Woo! Made it within promised posting period . Hope you enjoy!
By the way, because of you guys, my story has managed to reach 60 followers and 45 favorites! That is freakin' amazing in my eyes so thank you so much for all of the support! I imagined that it would never reach beyond 10, let alone to what it's become. Thanks so much! ^^
Making Headway
Davenport Bay: March 1774
A week would pass.
The bay teemed with activity. Below the rocky faces of the cliffs and across the murky shallows of the inlet, lay a community of laborers who toiled under a cloudless sky. Whether it was slinging hammers from crates upon the trampled soil or driving nails into boards upon the withered brig, these men would bring great advance to the project at hand. Seldom were breaks taken and superfluous was the sweat that moistened their backs. All set their focus to their given objective, yet one strived to go beyond.
Emma placed a barrel down. Wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve, she would pause her work and glance around with strained eyes. The spring day was warm, with the exception of the oncoming cool ocean breeze. She felt the moisture gather beneath her clothes, and thanked the wind for it's continuous approach. Looking around from her stead upon the beach, she would note the fluttering branches of the surrounding pines, the waves that nearly kissed her boots, and of all of the men who worked around her. It was no lie that efficiency found it's place here, and she was glad to be partake in it.
She had come to believe that her work was exceptional. She had purposely made it so, considering the poignant approval she would have to meet of her future captain. If it was lack of strength and burden of proof for her capabilities, then it would such to be improved. She arose early every morning back at the Homestead, and walked alone to the bay following the tree-shrouded trail. Arriving earlier than expected, she would then be found doing her work with vigor; lifting crates, organizing piles, and carrying heavy tools. She was adamant in working alone, declining the occasional offer of help, just so to exercise her capability. Time would prove that she would not be disappointed in her progressing condition, as she would indeed grow stronger and even more efficient.
Such a state of hers was in advance that others took notice. Men around her working took second glances and even Faulkner nodded in approval, though infrequent as his observations were. Those kind of moments brought a natural uneasiness to Emma, as she dreaded being watched while she worked. However a certain satisfaction would also fill her, as she could see that her hard work was proving to be something in the likes of surprising, if not respectable.
In the moments when her grey eyes wandered onto the scene around her, Emma would find a familiar face looking in her direction. From atop the decks of the Aquila, which rested about 50 yards away, Connor stood heaving boards and tying ropes with the other men. Amidst drops of sweat and in the gasps of his arduous work, he often sent watchful amber eyes to the shore, where he caught glimpses of a familiar navy coat and dark boots working busily upon the sand. Frequently would he do this, and perhaps excessively, to the point in which his own sight would meet those ashen eyes. In these moments of injured obscurity, the native would merely turn his head away stiffly, pretending to conceal his thieving glances. Upon Emma's face a grin was to be had, as she realized that the concern that those white robes and tan face had for her was far from fleeting despite their appointed separation. Nevertheless, as often and not-so-secret as those exchanged and sly glances were to each other, the both of them focused on the art of their newfound trades, and would learn them effectively.
A day would come in which Emma could feel yet another set of eyes upon her. However, this set was strange, being unfamiliar and resting a few yards ahead. The weight of them grew heavy, and she knew that they stared at her longer than they should have. She looked up from her work and found them upon a grey-scruff covered face. The man was thin in frame, leaning against a set of barrels while sitting down in a pair of striped pants, which covered one wooden leg. He wore a buff colored vest and green sleeves beneath, and upon his head, which his hands cradled with lax arms, sat a loosely fitted red plaid cap.
Emma couldn't take any more. Whether it was out of fear, suspicion, or annoyance, she decided to end this dislikable behavior once and for all. If anything, this man needed a lesson on manners, and she was eager to correct him. She would soon secure the barrel she lowered, leave it and march over to the man's idle position before the dock, and stand before him with folded arms.
"Can I help you with something?"
The man merely blinked at her. "Hm?"
"Can I help you?" she urged with annoyance. "You've been staring at me for days now, and I can't help but think
you're trying to get my attention."
"Ha!" he laughed sneeringly. "Missy, if I wanted your attention, you would certainly know."
"Then why all the staring?" she disliked his demeaning tone. "Don't like a woman here?"
"Pfft," he looked to her incredulously. "Don't like a- miss, all of us here are begging for women to be here. You think this stenchy lot likes to remain with it's own kind?"
Emma arched a brow before looking to some men around her.
"No is the answer to that question," the man took his arms from behind his head and folded them across his chest. "But I will say that it is strange seeing a woman work as you have, -er not in general life but in this uh..field of expertise. You've done more than most here."
She rolled her eyes. "That's great. So now that you've noted that, will you quit eyeballing me and let me work?"
"Hey," he looked up in offense. "I meant no harm, missy. Just observing the scene is all."
"You look pretty comfortable too," she poked at him. "Have something better to do than sit all day as you've done?"
"Now now," he shook his head in defense. "Maybe if you'd observe more closely you'd conclude a thing or two about me."
She cocked her head in confusion.
"I've got a dead leg," he tapped the peg against the barrels. "Can't do much with that."
"Right," Emma looked down to it. "Well then, make the parts of you that do work a little more useful and keep your eyes off!"
"A bit of a hot one are you?" he leaned back amusingly. "Name's Peg Leg."
"I don't need your name!" she scoffed. "I need you to keep your eyes to yourself."
"Yes, that's all fine, but I'd like to know who you are before we play our game."
"Game?" she looked quizzically. "What game?!"
"I've been waiting for a worthy opponent." He said gleefully. "Watching you these past days, tells me you've
got a knack for puzzles?"
"What?"
"Strategy? Planning? Formation?" He grew animate. "Someone of that sort is worth playing. Everyone else here is as
dull as the nails they drive in. Come, take a seat."
Emma dropped her jaw. "But-"
"You've done enough," he waved at her station. "I know Robert and he will understand. Besides, I have some prizes you might be interested in."
At that instance Peg Leg whipped out a bundle of papers. Upon the face of the top one, lay out a scene of what looked like a map. At it's similarity to the one she sought to take from the Manor many weeks ago, Emma stared at it in awe with a silent and tilted head.
"Tell me," he said alluringly. "You ever hear of Captain Kidd?"
Emma was instantly hooked. As the scraggly man continued to speak, she transported herself to the days before she was brought to the Homestead; a time when her father had taken her underground to show her a cache of smuggled goods he and his friends had taken for nearly two decades. He had notified her of the various pits and hoards that lay along the shore of the continent, some empty and others filled with goods and treasures from sailors and smugglers past. He also told her of how they were a part of that tradition, and along with that longed to seek maps. These obscure and scattered documents revealed some of these hidden places, including those that her father had used. If they should fall in the authorities' hands, the secret would be revealed and her family would be charged.
