A/N - just a few warnings. This chapter veers into M territory for sexual themes and language. It also features an attempted assault on a woman, so if that is a trigger for you please be advised.
"Check,"Killian smiled, moving the rook to the clear white square beside the black king.
He looked up. Emma was frowning, her brow lined in concentration as she studied the ebony and ivory pieces in front of them. Her tongue slipped out a little between her lips and her hand hovered over the board until, softly clucking her tongue, she swiftly drew the black knight into play, flicking Killian's fated rook to one side with a delicate finger.
"Touché,"the pirate whispered and she responded with a one-sided smile that brought out the small dimples in her cheeks. "I must ask, where did you learn to play so well?"
She had picked up the felled piece and was rolling the cylindrical object between finger and thumb, "It was –is, I guess - my father's favorite game. Ever since I can remember, he would sit me on his lap as he played, teaching me, telling me over and over, 'strategy, Emma, strategy'." She wagged her finger as she spoke, looking up at Killian as she dropped the chess piece to the table with a light clatter.
"Strategy is essential in life,"he nodded, holding her gaze for a second longer than was needed before pulling away and taking a mouthful of ale from his tankard. "Your father sounds wise."
"Perhaps,"the lass agreed with a slight grimace, "But as a six year old child, you can see the lesson was not quite appreciated."
And she laughed, just a little, but enough. It was a pretty, melodic laugh - light and carefree - that lit up her face. The rise of her lips lifted her cheekbones even higher and a light flush bloomed on her cheeks.
She looked almost pretty, he thought, despite her roughly cropped hair and the oversized male shirt that swamped her frame.
In these rare, unguarded moments over the past few weeks, he had come to ponder upon this Emma. An invitation to converse and relax in his cabin had become a regular occurrence. To begin with, she had taken to sitting to one side with a volume from his bookcase. Gradually, she had inched closer to where he sat at his desk, making casual remarks about the maps he studied or suggesting the next book he should read, until the conversation between them had flowed as easily as any river. In all, he had ample opportunity to observe this strange young woman, who through either bravery or foolishness had submitted herself to the dangers of the wider world.
She was a curious thing, he had decided. The separation between her persona as 'Jack'and the real girl Emma was becoming more apparent every day. The meter and pitch of her voice when it was just the two of them was almost hypnotizing. It had been so long since he had enjoyed a woman's company and soft tones for longer than a night. He had forgotten how much he had missed it. Resigned, as he was, to a solitary life, he had tried to close that part of him off to the world - the part that craved more than a lonely life at sea.
She was knowledgeable, he'd found, and witty too. Her sphere of information included quite the detailed study of law and politics. They had debated on the merits of collaboration between kingdoms and the effectiveness of piracy laws (here, their opinions had differed somewhat). She had held him at every point and on one occasion, a few days earlier, their discourse had lasted almost 'til the sun had risen.
Her company was becoming something he sought with relish. Her ease of manners and educated tongue were a welcome respite from the more debasing aspects of life on board a ship of men.
Killian was almost reminded of what his life may have been - even the kind of woman he may have loved - had life not chosen him a different fate.
"Captain?"
"Mmm?" He murmured, broken from his thoughts.
There was a puzzled look on her face, her brow lightly crinkled, "I asked if you wished to continue this tomorrow. The hour is late."
He picked up the small mantle clock that sat on his desk. It was old and somewhat unreliable after being jostled through many a storm, but it served its purpose. The delicate black hands showed it was around midnight. Placing the clock back down, he sighed softly.
"Yes Emma, that is a good idea."
As she made to stand, Killian automatically pushed back his chair. She gasped lightly at his formal gesture. Silently he cursed himself: he had almost forgotten the true nature of their discourse - almost imagined that he was once again a gentlemen, not a pirate, and she a lady who should be afforded all possible courtesies. He paused, mid bow, slowly straightening his back and offering a small smile of apology. She blushed, dipping her head and sinking her body slightly in a small curtsey.
"Goodnight sir,"she whispered as she left.
"Goodnight Emma,"he replied, her name lingering on his lips as the door closed behind her.
A vague sense of loss came over him as he absentmindedly picked up the fallen rook. It was cool to the touch. He ran his thumb over the grooves in the pieces surface, remembering her cradling it in her palm only minutes earlier.
Until tomorrow, he thought as he returned it to the desk.
Tomorrow they would continue their game.
