that unnervingly close to him. She made exaggerated moves to tidy her shirt, scraping off mere nothings from her shoulders as if trying to remove the remains of something repugnant; to cleanse his scent off her. Glancing up, she found him inspecting her with a amused brow, not offended in the slightest as her demeaning efforts had intended.
"Must have been the cold," she muttered. Of course it was the cold. Why else would she even dream about curling next to one such as him. Even in sleep, there were boundaries she would never cross. It was definitely the cold, she assured herself.
His arms, now free, stretched wide as he folded them behind his head, looking at her questioningly. The shapely contour of arm muscles bulged markedly through his shirt, and suddenly she discovered her mouth had gone very dry.
"As you say," he said searching her face, unconvinced.
"How long was I asleep?" she decided it best to steer the conversation in another direction, if only to stop his intense gaze from burning into hers. There was no doubt he would carry on implying on the whys and hows of her ending up in his arms, and as much as she could deny all of it, she was not going to allow him to think it was alright for him to tread on topics of such informality.
"A good few hours. Nearing midnight now," he replied.
Goodness. She truly had been tired. All that crying, running, and climbing had finally caught up with her.
"And you stayed on watch this entire time?" she asked.
"Mostly," he offered, not caring to elaborate.
A curious glint reached his eyes and she could well imagine what he meant - his reply was threatening to take them back to the same unsettling situation she had found them in when she had woken up. Aware of the danger in that, she gave him in a stern look, hoping it was enough to make him rethink twice before finding his next words.
"Reckon it was dumb luck I happened to see you as you were about to fall head face into that opening," he started with an uncharacterically harmless expression, "So I changed position to keep watch from that end. Until that is, you decided to fall against me. Couldn't move much after that, let alone keep watch."
Why couldn't he just leave this alone?
"I'm well aware of what transpired and I've explained my reasoning," she fumed, "I must have swayed towards you instead and stayed there. Had you woken me I would have shifted and you could have finished your watch duty. But as it turns out, you are as much to blame as my unaware sleeping form. So if you're looking for gratitude, you're gravely mistaken."
"Gratitude?," he responded to her ferocious glare, "It was my pleasure. It's not every day a rich, bright offering such as yourself would deem a filthy pirate appropriate to lean on," to her frustration, his grin had returned and he was plucking at every tiny detail of this, if only to annoy her further. "Besides," he continued, "had you fallen, I dare say the prospect of leaving the future of this place to your old bastard doesn't bode well for me at all."
"Don't call him that," she snapped back vehemently.
"That close to him, are you?" he eyed her skeptically, "I wouldn't have guessed."
"Whatever my relationship is to him in none of your concern, nor will it ever be," she retorted, the heat rising to her face again. If anything, that was surely going to give away how he kept managing to provoke her temper, "And the only prospect you should grow familiar with is the one at the gallows, where many a rich, bright offerings would cheer to see you swing."
He shrugged nonchalantly, "Of that I have no doubt. But first they have to catch me." He shot her a wink.
"I've seen it," she said, refusing to back down, "There's no pity, no mercy. If it weren't for my father's name, your kind in Nassau would share the same fate. Disappear into oblivion until you finally find that noose around your neck."
"Your father's wretched name is built upon the blood and toil of the pirates you're quick to condemn," he retorted, tone level except for a ferocious intensity brewing just beneath the surface, "It's the fear they instill into the world that makes their deaths such a spectale for those too common to understand anything beyond their own privilege," he leaned forward, voice carried swiftly by the blowing wind, "Or too arrogant to swallow that they are not invincible."
Privilege. Arrogance. His voice seethed with revulsion.
"Nobody is invincible in the world we live in now," she stated simply, "Everyone has to fight."
"You'd be surprised to find how many believe otherwise," he voice shook slightly, as if containing a flood of emotions ready to burst forth, "And what would you know of fighting."
She opened her mouth indignantly to snap back at him, tell him how exactly she has had to fucking fight for everything her whole life. For recognition, for attention, for love. How every dissmissal had etched rejection into expectation, how every day was a constant struggle to prove her worth to the man she called father. To find one trickle of love her mother bestowed upon her in her father's eyes, a thing she longed for but what lay silent next to her mother's grave, lost forever. Tears threatened to burn behind her eyes, as much out of anger at his blind assumptions as the harsh reality of her life.
But to confess would mean admitting this poisonous truth, to lay out bare to this stranger all her deepest vulnerablilities; things she had not even shared with Mr Scott. No, it won't do. Even if she had so desired, how could she possibly voice the idignities of her situation? Find words to convey the pain that clawed at her insides every hour of every day? It was not possible.
"Why, because men are the only ones entitled to know what it means to fight?" she asked boldly, "The ambitions of a girl can be a plight of their own, don't you think?"