"I will play." She accepted his deal readily. "For those papers."
Connor felt the breeze caress around him. He was standing before the great wheel of the ship, presiding as superior officer of the day's work. He looked observantly upon the deck before him, noting the various strain-induced shouts that filled the air and busy hands that calloused by the touch of raw materials. The tail of his robe and the fringes on his uniform fluttered behind him as he gripped the spires readily, and he would yet again shift wandering eyes towards the shore.
Emma was to be found again, and this time in a peculiar stance. Starting from a look of curiosity, the native would arch a brow in light of the strange scene of the girl, which composed something of herself sitting before a table with Peg Leg at the edge of the dock. His full attention was grasped now, and he turned fully towards her. Squinting, he could make out that she and her table partner were occupied with something between them, perhaps a board. Even more astonishing was the fact that a group of men had collected around them, observing attentively of the activity before them.
"Whatcha lookin' for?"
Connor snapped out of his trance at the rough voice. "Apologies, captain." he looked to him. "I was trying to discern the event upon the shore."
Faulkner took a place besides the native and looked on in the same direction. "Is that Maywood I see?"
Connor debated giving her away. "Uh, yes sir."
The aged seaman continued to stare ahead. He would cast squinted eyes before reaching into his pocket. A small brass spying glass came forth, and he would place it to his eyes.
"Argh!" he cried aloud with a smile. "That wry bastard got her."
Connor shot a look of alarm. "Who?"
"That peg-legged fool," Faulkner collapsed the extended scope. "Caught her in his trap of games."
Connor remembered the strange character. He had met him weeks ago and too became indebted to his deal of collecting maps and trinkets. "She is..obliged to him now?"
"More than likely," Faulkner continued to look out. "But never to worry; despite whatever errands he has her do, she ultimately belongs in my service and I can see over of what she does."
Connor looked on silently.
"She's done remarkably well, you know," the captain turned around and leaned his back against the railing. "It turns out that she would prove me wrong, and I have considered her further employment to me."
The native sent a brief glance to him.
"I'm thinking of letting her aboard," he announced contently. "What do you think of that?"
Connor swallowed and looked steadily to him. "Your orders are my command."
"Bah! Hogwash!" the captain dismissed with a wave. "What do you really think? She's the one I met the other night, back at the-eh, tavern?"
Connor looked back to the shore in irritation. "..Yes sir."
"What, you hold no emotion?"
"I hold no opinions," he corrected acutely. "These are professional relations."
"Aye," the captain went up to his subordinate and studied with a look of amusement. "They are. And if you should feel that is the case, then you should have no problem retrieving her."
He shot urgent eyes.
"Go get her," Faulkner delighted in a mischievous smile. "Bring her here and we can start your new assignment."
Emma invested much time in these newfound activities. For many non-continuous hours, she would play games with the man that had the peg leg, ranging from Nine Men's Norris to checkers and even to chess. She worked as she normally would, but stowed away in brief periods of the day and played. To Peg Leg's surprise and certainly her own, she won more often than what was thought, and she would have a healthy collection of maps at her disposal.
Feeling that she was tightening her family's security, she accepted each prize with an immodest grin. The disgruntled man often swore aloud at his being outsmarted, but didnt fail to educate Emma on the stories in which surrounded these documents and the places they led to. For that, Emma found insatiable gratitude for the sake of further protecting family motives. When she would return, her father would be proud, whenever that would be.
"Why the troubled look, Peg?" she would tease as she collected yet another map. "You seem so bothered."
He looked unamused. "I'm pissed."
She laughed. "Good, that's good."
"Speak for yern'," he leaned back with a heavy sigh. "I'm running out of maps."
"I'm not!" she milked with a sing-song. "And I thank you kindly."
"Oh shut it," he spat anger to her. "Luck will find favor with me again soon."
Footsteps were coming in the distance. Emma held tightly the papers in her hands, paying no particular heed to them. She would wrap the maps together into a fold, and continue to secure them in a pocket located inside her coat. Then she would send eyes back to the board before her, relishing in her victories.
Those footsteps came even closer. At their urgent and heavy approach, Emma could hear them grow louder. Peg Leg paid no mind but the surrounding men did. They would quickly drift away, dispersing among themselves until they wandered anxiously back to their original tasks and positions. As Emma would finish observing this, the footsteps would stop.
She looked to her right and found Connor there. He stood before them now with arms to the side of his robes and looking at her with a weighty expression. When she sought his eyes upon her, a feeling of queasiness pervaded her, and she grew nervous of being so near. Even more so would anxiety come along as she was caught doing something unrelated to her work.
"Eagle boy!" Peg Leg looked up with folded arms. "Come to give me my treasures?"
Connor gave a narrow and annoyed glance before turning to face Emma again. "You are to follow me."
She blinked at his request. "What? Now?"
"Yes," he affirmed. "The captain wishes to speak to you."
Emma swallowed at the news. She immediately thought of the worst possible scenario that could befall her, and that would be punishment for her "negligence."
"Okay," she looked down with uneasiness. "I'll go."
Silently the two would walk across the dock. Connor kept his eyes forward, never once turning back to glance or speak to her. Emma looked onto him curiously, as to trying to detect the mood which had claimed him. Even more so did she ponder the captain's fate for her, thinking it likely that she was in trouble and that yet another consequence was to be paid. Overall, unhappy feelings occupied her mind as they walked along, and she dreaded the journey's end.
Soon she realized that they were coming upon the ramp. Her feet hesitated before it, remembering what the captain had said about her going aboard. Connor walked continuously along, and for that she felt obligated to go as well.
Before long she found herself nearing the main deck. As she followed along, she subconsciencely came to a halt, and she allowed her eyes to wander beneath her tricorn hat. The ship had come into major repairing since she last stood upon it. Masts were completely upright, holes in the floors were filled, and woodwork was being restored. She took in the awe of the splendor that was returning to the ailing ship, and she would hold her breath.
"Do you like it, miss?"
Emma jumped at the abrupt voice. She gasped sharply before straightening herself before the source. "I love it, sir," she breathed out honestly. "She's beautiful."
"Aye, that's the spirit," Faulkner walked up to her with a smile. "The boy could learn a thing or two from ye,"
Connor sniffed aloud beside him.
"Anyways, if you would pardon me from your er..occupation," the captain nodded towards the shore. "I thought I would welcome you aboard, and allow you to continue your work henceforth."
Emma blinked in utter surprise at him. "I'm not being punished?"
The captain chortled. "For your work, miss? From what I understand, you've done well, yes?"
Emma briefly looked to Connor before nodding to Faulkner.
