Hello all! Apologies for the huge delay in updates! Life has been so busy. I've had a career change, lost loved ones and all sorts of things happen. Unfortunately my fanfiction writing has had to be shelved for a while and I'm still finding my rhythm again.

Got some time on my hands now, so I hope to add some more chapters before another uh, couple of years go by…

To those who stuck by to keep reading. You're wonderful. Thank you.

-Gammy

Chapter 36 – Tiptoe

Rogue had thought herself accustomed to her world being rocked so often by unexpected waves of revelations. This new revelation had cast her adrift again, with only the ornate box tucked under her arm as an anchor. Like a spinning top, her mind spun the same questions over again, until they clattered to a stop under a helpless sigh. Her father had left her a legacy. For years she had thought any inheritance to be had had been lost when her father had been lost at sea. Her Grandfather had spent the best part of ten years trying to find and attain control of it only to grasp aimlessly at the misleading rumours of her father's wealth being stashed away somewhere in the Caribbean islands. Being the pirate captain he was, the thought that Owen D'Ancanto would not leave a legacy to be found by ordinary or legal means was not a surprise. But over the years, she had grown sure in her belief that there was no inheritance left to discover. That whatever her father had gained in his years as a thief on the high seas had gone down with him and his ship or had been found out by a rival in the months after his death.

Now here it was, encased in carved wood and in her hands no less. Rogue felt a tremor of anticipation and nerves tingle across her skin as she adjusted the chest under her arm.

After the initial shock had settled in the room, Father Wagner had revealed his part in her father's final wishes. A boy of seventeen at the time, he had been loyal to Owen D'Ancanto like a son to his father, and carried out his wishes to the last detail. Days before his last departure, Owen had made arrangements for Kurt Wagner to be established as a man of the cloth off the coast of France. And in his safekeeping, he placed the chest. He had kept the chest safe from Owen's enemies and friends alike, he admitted, but which enemies and friends, he made no indication of. The vague admission had set like a stone in her belly until John lit the dark moment with a teasing remark about her father being With an affection Rogue couldn't help but admire, Father Wagner had endeared Owen as the father he might have had and lost, and the kinship she felt in their shared loss was keenly felt. Rogue couldn't help but note aloud her own surprise that he came to be a priest with a pirate for a father figure. Father Wagner had thrown back his head and laughed. He grinned from ear to ear, much like the pirate he had once been, as he replied.

"Meine lieben! Your father was the best man I ever knew. He encouraged my studies and supported my decision to join the church when I came of age. What I am, I learned first from him. Though it is probably a sin to say so, I will not deny that God was second in my heart in the years your father was my father. And I will cherish his memory for the rest of my days."

The love and devotion shining in his eyes had struck a part of her she had thought to be frozen and hidden away these past ten years. With the ice melting around her beating heart, the tangle of loss, memories and love began to pulse again with new life but with a kind of newfound reassurancethat made it bearable.

In her Grandfather's home, she was not allowed to speak of her parents. Never allowed to mourn them openly, not even around the servants for fear of word getting back to Lord Delmar. That had happened only once. Roy, Delmar's own personal head butler and snitch, had caught her crying in the stables a week after her arrival at the manor. Lord Delmar had a particular love for using his cane to strike a point. The bruises she received at the end of that cane had made it clear as crystal; she was never to speak of her parents again. And she had not. Not around Scott and Alex or Sarah, nor even Jean who was aware of many details of her past. Fear trained her well, and she kept all thoughts and feelings to herself. Now it felt like her grief and loss had returned like a dulled ache from an old wound that was finally free to bleed and heal properly. But there were still so many questions she needed answers to and it seemed clearer than ever that the only man who could give her answers was her new father-in-law, whom she would meet in a matter of days. It had been ten years, and yet a few days waiting felt painfully like a lifetime…

Rogue adjusted the wooden chest tucked under her arm and heaved another sigh, tinged with exhaustion and weighed down by the heaviness of her drenched clothes. They had been travelling back down the hill towards the town just after sunset when a downpour of rain began. No light-hearted drizzle like back in the English country side, the water bucketed down in a merciless flood, causing them all to slip and slide down the hill and their clothes to swell with water and weight. Rogue pushed her hair out of her eyes as she followed behind Logan, stepping into his muddy footprints to steady her own steps. At every step, she felt herself subconsciously adjusting the chest tucked under her arm. The thought of it becoming water logged and destroying its contents kept her vigilant as she tucked it further under the leather of her coat and into the crook of her arm. The chest's hard edges dug into her ribs as she silently agonized over its contents.