His features softened instantly as he focused on her, gaze a mixture of curiosity and intrigue. A moment passed before he said anything, and she began to inwardly admonish herself for ever saying what she had said out loud, that too to him of all people.
"Is that why I found you on the beach?" he eventually spoke, eyes fixed intently upon hers, "Ambitions your father would rather see you without?"
Fuck. The voices inside her started screaming. Panic gripped at her and for a moment, she was rendered speechless. Of course he was going to deduce that from what she said, hitting the nail right on the head. And she herself had led him to it. Cursing her rashness and unsure if she was more furious with him or with herself, she nonetheless shot him a defiant glare.
He was not being malicious or rude, there was no provocation in his tone either. It seemed as though he genuinely cared about her response. For that realization alone, she tried to contain her outrage. There was no point in making matters worse by admitting how much this troubled her.
"Something along those lines," she admitted begrudgingly, "And you?" she started before he could press further on the subject, "Did you run away to Nassau for similar reasons?"
She was very conscious of his eyes still upon her, examining her as if seeing something anew, but she was glad that despite his temporary fascination, he took her bait nonetheless. Perhaps it was meant to ease her, for she was certain her countenance suggested a brimming irritation, barely tapped in control.
Giving her a strange look, he followed her obvious cue, "What makes you think I ran away?"
Before she could stop herself, she raised her arm and made vague circling motions with her finger, pointing to his chest.
It was his turn to freeze now. His hands that were fidgeting with the railing behind him stopped instantly, fingers twisting into a silent fist instead, pressing firmly against the hard wood. He stared back at her with a vacant expression, indiscernible if it wasn't for the subtle clenching of his jaw, the eventual gulp in his throat.
She knew it was her irritation at being caught that had flared her to do such a thing, but part of her wanted to take it back. Seconds beckoned to minutes and still he said nothing. It was the most quiet she had seen him and something about that was alarming. How long had it taken Mr Scott to tell her about his brand? Five years? Six? And even when he had, it had deeply unsettled him, making her guilt that more palpable. She had known all along what it was - slaves were hardly given the respect of anything more than objects, their masters and brands a label carelessly mentioned and tossed aside in conversation - but perhaps a part of her felt the burden of the knowledge would lighten if she heard the tale of it from the man himself, if he would somehow put a personal spin on the horror that would make it bearable for her tiny shoulders to carry, perhaps he would tell her it was no bother at all like it was to her and that it served him well. Useless, foolish hopes of a young girl. She had cursed herself a dozen times in later years for ever broaching subject with him. The mark was a barrier between their bond as it had always been, and no amount of talking about it was ever going to lift it permanently or make either of them feel better.
As much as she wanted to take the boy off guard, hurt him even, she knew this was not right. He had treaded on personal grounds and she had done far worse, opened an ugly gaping wound unlikely to ever heal in a slave's life. She of all people should know better. After Mr Scott, she had resolved to not make the same mistake. But here she stood, pointing blatantly to yet another brand, just because she was getting uncomfortable herself.
He was no longer looking at her, but staring intently towards the ocean, either refusing to acknowledge her question or choosing not to answer. His face was forlorn as if lost in some despairing memory.
Even if he could pretend to ignore her presence, she could no longer swallow his silence. She had broached subject after all, and if she couldn't take it back or apologize for her forwardness, she could at least try to make her intentions clear and make this bearable.
Her voice was gentle when she spoke, pausing to gather enough courage to address him again,
"Where... where did you get that?"
His head turned sharply to face hers, eyes deceptively calm as his mouth curled into a scowl. She could hear the slight sound of his shallow, sharp breaths as he took her in, outrage much like her own, reflected on every angle of his face. She had dared to ask the unmentionable. Was it really a wonder he was going to hate her for it? Despite the predicament, she steadily looked on, sincere and honest, hoping it was enough to appease him.
It must be, for his features softened, his eyes blinking as if registering her for the first time. A frown creased his forehead again as he studied her, his lips pursed together in concentration. We all have our secrets, she thought. Why should he not withhold his from me?
"Oh shit !"
An unknown voice broke the silence, sending a jolt of panic through her.
Eleanor was startled to find someone peeking at them from the edge of the rigging, eyes moving between the two of them fervidly, as if in momentary disbelief.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" the person looked on in shock, finally fixing on the boy for answers.
This one seemed really tall, gangly - with traces of a questionably designed stubble gracing his cheeks on both sides. He had the unexpected air of her governess, Eleanor thought wildly, a well bred elegance that somehow lent grace to even the foul words he had uttered, very unlike the gruff mutterings of her previous companion. If she hadn't seen him abreast on a pirate vessel, she doubted if she'd ever wager him for a pirate at all. But that is who he must be, and that did not bode well for her. One shout from him and the entire crew from the hull would join him in disposing her.
"Finally, Jack," her companion finally found his tongue, "Took you long enough."