"You shall be rewarded. Keep up the efficiency, the punctuality, the improvement, and I will let you stay aboard."
"Thank you sir," Emma bore the origins of a grin. "I wholly appreciate it."
"I thought you would." the captain returned politely. "and you should. I am a superstitious man, miss. Uncommon it is for me to let a woman aboard; I mean no personal offence."
Emma shrugged her shoulders. "I find none."
"Good," Faulkner turned back to the native. "This lad is your superior now, as he is first mate. He is managing the workings on here, and he will direct you on what to do. Follow his orders and all should be set."
"I understand, sir."
With that, the captain departed. Connor and Emma were left alone once again near the railing of the ship's center. Men hurried past them, their focus bent on the work at hand. The breeze continued to encircle between them, and carry the sounds of tools pounding and men shouting into the air. They looked to each other silently, both sheepish beneath their gathered expressions.
"We are currently working towards establishing the gun deck." Connor announced suddenly. "Some slots are in need of repair on the east side, while the west is taken care of."
Emma blinked at his immediate focus. Seeing the seriousness he invested in his role, she decided to save an impending sarcastic greeting.
He would continue. "When that task is complete, then we will be ready to lower the cannon and munition." He looked beyond her. "But in the mean time, I need you to meet with the men standing before the mizzenmast on the quarter deck over there by the watercasks. Then you shall descend below to assist with the restoration."
"I unders-" Emma stopped her words. She then turned around and followed to where he was looking. After studying the area, she looked back to him with a qualm-ridden expression. "The quarter deck, you say?"
Connor nodded. "Yes," he exchanged the puzzled look. "The men over there."
The corners of Emma's mouth began to split. "Before the mizzenmast, next to the er..watercasks?"
"Yes," he affirmed with an air of confusion. "I just told you."
Emma looked back to the supposed objects before turning back with a giggle.
"What is it?" he asked defensively.
"That's not," she placed a hand over her lips to mute her expression. "That's the poop deck, not the quarter. That one would be behind you."
He furrowed his brows.
"And um," she would stand next to him and point to the mast he was speaking of. "That mast there, is the foremast. Again behind you is the real main mast. As for a mizzenmast, there is none since there's only two. And as for those watercasks," she grinned sympathetically. "They're just barrels."
Connor would turn and give her a blank expression. Being at a loss for words, he studied the area before him momentarily and contemplated his error. Then he would clear his throat.
"Thank you," he said quietly through his breath.
"Remember that I know more than you," she looked up with a sly grin. "You're new to this and so is your lingo. If you need help with sorting out the pieces of the ship, I can be of assistance."
Connor turned away and glanced over the whole of the deck before him. Emma could see the embarrassment brew within.
"I will be fine," he declared while still looking ahead. "Attend to your station, please."
As he walked off, Emma cast glinted eyes upon him. She had hoped that their meeting would be more ceremonious, if not warmer. However, she could see that the two of them were in a professional workplace, and he was given an important role to uphold. Social play wasn't the luxury he could afford at the moment, and she knew that. Therefore she accepted the tone of the day by exhaling deeply. Then she shook her head and walked over to the men before her.
The day would pass along.
Emma indeed worked a majority of it below deck. In the dusty and dark space, she found herself tearing out old boards, collecting bent nails, and replacing the each of them. As she worked, the air was stuffy and polluted with the stench of overworked bodies. It was not an atmosphere foreign to her, as she grew up with it, but being away for as long as she did would bring a pungent reminder. Nonetheless, she enjoyed simply being aboard.
As hours passed, Emma found that she would be traded off to several stations with many groups of men. In brief declarations, Connor would come up to her and assign her new roles, ranging from delivering tools, rolling barrels between decks, and even replacing railings. She focused hard on her work, and invested much time. Whether Connor approved of her work or not, she couldn't make out the opinion beneath that stern nose and mouth, but he never corrected her or reassigned her mid-task. For that, she was grateful.
If she was assigned to a place near him, she was always eager to extend an ear. She tried to overhear the instructions and orders he gave, and await for flawed vocabulary. To her sick delight, she would find it so, and bear a smile to herself. She placed down whatever tool she had and looked to the crowd he would be speaking to. All of the men had uncertain looks upon their faces, and dared not to speak against their superior. They merely went along with it, but Emma couldn't. She would walk casually towards Connor, keep her head low while pretending to take her task elsewhere.
"Our objective for these next few days is to secure he sails for the front end." he called out. "The spritsail is in need to be secured to the ballast-"
*cough* "bowsprit."
Connor glanced toward the stranger, who had a familiar coat. He then noted his mistake and looked back to the men. "Ahem. Bowsprit. Additionally, we must align the rigging from the waist to the-"
*wheeze* "yardarm."
Without acknowledging her this time, Connor would swallow his words and blink over his men. He then contemplated for a few moments in silence, well realizing of Emma's sneaking presence and prying ears. A bothered glance would gather towards her in the corner of his eyes.
"Yardarm," he corrected aloud. "I meant the yardarm."
Once corrected, Emma would quietly scurry away. A devious grin danced on her lips, and she dared not meet his eyes in contact. She could tell that he looked after her when she departed him though, as she could feel the strain of agitation and diffidence fix well upon her. All the while, she carried on, allowing him to seethe in his ignorance as she continued finishing her work.
Before this day ended however, Emma decided to press on his torture further. She would purposely do her work as near to Connor as possible, just to hear him speak. Nearly every time he did, he got something wrong, and she was attentive to waltzing right over to him and discreetly correcting him. These first few occasions truly pestered him, as it demeaned his superiority over everyone. Emma taunted him with evil grins and playful eyes as she did so, knowing that he couldn't call her out before the workers. When they went off to do what they were told to, Connor often sent flaming eyes to her, forcing himself to contain the urge to grab onto her and allow himself revenge. But there were also times when Emma swore she caught sight of a smirk from him, and couldn't help but believe that he had enjoyed it. Maybe just a little.
When dusk fell, Emma made sure she left alone. She walked home before Connor did, believing that if they had left together he would certainly act on the flippant rage she had pushed him into throughout the day. He did swear to her that he wouldn't act on hot emotions as he had previously done, but Emma knew better of the nature of men.
However, when she found sanctuary in her room upstairs, she would not allow herself to retire for the night. She waited for Connor to come home, and listened intently for his steps. After a good half-hour he would finally arrive, and she would throw her door open at his approach.
"Hey," she looked to his newly alert face. "I have an idea."
His amber eyes merely blinked at her urgency, then calmed with a hint of impishness at the memory of her prodding. "You expect me to take it, after what you did today?"
"Especially," she emphasized. "You could use an education."
He walked up to her with folded arms and downcast eyes.