According to Father Wagner, the key to the box was kept in Jean-Luc's safe keeping, ensuring that her father's legacy was protected until she returned to claim it for herself. But this news only prompted Rogue to draw more questions and conclusions that were clicking together like the intricate gears of a broken clock.

As the pieces fell into place, it dawned on her how there seemed to be an ever-present but nameless nemesis that these people were shielding her from. Father Wagner had not elaborated further, though his eyes, so unguarded, gave the impression he still had much to say on the matter. He amended the elongated silence by insisting with a genuine smile that he would be honoured if she would agree to come visit him again in the future, so he might regal her with tales of her father's escapades and adventures. Rogue had no inclination to refuse his invitation and smiled her agreement. But before she could begin questioning him about the chest, Piotr's giant frame filled the front door and motioned them to leave before the impending storm hit the island. Without delay, Remy had risen to his feet and announced their departure and all but whisked her casually out the door like they had dropped in for tea and cake. The only consolation she found in their sudden departure was that Father Wagner briefly squeezed her hand and promised to see her again soon at a safer time. At first she thought he meant it in light of the storm, but now…

A nagging twinge of discomfort crawled up her spine as she replayed the two men's reactions in her thoughts. The idea of an unnamed threat began to spread like a plague amongst her thoughts. Was there someone who wanted her father's legacy more than her Grandfather had? She imagined, given her father's occupation, it was not an unlikely theory but-

"Chére?"

She hadn't realised she had stopped in her path until Remy stood before her, a few feet away. He was all but drowned, his auburn hair darkened and slicked against his chiselled features, his favoured coat shiny with a watery sheen as he stood but a foot from her. His expressive eyes were intent with concern as he stared up at her from his downhill spot on the path.

She tried to shake herself out of the hold of her dark thoughts, adjusting the box under her arm as she wordlessly sidestepped him to resume the path. As she passed however, her foot snagged on a loose root in the path and she was flung forward in a blur of movement. She felt the box slip from her hold as she landed with a sickening squelching sound and a thud that jarred her stiff, aching bones. She could have sworn not a few seconds after her graceless fall into the muddy road, there was a peel of laughter from down the way; a high-pitched feminine bark that could only be owned by the likes of the prickly-mannered Jubilee.

Grumbling to herself, Rogue laid there in silence for a few moments, until the movement and sound of quick footfall grew louder and closer. A second later, she was being hosted up to her feet again by her husband. He gently righted her on her feet, wiping away the worst of the mud that now coated her from her chin to her toes. When his ministrations did very little to improve her muddy appearance, their eyes met and a low chuckle escaped him.

"I t'ink y' might need a change of clothes at de Inn, non?"

Rogue couldn't help it; a snort broke, allowing a low chuckle of her own to loosen as she looked down at herself. Her shirt, the shirt gifted to her from Sarah, was all but ruined from the neckline down and she could feel mud coating her skin from her chin to her navel. A slow-rising chortle escaped her as she turned back to look at Remy, only to find he was just as surprised by her reaction as she was. A slow smile curled in the corner of his mouth as he stepped closer only to stop half way as something caught the heel of his boot. They both looked down to find the forgotten chest half buried in a pool of mud.

With a gasp, Rogue launched herself down and scooped it up. She inspected it, wiping away the mud as best she could in spite of the rain and mud clinging to her hands. It was difficult to tell if there was any sign of damage to the chest's contents, but even so, her heart dropped into her belly like a stone in water. With an irritated click of her tongue, Rogue began tucking it back under the pathetic protection of her coat- only for Remy's fingers to latch onto the other end of the chest and hold her still. With an imploring look, he waited until her grasp loosened before he took it and tucked it under his own coat, into the secure crook of his arm. At her bemused look, he leant forward and tucked the loose strands of her hair that had fallen into her eyes behind the shell of her left ear.

"Put it out of y' mind for now. De storm will clear in a day if we are lucky. We will reach de Isle in good time if de tide is wit' us. Y' will get y' answers chére. Je promets." (I promise)

Rogue wanted to argue the merits of making more promises, but with a steeled and imploring look from Remy, she knew it was useless to try. She was tired enough without adding a new argument to carrying with their waterlogged load.