Some days she wasn't sure who she was any more. First, she had been Emma: a princess and lady of leisure. Then, the persona of Jack and became her own - living like a boy for months, she'd almost forgotten her feminine side. But now, she was Jack during the daylight hours and Emma once more in the privacy of their cabins. It was enough to make the head spin and on more than one occasion she had almost forgotten herself in front of the other crew.
It was a strange kind of half freedom which she now enjoyed. Yet still, despite all his familiarity, she never let herself forget that Captain Jones was a pirate.
The morning after their game of chess, she was helping Dicken stretch out a canvas. The sun on deck was bright and tantalizingly warm on the skin. Dicken was telling her bawdy tales of his life as a young sailor, making her laugh and hide her blushes behind her cap.
At the wheel, the captain stood. His hook tacked around one of the spindles, staring out to the blank canvas of sea ahead with the barest hint of a smile on his face. He looked handsome when he smiled, Emma thought. It lightened his features and lifted the heaviness of his brow where he often seemed to bear the weight of a lifetime.
He should smile more, she decided as she tugged and flexed the stiff material. Then she realized, with some surprise, that he had been recently. Perhaps not in public - not amongst the men, or on deck, but during those hours spent behind the door of his cabin, that smile had become more apparent. He would laugh when she told him of some of the scrapes that she had gotten into during her first forays dressed as a boy. He gently chided her when she made some remark about politics with which he disagreed ('Now, is that the way for a lass to think?'he would say). But most telling of all, was the way his lips curved softly when a silence fell in the cabin - when she was engrossed in a book and he thought she wasn't aware that he was watching her. These secret smiles warmed her belly and sent prickly tingles down her spine.
Finished with her task, she brushed her palms on her trousers, the light grease of the canvas leaving streaks on the material. "Dinner later, Dicken?"she asked.
"Aye, Jack, I'd like that."
The chess board was eagerly produced once she entered the cabin that evening - after her customary three knocks on the door and his formal reply of 'enter'.
"I see you have not forgotten, Captain,"Emma smiled, as she pulled a three legged stool towards his desk.
"I never forget a challenge,"he replied before taking a sip of rum from his flask. "Drink?"he asked.
Normally, Emma would say no. After the drunken night which had let to the uncovering of her true gender, she had steadfastly avoided rum. But today - maybe it was the smile on his face, or the good mood in her belly - she grasped the outstretched flask and took a long draw. "Mmmm,"she murmured, the familiar alcohol descended pleasurably into her gut.
"Shall we?"the captain asked, gesturing to the game with a flourish of his hand.
"Ready to be whipped, Captain?"she teased. He cocked a brow at her and she blushed a little, dropping her head to scan the board.
"We'll see,"he replied.
The game quickly advanced in-between sips of rum and a swell of confidence on her part. She felt freer that she had in such a long time. The banter tumbled easily from her lips as she let herself indulge in the fantasy that her life was different - that they had met under different circumstances and their time together was less a matter of intrigue and more one of equal minds meeting.
The competition was tense. More than once, check was called.
"Come now Captain, surely you concede?"
Killian chortled in reply, reaching over the board to move his bishop into play. "Never."
His voice was low and soft and he looked across the board at her, through the veil of his lashes. Emma couldn't hide her smile. She reached out to move her queen into check, but she was too quick for his fingers and for a second they brushed together. Emma yanked back her hand in shock, heart racing as a shiver of electricity raced up her arm and down her spine.
She quickly looked back at him. He was staring at her. His hand still lingered over the board - his lips parted and head tilted slightly to the side. Her mouth felt dry and her cheeks hot.
"Sorry,"she whispered, clenching her fist and drawing it to her chest.
The captain's eyes scanned over the girl's face - as if he was looking for something, but she had no idea what. A surge of confusion came over her. No man had ever regarded her in the way the captain was doing so in that moment; like she were some kind of puzzle that he longed to conquer. His brows were pinched together in concentration as he leaned forward slightly and sucked in a breath as though he were about to speak-
"Forgive me, Captain-"she blurted out as she abruptly stood, jostling the table and knocking over some of the remaining pieces in play.
"Emma-" he began, as he rose a little from his seat, reaching out his hand as she awkwardly tried to right the pieces on the board.
"It's late,"she replied, stepping back slightly.
"Emma,"he repeated. She gasped a little when his hand reached out and took hers in a light, but strong, grasp. She felt her heart race against her breastbone and an unfamiliar quickening in her belly. She had been touched many times by a man - in many more intimate ways - but for some reason, this simple gesture invoked in her a more violent response of unbridled attraction than she had ever felt.