"I have a library, see," she nodded to the many shelves behind her. "Whether you know it or not, there are books concerning navigation, sailing, and parts of ships. I know these things and I'd be glad to teach you, if you let me."
A cloud of suspicion draped over his face. "You intend this offer?"
"Yeah," she smiled. "You looked ridiculous out there, babblin' the wrong terminology to experienced seamen."
Connor twitched his nose and looked towards the balcony window. He had yet to contain his urge.
"It'd give you a better start on things," she pressed. "increase your knowledge and reputation.."
He would look back down to her with decided eyes. "I accept."
Lily continued to work about the Homestead in this time. She was notified by Emma's new occupation and felt both a grievance and pride for her. She knew it was the girl's ultimate goal while being here, but she still missed her presence in the day. The old woman kept up her daily chores still; dusting, tidying, and washing. She found herself upstairs less often, as it brought a caustic sense of loneliness. However, she never failed to greet Emma in the evenings, no matter how late. Dinner and fresh clothes would always be in her faithful hands.
On this night, the old woman carried on her same traditions. She walked up the stairs in anticipation of visiting with the girl once again, having a tray of soup steaming from her grasp. Her light steps treaded upwards, swaying her blond-grey braid that draped her shoulder and reached her waist. Soon a light came from Emma's room, as the door was found wide open. For that, Lily cast puzzled eyes.
As the old maid approached the entryway, another strange sign came into notice; voices. Plural. She stopped right before the entryway, hiding herself behind the wall and straining her ears. She soon detected a pair of voices, one masculine and the other feminine. Immediately, she knew of whom the voices belonged to and spread a wide smile across her face. In further eagerness, she peered into the doorframe.
The two of them were found sitting at a table in the middle of the room. In the midst of a periwinkle dusk pouring from the windows and in company of lighted candles, Emma and Connor were sitting adjacent to one another, nearly arm to arm, looking downwards to the table. They were swamped in an array of books, opened and closed, along with what looked like loose-leaved maps as well. Lily could see how Emma was doing the majority of the talking, speaking to Connor with a pointed finger to the parchments below and with a spirit of excitement. Connor, at the while, listened intently, watching her speak with eyes completely centered on her more than upon the documents below. The glow of the flames illuminated their tan faces, and it was clear that a sense of contentment transpired through the air.
Lily quickly withdrew her staring. Behind the wall, she let out an excited squeal and smiled as broadly as she could.
"Thank you," she looked up to the heavens. "And finally!"
She grasped her tray tighter. She would then depart the doorway quietly, allowing the two young people to enjoy their evening.
Days back on the ship would prove to be more accomplishing. Everyone prolonged their enduring labor, working steadily with every aspect of the ship. Emma and Connor worked separately but also together on tasks. In these circumstances, they kept their behaviors cool and aided one another in the collaborative demands of lifting, measuring, and securing.
When they were apart, Emma was still never far from Connor's reach. She obscurely monitored his commands towards the groups of men, sending watchful grey eyes over her "project." He spoke with more authority now, feeling confident from his private lessons given in the evenings. Sparse would the occasion be in which Connor would error and Emma wouldn't fail to cough casually from beneath a lowered hat and head. This time, after the men left, Connor would exchange glowering eyes to her, if not a subtle grin.
He was indeed happier these days. He looked forward to each day and evening, as it gave him a chance to be at Emma's side. He escorted her each morning, and then back home each night. Throughout the day, he kept protective but sly eyes to her and especially to the men around her. Bald Mort occasionally found his station upon the ship, and he would be caught with a deadly stare from the native every time he even seemed to think about nearing Emma. Otherwise, Connor looked over her with affection, and relished in her company nearby.
Emma always seemed to come alive when it came to naval-related things. Connor saw her flying, swinging, and climbing through every cranny of the vessel, determined to fix the prized ship. She worked arduously among the men, being shameless in her ethic, sweat, and knowledge. Perhaps it would be because of that in which she would earn favor among the laborers, and partake in many shared smiles and warm handshakes. Connor grinned at the sight, happy for her to be in a place she truly belonged.
"Perhaps we should go over navigation tonight," he suggested to her one day. "Seeing as the ship will be ready to sail soon, I would like to be in the knowledge of how to maneuver it."
"Of course," she nodded in delight of his interest. "I'd be happy to enlighten you."
Emma noticed that Connor would excel in his duties. Whether it was confidence, ambition, or a mixture of both, she could see that he embraced this occasion to heart with each passing day. He seemed to take all his lessons learned from both Emma and Faulkner and manifest them into great skill. As a leader he was affirmative and endearing, becoming a figure of respect among the men. As a laborer, he became even more persevering, pushing himself physically and mentally to go beyond each task. All the more, Emma saw him become stronger in this roughly two-week period, and smiled of joy for him.
"Perhaps you should teach me a few things," she suggested later on. "Looks like you know how to get the job done."
"What do you mean?" he asked while collecting rope in his arms. "You work well."
"I mean the whole of servitude," she answered regrettably. "You seem to understand it completely, whether its enduring through a hard task or working well with people."
"Hm," he pondered her words. "Perhaps it is an issue of pride."
"Oh?" she smiled. "and what of it?"
"You discard it," he replied blatantly. "Try thinking of things other than yourself."
Grey eyes glared. *Smack*
"Ah!"
The ship was coming together wholly now. There were less gaps, no holes, consisting systems, and complete structures. The Aquila was fully afloat and keeled now, dutifully docked in near completion and restored glory. The last thing that remained was the attachment of the main sail, which was being tied by a variety of men near the top of the main mast.
"At last," Faulkner shaded his eyes as he looked up. "The last piece to her healing, lad. This is it."
Connor continued to look upwards. "She has come a long way."
"Indeed!" the captain said gleefully. "All thanks to you and the men. And the lass."
"Do you think she will sail?"
"I know she will," the captain replied tastefully. "A sheer force, she will be, lad. Her name great as it was in her glory days, if not more."
Soon shouting commenced near the top of the mast. Then by a distant countdown, the group of men atop released the material in unison, and let the finale take place. Like a wave, the great white cloth fell. Elegance took hold of it's descent, having it's airy composition flutter robustly in the wind. From the beach where Emma stood, she saw it collapse in the fading gleam of the sunlight, adding shine to the splendor. A great radiance suddenly became of the ship, and brought awe to every eye looking upon her.
"That's it, lad!" Faulkner gave a hearty slap onto the native's shoulder. "It is done!"
A series of celebratory shouting commenced. Men cried and hooped in joy of their completion, and greeted one another with fierce handshakes and approving nods. Connor couldn't help but grin at the joyous occasion and looked on to the jubilant crowd upon deck. Soon he and Faulkner would see one man arise out of the group and sit on a near barrel. The man then waved his fingers in the air as if orchestrating a symphony. Next he opened his smiling mouth and began to sing loudly in a salty jaunt, urging others to join him.
