Chapter Ten: Sabotage and Swords
"Bloody hell!"
He surveyed it again.
"How the hell did it happen?"
Smee shook his head, "We don't know, Captain."
Killian thrust the cup under Smee's nose, the liquid inside sloshing almost over the sides, "Near half the water goes stagnant almost overnight and you don't know how?"
Smee shrugged helplessly, "Perhaps the casks were sealed improperly after they were refilled?"
It was the most likely explanation but Killian felt like something was off. One or two was understandable, but half? He made a face at the brackish water in the cup. It was completely unusable, and worse, the casks themselves would have to be replaced, since he couldn't be sure if they were contaminated or safe. They wouldn't be able to stop and refill at the closest water source, they would have to make port.
He shoved the cup aside as he stood up, grabbing a map and unrolling it across his desk. He held down the edges with his hands, running his eyes over the lines of longitude and latitude.
"Where are we?" he asked, too angry to focus properly.
"Here sir," Smee said, pointing.
Killian poured over the nearest shoreline to their position, calculating distances. None of the options were especially desirable, but he finally decided on one.
"We'll go here," he said, marking the parchment, "Assuming the remaining stores are safe, we have enough to get us there. But I want the hold guarded from now on. See to it."
"Aye, Captain," Smee replied.
When his first mate left, Killian stared down at the cup of water, rubbing his hand over his jaw. He didn't like this one bit. If the casks had been improperly sealed, then someone on his crew had been derelict in his duties and needed to be punished. If they hadn't, the only other thing he could think of was deliberate sabotage, but who and why was beyond him. He would have to keep a sharp eye on the crew.
He hadn't wanted to make another stop, taking the Jolly into port was risky with the princess on board. Contraband would be overlooked with a little bribery, but the princess was not undocumented wine or an untaxed bolt of cloth. If she was discovered, she would be taken from him. But he had no other choice, they couldn't risk running out of water.
Killian slammed his fist down on the desk and sat down heavily in his chair. New water casks wouldn't come cheap, and Parks would pitch a fit over the cost. The purser was a tight-fisted bastard who watched over the Jolly's expenses like a hawk. Parks was still annoyed that they hadn't turned a profit on their take from the king's ship, the small amount of silver not coming anywhere near the cost of the gunpowder they had used during the fight. There was nothing else that could be done, but Killian wasn't looking forward to that conversation.
His fingers drummed on the map, over the port he had marked. More delays. He had expected that they would have reached Princess Emma's home days ago, but the storm and the appearance of the king's ship had thrown his plans right out the window. Then there was the princess herself. Truth be told, he had taken the longer route to her kingdom so he could have more time in her company before he returned her to her parents. He didn't expect he would ever see her again after that, pirates didn't appear at court, after all, and princesses didn't visit taverns on the docks. She'd go back to her life, and he'd go back to his, and maybe one day he'd hear the news that she had accepted a suitor and married some wealthy prince or duke.
He doubted she'd ever think of him again after she left his ship. The pirate who had held her captive, why would she want to remember him? Killian knew though that he'd never forget her. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out the withered remains of a purple flower, the one that had been tucked behind her ear when she'd tugged his head down to hers and shocked him with her kiss. The petals were turning to dust, but he'd always carry the memory of Princess Emma with him.
...
On the deck, he cast a wary eye over his crew, picking out the most likely candidates. If the casks had been deliberately sabotaged, he would find the culprit and feed him to the sharks.
"Fergus!" he called as he strolled down the length of his ship, his shoulders tight with tension, imagining guilt on every face he passed.
The blond head appeared, "Aye, Captain?"
"Fetch the practice swords, it's high time you had another lesson."
The cabin boy rushed off to get them, excitement written all over his face. Killian had been teaching Fergus how to use a sword ever since he had taken him aboard. He hadn't made time for a lesson in while, but a bit of activity was just what he needed to clear his head, otherwise he'd start interrogating men at random. The questions would come, but he wanted time to sharpen his knives first.