Could he tell? Could he hear her heartbeat? Feel her pulse race beneath her skin? Sense the way her body responded to his touch?
"You don't have to be afraid of me,"he continued, slowly releasing her hand.
"I'm not,"she told him as she grasped her hands behind her back and gave a small bow.
And she was only lying a little.
Her cheeks glowed scarlet when she let the door close behind her. She lay against the door jam and tried to catch her breath.
This was wrong. And dangerous too. Letting herself feel… whatever it was that had overcame her inside his cabin.
Her belly cramped a little at the memory of his hand brushing hers and the way their eyes had met - something had passed between them. But maybe she was imagining it…
She ambled the few steps to her own cabin, her hand finding the cold metal handle despite the blackness of the corridor. So preoccupied was she, that she didn't feel the arm that slipped around her waist and pushed her into the small room until it was too late - another firm hand was laid across her mouth and she was pressed firmly against the closed door.
"Well, well," came the cracked, broken voice of the intruder.
Her eyes strained in the faint light of the cabin - the only illumination from the small lantern that hung from the rafters. The hand on her mouth was callous and rough. The intruder was closer now. His breath stank of stale ale and she grimaced as she tried to compose herself and think. Emma struggled against his restraint, but he was strong and gripped her arms tightly above her head.
"Now what do we 'ave 'ere?" he growled.
Emma's eyes widened as she recognized the coarse tones of Porter. Her stomach clenched in fear. Why was he here? What was happening?
"Now love, I'm goin' t' let go of your mouth. Scream 'nd your dead."
She nodded lightly in response, not for a second thinking he was bluffing.
Porter lowered his hand, quickly pulling a short hilted knife from his jacket and pressing it against her throat.
"What do you want?" she asked quietly, trying to cover the fear in her voice.
"What do I want?" He let out a low, maniacal laugh. "Well, 'ows 'bout you start by tellin' me who you are?"
"Who am I?" she replied, pulling back from the blade which was tugging against her skin, "You know who I am. Are you drunk?"
Her attempt at bravado was rebuffed with a cruel smile and the pressing of forearm against her chest.
"You're as much a lad as I'm a king!"
He knew. How did he know?
Her mind raced.
"Now I know you are drunk," she huffed, turning away her head, desperately trying to think.
Porter leaned closer. His dank, hot breath was moist on her cheek. "Ave seen ya, lassie, wi' the captain on a night. I stood a'side and a 'eard you talkin'. 'E calls you 'Emma'."
Frantically, she scanned the room. He was pressed against her even tighter and she was under no illusion with what he planned to do with this new information.
"You're insane," she hissed in his ear.
"Only one way t' tell."
His face remained an inch from hers as he slowly dragged the dagger down the cotton of her shirt. The material ripped easily and cleanly. He bared his teeth to her - they were stained yellow and brown and some were absent from their positions.
She shivered at the cool air that was now glancing over her skin.
"Look what we 'ave 'ere…" he chuckled, running his thumb over the bandages that crisscrossed her chest, before pinching her flattened breast roughly with his hands. "I think you be lyin,' miss."
The dagger returned to her neck but she refused to look at him.
"So, you bin warming the captain's bed, 'ave you? He's a sneaky bastard that Jones. I thought it were strange, 'im 'avin' a cabin boy and all. Never had one afore."
Emma's breath was shaking. The point of the blade was piercing her skin and she felt a trickle of blood trail down her cheek.
"If you think I am the captain whore, then you are a fool to trifle with me," she bluffed.
He rolled his hips. The hardness in his trousers pressed against her and she felt physically sick.
"It's bin a while since I 'ad a woman, lassie," his hand released hers and tugged down the bandages a little until a breast was exposed. His snail-like tongue slid along his lips as he grabbed her roughly, squeezing her breast and then pulling down the rest of the bandages until she was bare from the waist up, "Such pretty little titties, love, shame to hide 'em."
Her chest ached at his crude touch. A sinking sensation of panic began to engulf her.
She needed to escape.
He bent down to latch onto her breast with his dry lips. She took her chance. Grasping his shoulders, she launched a stiff knee into his groin. Immediately he howled in pain, dropping back a step with a hand pressed between his legs.
"You little bitch," he hissed a second later, slapping her across the face, spinning her to one side and causing her to scream.