"It is time to go now! Haul away your anchor. Haul awaaaay your anchor! It's our sailing time!"
Emma could hear them singing. At the familiarity of the song, she smiled broadly and laughed. Thoughts and memories of home and brothers soon came into her mind, and a tinge of nostalgia pitted her core. She continued to collect the supplies Faulkner needed however, and then started over towards the great ship again.
"She's beautiful, Sam." she whispered to herself. "You should see her."
Faulkner turned around and face the dock. His eyes glimmered with pride at his possession's restoration and he seemed to take in a personal moment of silence amidst the celebration. Connor joined him in facing the beach. However, his eyes soon would land on Emma, who was just approaching the ramp.
"She is solid," Faulkner remarked. "A strong vessel."
"Yes, sir," Connor responded with an upward glance to the flying sails.
"She always managed to surprise me," the captain folded his arms. "Working as hard as she did and being so acquainted with the mechanisms."
Connor looked quizzically to the captain's subject matter. "Sir?"
"And she even manages to step aboard with her right foot. Always! See there?"
With the point of Faulkner's finger, Connor followed his line of sight. Emma had indeed did the astonishing.
"I didn't even have to tell her, lad," the captain nearly squealed. "She's got sailing in her blood."
"Hm."
"Well now that this is all done with, I suppose I can name you captain now."
Connor snapped his head to the sudden and dramatic topic. "You would give your title, sir?"
"We were working towards giving it to you anyways," he replied coolly. "The matter is urgent, is it not?"
Connor looked back to the dock, remembering his occupation as an assassin. "It is."
"Well then, take care of her lad." the aged seamen inducted. "From a captain to another I shall say that she is something precious in the eyes of many men, and will have to brave great storms. But if you extend your hand, she will be safe and guarded against the terrors of the world. Know always to guide her wisely."
Connor blinked at the heavy admission. "You mean the ship, sir?"
Faulkner began to turn to leave. "Oh, right." he smiled at the native. "The ship, of course."
"Did you see that?" Emma came up smiling to Connor. "The sail coming down?"
His eyes blinked at the transition of Faulkner's parting words to Emma's joyful ones. "I did."
"Its always wondrous to see that," she trilled. "Will we go sailing now?"
"We will," Connor looked back to Faulkner, who was waiting by the wheel.
"That's great!" She also looked to the wheel. "Just remember what I told you. If you want to turn, do it early in advance and not at the exact moment so you don't hit anything. Also I think it's best to wait til you're out of the bay to go on full sail."
Connor nodded blankly. "I will remember."
"Great, let's go!"
Connor would step before the helm. With Faulkner to his right, and Emma to his left, his gloved hands encircled the wooden spires gently. He then took in a deep breath, feeling the wind brush around him and hearing the men assemble to their stations upon the main deck. He had rather looked forward to trying this new skill, though completely foreign as it was to what he experienced in childhood navigation. Every sailor he met seemed to be in love with these ships and the sea itself, including Emma. Having her enthusiasm present made the experience all the better, and he was eager to put his attained knowledge to the test, and possibly use it to impress her.
"You're connected to her now," Faulkner smiled at him. "Wait 'til you feel her fly.- SET A COURSE FOR MARTHA'S VINEYARD!" He bellowed to the crew below. "PLACE US AT HALF SAIL!"
Connor blinked at the loud outburst. Then he tightened his grip upon the wheel, gently turning to the right as the vessel seemed to nod in that direction.
"Don't be shy, boy!" Faulkner teased him. "She won't bite! Embrace her, and take us out!"
The vessel creaked as it drifted from the ancient dock. The sails above concaved with the oncoming wind, catching the breeze in it's pillowing cloth. Speed started guiding her course, and Connor could feel the spray of ocean and the unstable sensation of floating freely. At first, it made him nervous, but then he started to get a taste of newfound excitement.
Emma was smiling wide. She had both hands upon a railing that faced the ship's bowsprit, greeting the oncoming journey. Her grey eyes looked up to the sails, which sighed along with her upon the rolling waves. Never before did the cool ocean breeze feel so good upon her face and neck. She only longed to let her hair down and let it ride with the wind. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened to the waves surge beneath them and birds circle overhead.
"Can you feel it, miss?" Faulkner craned past Connor. "The way she glides?"
Emma looked to him with a sweetened smile. "I can feel her breathe, sir."
"Aye!" He relished in her comment. "A true navigator!"
"Why Martha's Vineyard, sir?" Emma asked.
"We'll find our guns and officers there, lass. Turns out we're lacking both. Besides, I think the boys here deserve a drink." The old captain turned to Connor again. "In the mean time, enjoy this oncoming stretch of open water, lad! Call for full sail if you like."
Connor rapped his fingers before looking to Emma. She would nod in agreement, and he would call out loudly, "Bring it to full sail!"
The ship surged forward in greater haste. The bow was lifted now, causing the ship to be lifted in slight degree. Full flight was commencing now, and all three felt the rush of adventure.
"Steady now, lad," Faulkner cried above the wind. "She's a nimble vessel, but the faster she goes, the cumbersome she grows. You have to make sure that you-"
*CRASH*
"-watch for rocks. Blast it, boy! Don't be creating holes in me ship!"
"Sorry," Connor grit his teeth in shame as he turn the wheel in the opposite direction. "I'll be careful."
"You best be," Faulkner warned lightly. "I won't have weeks of work wasted on youthful ignorance!"
"Yet you let the rookie steer," Emma called out.
Connor looked to her with a slight grin.
"No smart-mouthin' either!" Faulkner returned. "I'll throw you both in the brig!"
Connor would carry them on. The ship glided across the waves with ease, as if sailing for the first time in her existence. The three stood silently against the force of the wind, glad to experience the event.
"What is our distance, sir?" Emma asked of Faulkner.
"About 900 meters!"
Before she could respond appropriately, Emma would be going out of sight. Connor and Faulkner watched her in surprise as she would push herself off the railing, spin to her left, and dash down the stairs that led to the main deck.
At that point, Emma didn't care about notifying anybody about her intentions. She would run freely across the deck, dodging men and swiveling past various props therein towards the front of the ship. Her hat was held onto as her coat flew behind her, and as she glanced upwards, she could see the giant masts tower with the blanketing sails. Joy rang from her lips at the sense of home she felt on this vessel, and she ran to the bowsprit.
When she arrived, her boots hopped upon it without change of pace. Using her hands to climb, she ignored the protests calling after her, and stalked up the reaching wand. Securing her toes upon the knots of rope and metal hooks that clung to it's side, she scaled it freely, climbing higher and higher until she would reach it's tip. When there, she remained in a crouching position and lifted her head towards the sea.