The crew cleared a space on the deck, those who weren't on duty staying to watch. Killian hefted the practice sword in his hand. It was a smallsword, lightweight, designed for quick thrusts and finesse, unlike the heavier, clumsier cutlasses. The blade had been blunted, but aside from that, it was a real weapon. It wouldn't slice through a limb, but it could still do damage.
"Stance," he said, watching Fergus shift his weight, "On your back foot a little more. Good."
Killian fell into his own fighting stance, shoulders down, elbows relaxed. Fergus raised his sword, ready for his first move.
"And, go!"
The swords met in the air with a sharp clang. Fergus attempted a feint, turning to the left and then striking on the right, but Killian saw it coming and easily blocked the move. They broke apart and backed up.
"Next time don't drop so low," he instructed, "Try again."
The lad was definitely improving. Killian coached him through several moves, correcting his form and demonstrating the proper technique.
"Now, a full on spar. Try to disarm me."
Fergus took a breath and lunged. Killian met his strike, and the boy recovered nicely. He could hear the crew shouting encouragement, applauding when Fergus managed to get close. Killian fought defensively, not attempting to push back, letting his young pupil try out his skills.
Princess Emma was among the spectators, sitting on a crate and cheering Fergus on. The tips of his ears went pink every time she called out, and Killian hid his amusement. But when he looked over at her, leaving himself open and vulnerable, Killian knocked the sword from his hand and tapped him on the head with the flat of his blade.
"Pay attention to your opponent, lad, not to your audience."
"Sorry, Captain," Fergus wheezed, leaning over and bracing his hands on his thighs.
Killian clapped him on the shoulder, "You're getting better, but remember, do not get distracted."
He leaned down and spoke in the boy's ear, "No matter how lovely the distraction might be."
Fergus flushed with more than exertion, and when the princess greeted him with praise, calling him the equal to any knight in her kingdom, his embarrassed delight at the words made Killian grin.
"Anyone care to challenge the captain?" he asked, sword resting on his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at his men, turning in a circle and waiting to see if anyone would try their luck against him.
Keswick stepped forward and picked up the other sword.
"I'll take a swing."
His second mate was a fair swordsman, and Killian relished the challenge. They circled each other, jabbing, slashing, the harsh sound of metal crashing together echoing across the deck. He could hear wagers being placed, bets on whether blood would be drawn. Sweat started to trickle down his back and Keswick was grunting with each new move, barely managing to block a few of Killian's strikes.
Keswick went high, his blade swinging through the air. Killian pivoted quickly on his back foot and went low, sweeping Keswick's legs out from under him. His opponent fell to the deck and Killian stood over him, the point of his sword aimed at his heart. He smiled and lowered his weapon, extending his hand. Keswick grasped it, and Killian helped him stand.
"Good show, mate."
Keswick gave a mock bow, "Your victory, Captain."
"Anyone else?" Killian called, twirling his blade in his hand with an elaborate flourish. He met Doyle's eyes, but the carpenter put up his hands in surrender.
"I'm no hand with a sword, Captain, give me a hammer instead any day of the week."
Killian laughed and looked around, "No one else?"
He looked at Wilkinson, who took a step back, eyes averted. McIntyre held up his bandaged wrist, still encased in a split, and shrugged.
"Seems there are no more men among my crew then."
He turned to the princess, "Do you have any experience with a blade, Your Highness?"
"My father is one of the finest swordsman in the kingdom. He has taught me some of what he knows."
Killian raised an eyebrow, "Care to demonstrate?"
As she had done from the moment he clapped eyes on her, Princess Emma didn't back down from him. She stood up and took the sword Keswick held out, his eyebrows practically touching his hair. Clearly the second mate hadn't expected her to accept. From the way she held it, she clearly hadn't been lying, she'd had some instruction. How much remained to be seen.
Killian backed up, twirling his sword around his wrist again, "First to disarm wins."