As she trudged after him, the weight of the box soon lifted along with her thoughts and the stormy trail swallowed them once again.

A few hours later, wind battered and soaked to the bone, they arrived back in the port town. Like half-drowned rats, they emerged from the shadows, making their way down the barren streets until they came to a great fork in the road. At the apex stood a towering tavern bursting with people, music and light that didn't seemed perturbed by the storm outside. As they approached the entrance, Rogue turned her gaze to a sign hung overhead. As it swung, creaking and screeching in the wind above their heads, she read the name of the tavern. The Blonde Banshee.

As soon as they stepped past the entrance doors, the smell of wet leathers and mud gave way to the perfume of ale and pipe smoke engulfed them. A great fire pit stood proudly in the heart of the room, and licked the walls in warmth as the churning crowd of people flooded the space like churning seawater. A lively tune played over their heads from the band in the mezzanine as people of all sorts clamoured together, drinking, cussing and cackling around the tables in a unique tavern symphony.

Rogue was manoeuvred to walk between Remy and Logan, and often found herself pushed or tripped against Remy's back as they weaved between the crowds to the narrow stairwell at the back of the main tavern. Before they ascended the first step however, a booming voice erupted overhead.

"Well if it isn't the devil himself, come back at long last!"

Following the voice to the top of the stairwell, Rogue turned her gaze towards the new comer with wary new interest. The stranger was a towering man, with a handsome face framed by thick waves of silver streaked blonde hair that tumbled just past his shoulders. A smart forest green coat set him apart from the murky rain-drenched tavern folk as he clamoured down the stairs to meet them, his long legs leaping two steps at a time. The newcomer was met with a gleeful squeal, as Jubilee all but launched herself into his arms in a merciless embrace that just about sent him over the railing in her enthusiasm. When she finally released him, both laughing and gibing each other fondly, the man turned back meet Remy's hand to shake. Remy chuckled hearty, practically growling with brotherly affection as the man reached for him and grasped his hand in a firm shake while he clapped him soundly on the back with a barking laugh. His welcome to the others was equally warm and loud, his voice rounded by a rough Irish brogue that was warm and sociable.

"I thought you had up and retired these past three months gone or worse! Seen fit to stay elsewhere while you stay in this rotten old port! I hardly believed it when I got your missive but a fortnight ago, lad."

Remy gave a low chuckle and shook his head as he clapped the man by the shoulder.

"I don't t'ink retirement would suit me just yet mon ami, mais tis' good t' see y' again Cassidy. I trust y' 'ave my usual rooms at de ready?"

He seemed so at ease as the words rolled from his tongue that Rogue was surprised when she felt him artfully tug her to stand closer beside him on the stairs. His warm hand came to rest comfortably on her hip as his arm latched itself around her waist, all the while he casually ignored her surprise or the narrowing of her curious gaze. Cassidy on the other hand, had but opened his mouth to reply when he finally seemed to notice she was tucked under Remy's arm. At least that was what he tried to portray in his performance. From the minute he had noticed their presence, Rogue had noted the twinkle of interest in his dark eyes as they darted over her in quick appraisal.

"Well, who might this lovely young lass be, LeBeau? A new friend?"

The trailing appreciative look he gave her caused Rogue's spine to stiffen with unease, and the unmistakable feeling that a tiger had taken a whiff of a new scent that fascinated him, and that he was now sizing her up for the chase. His dark navy blue gaze lingered over her like honey drizzling down a spoon, languid until they latched to the possessive arm wrapped around her waist. When his gaze shot back to meet Remy's pulsing stare, Rogue felt his hold tighten. He displayed only his usual bravado and charm as he spoke.

"Dis is ma wife, Cassidy. Rogue LeBeau. Chére- dis is Sean Cassidy. De owner of de Blonde Banshee et an old ami of mon Pere. Cassidy used t' work wit' him, back in de days he was a smuggler for hire et a bon one at dat."

To no one's surprise it seemed, Cassidy once again appraised her albeit with a little more genuine scrutiny than predatory hunger. He had the good sense not to offer a hand in formal greeting, but his good senses didn't seem to stretch too far, as he tipped an invisible hat and winked.

"A pleasure indeed, Mrs LeBeau. You have my congratulations on your recent nuptials. Remy, dear lad, I believe you've found yourself quite the young beauty here. I must admit I'm quite envious. If she wasn't clinging to your side, I'd be trying my luck for her favours."