There she enjoyed her ride. Emma could see land remaining at the water's borders, but it was a space very much wide enough to sail openly in. Though not the open ocean, the inlet was wide, and it was good enough for her. Small sailing ships went past and birds followed overhead. She looked down from her seat and saw foam collect upon the swooping waves. The spray was greater, and so was the lack of her security. All the while, it thrilled her, as if she was experiencing the edge of the world.
For about five minutes or so Emma remained in her special spot in silence. Through the wind, her ears caught wisps of distant voices behind, but a set of new ones began to emerge clear. Being stuck in her place, she could help but overhear the conversation, which was composed in Irish accents.
"D'you hear the latest?" A higher set voice asked.
"What?" Replied a lower tone.
"We're going to Martha's Vineyard."
"I bloody knew that, Malcolm!" The deep set barked. "The Cap'n announced that. I thought you were going to say something else."
"Such as?"
"Such as the new replacement, for instance? Of the captain?"
Emma looked into her shoulder. She hadn't heard that.
"A replacement for Faulkner?" the higher exasperated. "After all this?"
"It's get better. I heard 'im talking; he gave it to the Indian there."
Emma gasped aloud.
"Oi, Kenway? Well, he was first mate, wasn't he?"
"True, but it seems rather quick, dontcha think?"
The higher voice snickered. "Well, I say there's some funny business there. Seems like they're training him up for something important, er- military maybe?
"I don't know," the lower voice dismissed. "King's got enough men waving swords for 'im. But I 'eard a rumor going around 'bout some rogue warrior running around in these parts."
"That's child-talk."
"Is it? Well I was talking to my sister the other day.."
The voices trailed away. In the newfound silence, Emma turned her head completely, and glanced down the bowsprit. The men were gone and she was left alone to her thoughts in the brazing wind. It had been a long time since she had pondered Connor's occupation, or identity for the most part. Memories of when she suspected him found their way back into her brain, and she began to feel uneasy. She then remembered the night of the party, when Faulkner had pulled him away to discuss something private.
None the matter, Emma felt that she couldn't hold onto hearsay. From what she knew of Connor now, she could conclude that he was a good man, and he certainly cared for those around him. He was skilled in combat and fearsome in presence, but perhaps he had a shady past, and she wouldn't let that cloud her judgment. She would descend the bowsprit at the conviction, and made her way back to the helm.
When she returned up the stairs, Connor could see that heavy thoughts had pervaded her mind. He looked on with concern, and immediately asked upon it. "Is everything alright? Where did you go?"
Emma snapped out of her thoughts. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine," she assured. "I just went to the front of the ship is all."
"Oh," relief came over his brows. "You look troubled."
"Did I?" She asked with a strain of worry. "No, all is well."
As she turned her head away, she caught glimpse of his belt. A great array of weapons remained there still, ones she had seen used on people. She would quickly shake the thought away however, and continue to look ahead.
"There it is, lads!" Faulkner shouted with his scope to his eye. "Martha's Vineyard is straight away! Ease her up and bring her to half sail!"
The Aquila came to a slow. Lines were pulled, and smaller sails were folded upwards into temporary keeping. Her speed would catch up with her and cause waves to slosh upon her broadsides and make the whole of her dip into her bow from the sudden halt. Soon the docks were nearby, and an anchor was dropped below. Sailors jumped onto the platform with thick ropes, ready to tie her down.
Connor released the wheel. He stood back and looked onto their destination, which consisted of small community of white buildings atop rolling green hills before a rocky beach. Pine trees continued to stretch for miles around them, and the distant mountains he could see from Davenport's cliffs were still in sight.
"Well done, lad!" Faulkner slapped him on the shoulder again. "That first part was sketchy but after that, you sailed like a natural."
Connor would tilt his head at the compliment. "It was a privilege to experience."
"Indeed it was," Faulkner's eyes twinkled with pride. "And I'm glad Miss Maywood could enjoy it with us."
"The pleasure was mine, sir." She saluted two fingers to the brow.
"And now that we are docked once again," Faulkner started to go past them both. "let us retire with drink and laughter. The men and I will be in a tavern called Sulley's."
Connor nodded in affirmation.
"Oh, and lad," Faulkner nearly forgot. "If you should wander off, make sure you arrive at least by dusk, which is in about an hour, give or take. We have some business to attend to still."
Emma looked to Connor. The native gave Faulkner a prolonged stare as he walked by. It was a glance full of both understanding and wariness, as if Connor had suspected impending trouble. If anything, Emma could detect the importance of the future occasion, and she would make note of it.
"Come," Connor would dismiss the previous thought of way and beckon Emma. "Let us go ashore."
The two walked side by side upon the swaying dock. They both faced forward, occasionally noting the men passing by or other incoming ships. Noises of bells ringing, waves sloshing, and boots trotting surrounded their air, and an overcast dusky sky draped above. The quiet little town looked nearly a mile away.
"Quite the interesting week or so, hasn't it been?" Emma walked along.
"I suppose," Connor replied while looking still ahead. "There were many learning curves."
"You're telling me," she remarked sarcastically. "First day I arrive, I create a hole in a ship and have a man want to kill me."
Connor listened with amusement.
"Days after that, I'm banished to the shore, and then I'm being watched by a one-legged man." she listed on with a smile. "Not only that, but he is one to challenge me in a series of games, and I guess we were kinda gambling."
"Did you win those games?" Connor briefly looked to her. "And did you receive maps?"
Emma was surprised at his knowledge. "...uh, yes."
"Then he let you win."
She spun her head to him. "What? That's not true!"
"He is a conman," Connor replied bitterly. "He lures people to play his games to obtain his maps. Then they are obliged to collect the trinkets that they all lead to. Then when the trinkets are returned, he gives a prize."
Emma blinked at him. "Well, what if you don't give the trinket to him, or let alone go off and find it?"
"I suppose you do not have to," Connor shrugged his shoulders. "But I was always curious of what the prize was."
Emma scoffed and snorted. "Well I guess it is pretty intriguing. Though honestly, I just care for the maps-Speaking of which," she looked to him intently. "The ship's done now, and you owe me a map."
Connor's mouth straightened at the reminder. "I do."
"Which I expect in the next few days," she teased further. "So it's not forgotten."
He bit his lip to guise his dreading. "Of course."
He pursed his lips in the silent moments afterward. He had forgotten in this whirlwind of a two week period that Emma's contract would end with it. After the ship was to be complete, she would be given her map and then Connor was to take her home in Boston. At this realization, his stomach lowered in his core, feeling the disappointment come over him. He wondered if she had felt the same, even if she was eager to receive her map. For the time being, the thoughts were difficult to bear.