She hefted the blade, finding the balance point, "I take it I shall owe you a forfeit if you are victorious?"
"And I shall give you another prize if you are," he said. She still hadn't asked for her first prize from their card game, although she obviously wanted something. He would ask her again when they were alone.
The princess raised the sword in a formal challenge, "Agreed."
They squared off. Killian waited for her to make the first move. When she did, it was a quick slash that he retreated from, his blade crossing hers. He held himself in check at first, letting her come at him so he could gain some measure of her skill. She had speed, which was unsurprising, he remembered her mad dash across the deck of her ship when she had threatened to jump. She didn't have the force of a man, but her eye was reasonably accurate, aiming for all his weak points.
Killian countered her attempt at his left side, "Good form!" he said.
The crew had a whole new set of bets going, and Fergus was cheering for the princess, the traitor. Killian started to fight back, careful not to actually strike her. Her defence wasn't as good, she started to lose ground under his blows. He smiled, knowing he was going to win. When the opportunity came and she missed her target, the blade slicing past him and pointed down at the deck, he used his sword to hold it down, quickly grasping her wrist and pulling her flush against him, her back to his front. He wrapped his left arm around her waist as the sword dropped out of her hand and he raised his blade, holding it across her neck but not actually touching her. Blunted edge or not, he wouldn't risk nicking her.
"It seems you have won," she said.
Killian lowered his sword and used his arm to turn her towards him.
"You have been taught well. The victory was not effortless."
Princess Emma smiled, "I will tell my father you said that. He shall be pleased that those many frustrating hours attempting to teach me did not go to waste."
He rather doubted that her father, the king, would be pleased to hear his daughter had crossed swords with a pirate. But he kept his mouth shut as the crew drifted around them, money changing hands as the wagers were settled. Fergus collected the swords, extracting a promise from him that they would have another lesson soon, and the princess handed the boy a ribbon from her hair.
"A token for my newest knight, to carry with you during your next joust."
The ribbon disappeared into Fergus's pocket and he stammered out, "Thank you, Princess."
"He's got his head in the clouds over you," Killian said when the lad was gone, "He'd follow you right off the ship."
"He'd make a fine knight one day," she replied, turning to look at him, "if he wasn't already a pirate."
..
When they sat down to dinner in his quarters, he poured her a shot of rum.
"A drink to a hard earned victory."
"I doubt it was that difficult for you to win," she said, toying with the glass. He downed his drink and looked pointedly at hers. She took a sip and made a face. Despite his best efforts, she still wasn't fond of the stuff.
Killian sprawled out in his chair, glass dangling from his finger, "So your father is a warrior king."
"Well," she said, managing another sip, "He has fought battles. In fact, he rescued my mother from enemy knights not long after they first met."
Killian drank another shot, "Saved the damsel in distress, did he?"
"Something like that. But then she saved him from a group of trolls not long after."
He wasn't familiar with the rituals of royal courtship, but he didn't think it normally involved so many rescues. Enemy knights? Trolls?
The princess went on, the candlelight dancing across her face as she spoke, "They wanted me to learn their weapons. My mother's is the bow, but I'm afraid I have no aptitude for it despite her best efforts. I did a little better with the sword."
"You have fine speed, but your defense is weak."
She frowned, "My father says the same thing. I don't think I'll ever handle a sword the way he can."
He didn't like the unhappy note in her voice, "There are other weapons."
"Like a rock."
Killian shrugged, "Whatever works in a pinch. A rock. A threat to throw yourself off a ship and drown, even though you can secretly swim."
She dropped her head at the reminder, her cheeks going pink, "That hardly took skill."
"But it was a weapon none the less, and you wielded it expertly," he said and reached across the table to grasp her hand, "Perhaps you won't master the sword or the bow, but you find what you can and you use it. I've seen you do it, Princess, and trust me, there's plenty who can't."
She seemed pleased with his words, lips curled in a half smile and lashes lowered against her cheeks. He felt his own smile break across his face.