She pushed back from the corner of the room and clenched her fist, socking him in the jaw, catching him by surprise and he stumbled back, becoming quickly entangled in the hammock at the other side of the cabin.
Clutching the shreds of her shirt, she grabbed the cutlass she had kept hidden on the high shelf of the room for the past few weeks and held it out to him.
The noise from the next cabin roused him from his thoughts. He had remained frozen in one place since she had left. The feel of her hand in his still lingered on his skin. Her cautious smiles and dancing eyes were seared into his memory.
But it was all pushed aside at the sound of raised voices and a struggle.
Grabbing his sword, he dashed into the corridor. In a few steps, he was at the next cabin and with his fist he hammered on the dark wood.
The door was locked. Using his hip and shoulder, he reared back and forced his way inside. The wood splintered and he landed heavily inside, greeted by the sight of Porter staggering towards him.
"What in God's name-"
"He attacked me," came a voice from the side of the room. He spun his head to see Emma, her shirt in tatters, a short blade held out affront of her.
His eyes widened at the news. A wave of anger hit him - the edges of his vision turned dark and he pointed his sword at the errant crewman.
"Explain yourself," he hissed, advancing so that Porter had to step backwards to avoid the tip of the blade.
"Capin, you know 'ow it is… I got the urge-" he gestured to his hips, "An' then I foun' you were keepin' this lass 'ere… I mean t' say that Jack, is no Jack a' all…"
He gave Killian a small, nervous smile. He felt repulsed at the thought of Emma being touched by the ruffian in front of him. His stomach turned and his face twisted into a snarl.
"You have no right to touch what is not yours."
"And I belong to no one," Emma added, stepping closer and pressing her blade against his throat.
"Come on Captain, be reasonable 'ere. Is she a good fuck? We could share 'er…"
"You are a piece of scum, Porter, you know that?" Killian reached over and pulled him close to him, pressing his sword against the fleshy underside of his chin, forcing him to tilt up his head. "Give me one good reason why I should not end you, here and now?"
Porter's eyes widened in panic. Killian considered letting him go for a moment. Just for a moment.
The blade easily pierced his flesh. With a strangled moan, Porter struggled against the captain's strong grasp, his legs thrashing against the floor as the blood flowed down the steel onto his hand. His eyes bulged, frothy blood began to form at his mouth and Killian twisted the blade, "Please…" he moaned as he slid to his knees before finally collapsing in a heap.
It was silent for a moment. He'd almost forgotten that Emma stood at his side until he heard her gasp. Releasing his blade, he turned to her. She was shaking, her hands clutching her weapon so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
"You killed him-" she whispered, her eyes fixed on the lifeless body as his blood drained away and seeped into the wooden floor.
"Aye," Killian responded.
"But you didn't have to, you could have banished him-"
"Emma," he replied firmly, "He would give you away in an instant. I can protect you against one man - but a whole ship full..." His voice trailed off and a lump formed in his throat. The thought of what could have occurred if Porter had not been subdued - if the other men had found out…
'You killed him for me," she said. It was not a question, but more of a wonder. She loosened her grasp on the cutlass and let it fall to the ground.
"I did."
She seemed so small, so vulnerable as she stood with her arms pressed against her chest. He had an urge to pull her close, kiss her forehead and still her fear.
"You're bleeding," he whispered, his finger pressing against the small wound on her neck, "And your cheek," he added when he noticed the deep, purple bruise that as beginning to form where Porter had hit her.
"I'm fine," she insisted.
"No, you're not," Killian replied - not only talking about her physical wounds. "Come," he insisted, "Go to my cabin. I will have this attended to."
"Yes Captain," Emma nodded, silently slipping past him. He watched her go, the earlier feeling in his chest returning and assaulting him - the fear of her being hurt pressing him closer to some kind of revelation.
She sat on the small stool, waiting for him to return.
She heard the hushed voices of Smee and the captain then the sound of something being dragged. After a short while, the door opened and Captain Jones stepped inside, a small towel and a bowl of water in his hand.
"It is dealt with," he said as he walked to where she sat.
"Smee?"
"His silence was bought with gold. It will be said Porter was caught stealing from the hold. We will make a show of his body in the morning."
The captain smiled tentatively and Emma let out a sigh of relief. "Come now, let's tend to your wounds."
"It is really not necessary," Emma blushed as he sat beside her, dipping the cloth into the bowl.
"I insist," he whispered.