Suddenly an idea came to his mind. He would stop right as they got off the dock and stepped onto land. It would take a few moments before Emma realized it, having her walk a few steps ahead. But when she did notice, she gave him a searching quizzical look.
"Let us not retreat to the tavern yet," he suggested with impending optimism. "Why not partake on a trinket hunt now?"
Emma blinked at his spontaneity with a confused smile. "Impulsive, much?"
"You have the maps now," he pressed. "We have some time to ourselves. Why not work towards getting a prize for Peg Leg, especially when you have a companion to assist you?"
Emma folded her arms and tilted her head in contemplation. She thought his sudden eagerness was strange, but she couldn't say that she didn't like it. "Alright," she studied him. "Let's do it."
Drawing closer to one another, Emma would bring out the pile of maps. Connor was astonished to see so many in her possession, but refrained from asking questions. He then sent observant eyes to the parchments, discerning which one belonged to Martha's Vineyard.
"It would help if there were names on these things," Emma commented. "Or any word whatsoever."
"This one," Connor would point it out. "I recognize the outline of the land and of the city therein."
"Oh," she remarked pleasantly. "Well then I guess you'll lead the way."
He would duly do so. Looking at the paper, he could see a small drinking glass shaped symbol, which was located on the left side of the paper. It drifted beyond the square figurines that represented the city, but succeeded to remain within inland. He thus decided to go through the city in a normal fashion, going off the main dirt road and past the main church and surrounding houses. As Emma followed him, she would observe the quaint town, noting the white paint upon the buildings and the green grass beneath them. Lanterns were alit upon porch steps, and the every window in the tavern illuminated with a powerful glow. To the west, beyond the cliff the town rested on, she could see the sun setting low, gliding downward upon a tangerine colored canvas. The sea was churning into dark grey with the shadow of the oncoming night, but only added to the mystique of the spring evening.
They would soon find themselves in a forest. This dense of community of pines began from Davenport Homestead and trailed along to the edges of the nearby town. It was quiet and chilled as the direct light was starting to fade away. Emma could see the golden rays creep through the gaps between the trees, adding to the serenity of the scene.
Connor would stop again and look over his map. Emma waited patiently as the native scourged the area with navigating eyes, deciding which way to go. He then looked straight ahead, to where a great shelf lay with steeper elevation. It would continue for hundreds of yards in both directions, and it seemed only logical to go up it from where they were currently standing.
So up the hill they went. Running, their boots crushed undergrowth and flowering plants. Trees blurred past and neighboring birds fled out of fear. It wouldn't take long to reach the hill top, but once they did, a new challenge came before them.
A new cliff face appeared to them. This hill's other side was a straight drop downward, save the 10 yards of surface across. Then to the sides of them lay rolling hills, varying in elevation and steepness. Connor looked coolly to the scene before approaching the cliff face across the way. There he looked down, then back to the map, and finally to Emma.
"Come," he nodded her over. "I want you see this."
She would apprehensively come to him. Treading slowly, she would mirror his stance and crane her head over the steep ledge. There she would find a great drop; a grassy area composed the ground below save a hefty pile of pines. Then to the left of that rest an open cave pooled with an entrance of shallow water.
"I believe the trinket is in there," Connor stated.
"What, in the cave?!" Emma exasperated. "Well forget that!"
"No, the situation is not hopeless," he assured her while craning over the ledge again. "We can jump."
Emma's eyes grew wide. She would then laugh incredulously with a few steps back. "No way. I am not going over that ledge."
Connor turned to face her fully. "I jump these all of the time. You merely dive head first before flipping onto your back."
She blinked doubtful eyes to him. "Yeah, I'll just do that."
"Fine," he folded his arms. "You can do it with me."
Emma smiled in astonishment while placing a hand to her forehead. "Are you crazy?"
"You can trust me," he started walking over towards the narrowed edge.
"Mm-mm." She shook her head. "Forget the trinket, let's go."
"Come here, you can trust me," he extended out his gloved hand. "I can do all of the work."
"How about you go, and I'll stay here?"
"Emma," he said with trying affirmation. "Take my hand."
"Nope."
"I will make sure you will not be harmed," he promised.
"How about dying?"
He exhaled in impatience. "Do you want your map?"
"Oh no," she sent alarmed eyes. "You can't do that."
"Yes I can," he smirked. "If you want it, come here."
"But its-"
"Stop fighting me and come with me!"
Emma began to fume. She then looked around helplessly, searching for any source of refuge. Instead she would find none, look back to Connor in desperation, and finally give in.
She approached him with heavy feet. Still having his hand extended, Connor looked to her attentively and delighted in her surrender. She then grasped his fingers with her own, and soon found herself suddenly pulled into his chest. Then amber eyes quickly came into her sight and looked steadily onto her. She would swallow at the proximity.
"Do you trust me?" he soothed his voice.
"I hate you."
After securing her tight, he leapt. Over the cliff they both went, Emma held tightly beneath Connor's dive. They were both going head first, flying through the air down past the face. Emma couldn't help but unfurl a horrendous scream on their descent, and soon felt a strange movement of somersaulting in mid air. At the precise moment Connor had his back facing the ground, they hit their target.
*BOOSH*
Pines buried their bodies. Concealed in darkness, Emma could feel the pokey plants prod her face and neck. At first, she couldn't comprehend the landing, and she breathed heavily at the shock of it all. Soon enough, Connor continued his duty to her, and sat up with her, bringing her to natural air again. He then placed her aside, let her go, and arose himself from the pile. Emma continued to lay motionless in the bed, staring in shock at the cliff they just jumped. But Connor's hand met her own, and she would be pulled onto her feet.
"Are you alright?"
Emma released a shaky breath. She then continued to look from the cliff to Connor repeatedly, traumatized and bothered. Realizing the dare they overcame, she began to smile and laugh nervously. "Never. Again." she pointed at him. "I will kill you."
"Agreed," he answered smugly. "Now we can continue on."
Emma watched as he walked toward the cave. She furrowed her brows and shook her head at his nerve; a great desire to hit him came over her. "He'll pay for that."
She would go after him. Along the way, she brushed needles off of her coat and picked them from her hair. Near the pile, her hat had rested, and she figured to keep it off in case of anymore misadventures. She would in fact take advantage of that and release her hair tie from her bundle of dark waves. Her head felt relief from the upward strain as the waves fell around her face.
"Are you coming?" he called to her.
"Yes!" She responded irritatingly while fixing a ponytail. "Give a girl a moment."