"Now, shall we eat?" he said, snapping the napkin open and draping it over his lap.
After the meal she read from her book while he sat at his desk and poured over his map again, the mystery of the water casks pulling at the back of his mind. What was to be gained by sabotaging the ship's water supply? An attempt to sicken them? But it was obvious that the water was no good, no one would be fool enough to drink it. All it had accomplished was to force another delay and cut into their profits, which affected everyone on the ship. He pressed his hand against his forehead. Everyone was a bloody suspect, save three people, himself, the princess, and Fergus. He knew he hadn't done it, the princess never had the opportunity to do it, and Fergus was Fergus.
"What's wrong?"
Killian looked up and saw Princess Emma standing over him, head tilted in concern. He sighed, "This may surprise you, but pirates are not the most trustworthy of men."
Her voice was dry, "I had no idea, Captain."
He was sure he was in for a sleepless night trying to work it out anyway so he pushed the thoughts away and focused on her instead. He pulled her into his lap, making her eyes go wide with surprise as she grabbed his shoulders to balance herself. Killian brushed his thumb over her lips.
"I do believe that you owe me a forfeit, Princess."
Not giving her a chance to respond he claimed her mouth, pulling her tight against him. The princess gasped, and he pushed past her lips, hungry to taste everything he could. Killian ran his hand through her hair, pulling the ribbons out and letting the silky curtain fall loose around them. He raked his fingers through the strands, grabbing handfuls and no doubt making a wild tangle of her curls. Her tongue started to dance with his and he smiled against her lips.
His other hand was pressed against the curve of her hip, keeping her firmly planted on his legs. The weight of her body anchored him to the chair, as hot and pulsing need rose in him and he couldn't remember ever wanting a woman as badly as he wanted her.
Pulling away from the sweet perfection of her mouth, he trailed kisses along the line of her jaw and down her neck, his breath hot as he traced patterns on her skin, the softest he had ever felt. Everything about her was so delicate, a sharp contrast to the steel core she had hidden within. It was driving him mad, he wanted to cherish that softness and he wanted to test that strength. Killian sucked and licked at her neck, knowing he was leaving marks on the fragile skin but not caring one whit. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart, beating like butterfly's wings against his chest, through the layers of his shirt and vest, and heard her heaving breaths in his ear, her hands locked over his shoulders.
He imagined sweeping the desk clean and laying her down, stripping off the ill-fitting clothes and running his tongue down the valley between her breasts while he freed himself from his trousers. He'd push her legs apart and they'd wrap snug over his hips as he lay between them and took exactly what he wanted. For years he had taken everything and anything he wanted and not thought twice about it. She had to feel his need, she had to know that he wanted so much more than a kiss.
Princess Emma pulled back, almost falling to the floor in her haste to get away from him.
"Captain," she said, and the fear in her voice made his heart stop.
He threw his head back and closed his eyes. He had made her afraid of him again and he cursed himself for it, "I'm sorry," he choked out.
For a long moment there was nothing but silence, and then he felt her hands on his chest. Killian opened his eyes and she was looking at him. Her lips were swollen, her hair tumbled over her shoulder, she was more beautiful than any siren of the sea, and he would do anything she asked, give her anything she wanted.
'I think it's time I retired for the night," she said.
He closed his eyes again, feeling his hands twitch with the temptation to retire her right into his bed, "As you wish, Your Highness."
Killian saw her to the brig, relieved that she didn't shy away from his hand on her waist. She stepped into the cell and he locked the door behind her. He could see his love bites dark on her neck and he felt a flash of long-forgotten shame even as he wanted to mark her more, to cover all of that fine white skin with his mouth and hands and body. Her hand touched the marks and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.
"Good night, Princess."
His voice was hoarse.
"Good night, Captain."
Hers was unsteady.
When he collapsed into his empty bed, still hard and straining for her, the feel of her under his fingers and the taste of her in his mouth. For years he'd had anything he wanted.
Now he wanted the one thing he could never have.