Steeling her backbone, Rogue nudged out of Remy's hold and boldly held out her uninjured hand for Cassidy to take. She felt Logan, who stood at her other side, glance at her with an appraisingly lifted brow as she spoke in an unnaturally sweetened tone.

"The pleasure is mine, Mister Cassidy. It's rather encouraging to see Remy still keeps company with such an old dear friend of his father's. If ah wasn't being clung to by my husband, ah would be offering ya a chair… after all, ya must be exhausted in your advanced age after spouting so many lines to- What was it ya said? Gain a woman's favours."

For a second, as his hand enclosed hers, she saw the slight tint of pink pool in the Irishman's cheeks as his winning smile faltered for a few precious few moments. A smooth grin was quick to spread wide across his face before he drew back his head and positively howled with laugher. He clutched a hand to his heart in a dramatic show as he began to ascend the stairs at a backward pace.

"Ooch! I like this lass, lad! Tongue as quick as a blade and not even a wee bit frightened of cutting a man down to size. Lord, your Da is gonna get a real kick out of her!"

He continued to flirt shamelessly with her after that, but his eyes never roamed any further than her face (for the most part). Rogue felt the initial agitation in her spine loosen a smidgen as Cassidy lead the way upstairs, all the while talking uproariously about his latest escapades and the comings and goings of the last several months. One by one, the others took their leave and blended into the crowd until it was only Remy and Rogue following his lead. Or more accurately, it was Cassidy leading Rogue with an unusually stoic and monosyllabic Remy bringing up the rear end of their shrinking party. It was only at the top of another narrow set of stairs that they finally stopped at a lone oak door on what appeared to be the top level of the tavern. Rogue was surprised to find the door had more locks and bolts than a jailhouse as Cassidy withdrew a set of keys from a hidden chain tucked below his tailored collar. However, before bidding them good night, Cassidy made but one final play. He made a point of watching Remy as he drew close to her ear and whispered in a smooth, raspy tone.

"You let me know lass, if and when y' grow tired of this hot headed young pirate. This ol' veteran's quite capable of keeping a young woman such yourself entertained. And I shall have no need of a chair's support."

Rogue managed to not appear overly exasperated or too amused as he grinned down on her with an undoubtedly well-worn charmer's smile. With a final tip of an imaginary hat, he threw the room keys towards Remy, who practically picked them out of the air, and disappearing down the stairs. Rogue couldn't help but watch after him a moment, with a fresh flush in her cheeks before the sound of jangling keys and turning locks made her snap back towards the door. She was almost glad Remy kept his back to her, to allow her flushed expression to dissipate. However as he unlocked the door, it was apparent that their silence was at his insistence.

A bemused frown spread across Rogue's face as she watched him; his quick movements were artful and yet a little fierce in their intent as he turned the keys around the chain. Finally, the last lock turned and he pushed the door open and stepped in without so much as a glance her way. Rogue felt a new kind of unease wrap around her stomach as she followed, noting that it was the first time he had ever entered a room with her without offering her first entry.

Her unease was momentarily forgotten however when she noticed the room was actually grander than she had anticipated based on the tavern below. While the others rooms had been relatively Spartan by comparison, if not a little worn with the wear and tear, this room was embellished in luxurious furnishings and a warm hearth. An ornate writing desk stood in one corner facing a decadent bay window and a cushioned seat, while flush with the opposite wall, a towering four-poster bed stood covered in fine bed linens and a mountain of pillows encased in sea green silks and white cotton. In the opposite corner, a decoratively carved fireplace breathed warmth into the room, setting the walls in a warm tone as candles littered every surface not crammed with luxuries best suited to a Lord's manor.

"I have arranged for some supper t' be brought up in an hour. Et a bath to follow soon as y' ready, mais there is clean water for y' t' wash et some fruit on the table if y' hungry. Y' can retire after dat if y' wish. I need to be downstairs t' talk with Cassidy et de others soon."

That unease returned full-strength as she noted the way he distanced himself within the confines of the spacious room. Remy stood by the fireplace, his clenched fist like an anchor against the mantle. While he stood still, his body seemed to itch with tension, as if he had every intention of leaving at a moment's notice but couldn't collect himself to do so just yet. An oval mirror hung above him on the wall; it projected the view below at an angle that allowed her to see his face. His hair had already begun to dry as it fell into his eyes and escape the leather tie at the nape of his neck. His brow was knitted tightly together, his nostrils flaring with each quiet breath. Those unusual eyes were practically lit with the flames flickering and dancing off his face from the fire.