Before long, Emma found herself in the cave. Connor walked in with no fear and hesitation, greeting the unknown darkness with his natural audacity. Emma had to convince herself all was well before she went in, and when she did, she would try to adjust her eyes to the consuming darkness. Gravel crunched beneath their feet and their footfalls echoed against the ancient walls.
Subconsciously, Emma reached her hands out. Hurrying forward at the thought and fear of getting lost, she extended her hands, and would find Connor's arm. There she latched on lightly, and walked along with him. When he first felt her dependence on him, he reacted with alarm by suspecting something hostile. Yet as he sensed the gentle contours of her fingers, he'd welcome her touch willingly.
A light emerged from the darkness. A great natural skylight poured the evening 's purpling color into the cave. It would reveal the hole's end, showcasing it in the likes of a rounded room. Additionally to Emma's delight, a small wooden table was leaning against the cold stone, and held something of a box.
As Emma and Connor came into the light, she released him. He would watch as she would walk over to the jagged hole in the ceiling and look upwards into it. A glimpse of the pale sky was caught in view, and Emma bore a smile. "Amazing."
Not a moment sooner, would her focus shift back onto the table against the wall. Her boots walked over to the plain wooden box, and there she would extend her hand to it. Her long fingers lifted the lid gently, revealing a small opaque jewel sitting squarely in the center. Emma then picked it up gingerly and held it in her palm. Connor walked over to her and looked over her shoulder.
"It is yours, now." He spoke into the bathing light.
"You'd think someone would put more effort to lock it away," Emma studied over the dull composition. "If not at least hide it someplace better."
"Hence the steep cliff."
She looked up annoyingly.
"These objects are not in want of worry," he continued on. "Their value is low, as they are common to find."
"I guess we will see if they mean something to us," Emma looked back over it. "..as Peg Leg has yet to tell."
She would then secure the jewel away. Taking a few steps back, she opened her blue overcoat. Then she placed it in an inner breast pocket, amidst the folded maps. Once finished, she looked back to Connor, who kept steady eyes on her.
"Thank you," she set a serious and gracious tone. "For helping me get this."
"It was a pleasure," he returned the cadence.
"No, really," she pressed. "I wholly appreciate it. I wouldn't have gotten it otherwise."
He took steps closer to her, standing at a foot's distance. "It was no burden to bear."
Emma revealed an earnest grin. Her grey eyes scanned over his face with warmth, studying the stern features which looked keenly on her. In his amber eyes she found the essences of ferocity and control, inducing a flutter in her core, and then a tinge of guilt. She would lower her head before him, and blink over distant thoughts.
"What is wrong?" he instantly peered with concern. "You are not glad?"
"No, no," she lightly laughed with downward eyes. "I'm very glad. Its just- I was thinking about everything. About all of this."
He searched over her with question.
"You have been so good to me these past few weeks, sir," she lifted her eyes. "I put a lot of boundaries up and you managed to remain just as respectful, courteous, and kind. Not once did you cross the line."
"You asked me not to."
She smiled at him. "That's what I mean. You have a strong will, and you place other's interests before your own.
"It is a duty I must uphold."
She inadvertently took his hand. Then she held it cusped it tightly with both her own. "I think it's more than that," she tested. "You're devotion is unlike any other."
Connor breathed silently. He kept his eyes glued and cool on her, trying to determine where she was going with this.
"Oh," she looked down quizzically to their hands. "Your fingers are cold."
"The air is chilled."
Looking back up to him, an idea swirled into her head. She cautiously raised their hands, bringing them close to her face. Then after a slight repositioning, a hole formed between her two hands over his and she placed it to her lips. Gently, she blew warm air onto his glove-less fingers, looking up to him steadily.
Connor cast widened eyes. His mind searched for the right emotion to wear as he was held in newfound tension, and wished not to give himself away. His whole body stiffened at her touch and a sensation of tingling came over him. His heart would pound, and stomach drop. Never more than this moment did Emma challenge his self control.
Lips came upon his hand. In a moment of stark realization, Emma noted her accidental light kiss and sent alarmed eyes to him. Suddenly panic came over her, and she dropped her jaw with missing words.
"I am so sorry," she lowered his hand and sent it back to him. "I didn't realize- I was getting caught up in the moment."
She began turning from him and walking away. "I'm sorry, I was mistaken-"
An hand grabbed her. Freezing from the grasp, she whipped her head to him and looked with confusion. She would then be pulled to him gently, securing her stance before his chest and shadowing her face with longing eyes. She would watch as he would keep his sight on her as he raised her captured hand to his lips, and be given a kiss on her fingers.
"Oh, okay," she breathed in relief at his mirrored action. "For a second I thought you would be-"
With his one arm, he pulled her to his face. There, he released his self control and sent eager lips upon hers. Wide eyes came from Emma at the shocking gesture, but she would succumb to the desire and close her eyes. Connor did as well, pursing all harbored loss and yearning onto her ardently, relishing in the satisfaction of fulfilling his languishment. Emma, in hand, received him tenderly, savoring in emotions long denied by running a hand up his chest. He would then cradle her face with his open hand and hold her endearingly.
A few moments passed before Emma began withdrawing. She removed her hand and began pulling her face away slowly, inducing a series of smaller and brief kisses dripping from their lips. When she pulled away completely, a sharp gasp left her mouth and she would exhale with downward eyes. She was astonished of the craving for more that was left with her.
Soon they both looked to each other. Hearts racing, breathing unregulated, and much desire remaining, the two stared with excited eyes and spinning thoughts. Both feared of one another's uncertainty, but continued in their high of passion.
"That a lot was better than our first," she remarked.
He smiled to her. "Agreed." Concern came over him suddenly. "Are you okay? Do you approve of this?"
Emma laughed with a tender smile. "Of course, yes! This was good."
"Good," he repeated with an exhale. "And thank you."
She laughed again at his manners. "Thank you, too. It was well needed."
"For me, as well."
Emma's cheeks flushed at his honesty. Then she couldn't bare to look him in the eye further. "Why don't we-" She looked towards the cave entrance. "Why don't we get outta here?"
Replies to Reviews: OH SNAP! It happened. I was so excited about it, I hope you guys were too! ^^
potterwatch97: Hahaha! No punching please! I'm sorry that I couldn't satisfy the tension sooner :/ Hopefully this one took care of that a bit! I'm glad that you look forward to their union though, it tells me that you like my character's chemistry with Connor's, which is always great for me to know. Thanks very much :)
DellyisKawaii: Thank you! ^^ I know, Emma is a bit of a conflict magnet I guess. I hope it makes things a little more interesting though :P I especially hope that this chapter spells out your hopes towards the ship building and events between Emma and Connor!
MickyNotAMouse: hahaha! happy dance and laughter? That's awesome! Hopefully you didn't get hurt!