Emma held her breath as he brought the cool, damp cloth to the trickle of blood that lined her throat. Soft little strokes pressed against her skin. He leaned closer, nudging the lantern on his desk to afford him more light.
His touch was tender. Her eyelids had been tightly closed, but she let them open for a second only to be assaulted by his own blue eyes looking up at her.
"I suppose I should say thank you," she said, averting her gaze from his, feeling hot and uncomfortable under his gaze.
"No need," he replied as he placed the cloth back in the bowl before squeezing out the water that had been tainted a pinkish hue by the blood. "I told you, I'm a gentleman before all else."
The captain took hold of her chin. His hand was cold and he tilted her head so that the bruising on her cheek was lit by the lamp.
"Then I thank you for being a gentleman. But I must reason that I was dealing with my attacker quite well before you attended me."
Laughing in response, he sighed lightly, "I suppose you were, lass."
Gently he pressed the cloth against her cheek. The cold water instantly soothed the burn where Porter's hand had struck her. Emma moaned a little in satisfaction and pressed her cheek against the compress.
"I can take care of myself," she muttered, to herself, to him - she wasn't sure.
"Yes, yes you can…"
Something made her open her eyes again. It was an urge, a feeling she had never encountered before. Her skin felt warm and her chest light. The fingers that grasped at her shirt loosened and her shoulders rolled back a little.
Such a peculiar feeling.
His head was tilted to one side. With his palm, he held the compress against her cheek.
"Emma…"
"Yes?"
Closer he moved, the cloth falling from his hand into her lap. His thumb traced the edge of her jaw and his fingers threaded into the hair behind her ear. The sensation of his fingers touching the skin of her scalp sent her breathing into a shudder.
Still he gazed into her eyes. Still he seemed to be searching for something. She was scared - frozen into place but the hesitant excitement of what may come next made her part her lips.
With his hooked arm swung around her waist, he pulled her closer till she was sitting between his knees.
"Emma…" he repeated, and how she longed for him to move that extra inch - to place those soft pink lips against her own. It was as if she had never wanted anything greater than she wanted this in that moment. That in order for her to continue to breathe he must hold her, own her-
The kiss was tentative. He pressed his mouth against hers so gently she could barely feel it at first. arching her back, she kissed him back, cautiously at first - soft moist lips meeting each other in a meandering dance. Then the fire in her belly began to roar to life. His hand slipped to the back of her head and she sank forward until she was almost in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and running her tongue along the seam of his lips.
Inside her body was awhirl. She knew not what she was doing, only that she didn't want it to end. So that she grasped his shirt between her palms and held tight, as if should she let go the moment would not be real.
She had never been kissed like this. Nor, had she ever returned a man's touch with such zeal, such fervor…
When he broke away, she instantly mourned the loss, tumbling back to her stool with a start.
"I am sorry, I shouldn't have, I was carried away by the intimacy of this setting, I took advantage of you-"
What? she thought. Shame flooded her. It was a mistake to him. He hadn't meant to touch her. Clearly he did not feel the same way. His passions merely arisen by the blood he had drawn that night-
She blushed deeply, the shade as red as the crimson flag of the Jolly Roger. "I should go…" she whispered.
"I insist you stay,"he said, standing quickly and straightening his shirt, "Your cabin needs tending to and I have - matters to attend to."He gave her a curt bow and dashed from the room.
The world was spinning. Emma let her body slip to the floor, hoping it would provide some respite, but it was of little help. Instead the memories of all the evening's events hit her at once an overwhelmed, she fell into unconsciousness.
On deck, the wind was strong and the untethered ropes whipped against the sails. In the distant horizon he could make out land.
Killian walked over to the main mast, checking the fixings and running his palm over the cylindrical tower of wood. He stretched his palm as wide as he could against the mast and dug his hook into its other side before pressing his forehead against it - trying to will away the feelings that were stirring within him.
It could not be. He had sworn a life of solitude. Any other way brought pain and misery in the end.
He pushed harder, the groves of the wood pressing into his skin, the pain taking away a little of the ache inside him.
Turning his head, he looked up at the sky and cursed whatever nameless god had turned the hand of fate this way - that had crossed his path with that of this woman.
He was scared of himself.
Watching the brief clouds turn over his head, he resolved to quit the acquaintance and avoid her.
Any other way and he feared he would be in grave danger of recanting his vow.
A/N Your reviews and feedback are wonderful and inspiring. Thank you for all your support with this fic.