Rogue swallowed hard, feeling her heart lurched into her throat as confusion and a fresh bout of anxiety swirled in her belly. His agitated emotions were practically flames within the room, and they drew her in with a growing apprehension that was unfamiliar as it was surprising. As were the feelings sequestered in her sudden need to bring him back to himself, and to her. Of her body's own volition she stepped closer to him only for him to all but rip himself away from the fireplace as he began peeling off his coat. Instinctively, she reached out to help him as the wet leather snagged on his broad shoulders. But her injured hand proved its worth by jarring against his aggressive movements the moment she touched him.

"Shit!"

A wince hissed through her teeth as she drew back from him with a start. A second later, he was cradling her injured hand between his as he swore under his breath. He examined it gingerly until he was certain there was no new damage done, all the while avoiding her gaze even as she tried to catch it.

"Ah chére, je suis desole… I did not mean t'- dat is I…"

It was a rarity to see him fumbling over his own words. It would have been amusing if she were not so focused on the thumping of her heart against her ribs or the lack of air in her lungs as he cradled her hand between his. Finally, when she could take no more of it, she raised her uninjured hand to cup the side of his face. As expected, the action drew his gaze to meet hers. His expression softened, losing all signs of the anger from before, until all that was left was the parting of his full mouth, and the shock still reflected in his eyes. Rogue felt her heartbeat thrum in her own ears as her fingernails traced invisible lines over his high cheekbone until it drew closer to his strong jaw. His skin was smooth and warm to the touch, albeit prickly with a day's stubble along his jawline. She found herself so hypnotised by the sensation of touching him that when his hands carefully grasped her by the hips and drew them closer together she didn't quite notice until it was too late to react. She watched in practical awe as his eyes slipped closed and his head fell slowly forward until their foreheads touched. A deep held sigh escaped him, causing his warm breath to tickle her face.

"Y' don't know what y' do t' moi Rogue…"

Rogue swallowed tightly as she felt her eyelids lower in a haze of new emotions she had had but a taste of the night they were married. Snippets of that night played in her thoughts so often, it was like breathing them in again.

"Ah think ah have some idea…"

To her surprise a low chuckle escaped him as his thumbs began to draw soothing circles into her hips. She practically felt it the moment his eyes opened, and instinctively opened her own to meet his gaze as he spoke softly.

"But this isn't the time…"

With a sigh, he drew back and released her but not before pressing his lips against her forehead in a gentle touch, steadying them as much as feeding the craving crackling between them. Rogue let out a shaky, silent breath and walked towards the china basin sitting on a small table nearby.

"Ah'll take supper in the room then. See you, whenever ya get back…"

She knew before she even touched the basin that her voice was tinged in hurt. She didn't mean to let it show so visibly, but when it came to Remy LeBeau, all bets of her control were not in her own favour.

"Rogue…"

The pained tone that tinged the sound of her name drew her around to face him. He stood in the doorway, his hand latched to the doorframe as he stared back at her. Those unusual eyes burned like embers flushed with heat and emotion. A moment later, another sigh escaped his lips and the look was washed away with an imploring expression.

"Je suis desole. About earlier, I just…I know he was teasing, but Cassidy is, in short, a dog with a bone. Young or experienced. Married or unwed. He's made conquests of all sorts of women. He may not force himself upon them but he's talented in his persistence… He's not accustomed to being refused."

Rogue's brow furrowed as she crossed her arms in a defiant stance and leant back against the table behind her.

"How is this relevant to me?"

Remy heaved a sigh.

"He may decided to pursue y' regardless of the weddin' band on your finger."

Rogue arched a brow at him.

"And so what if he does? It doesn't mean ah am obligated to oblige his advances."

He was quiet for a few breaths.

"Just… don't allow yourself to be alone with him if y' can help it. S'il vous plait?" (Please?)

Rogue could have rolled her eyes to the back of her head but she settled for the ceiling as she growled back.

"Ah don't know whether to be insulted ya think ah would give in to his advances so easily or angry that you're implying ah'm so easily manipulated because ah'm still technically a maid. Ah'm not so easily won over. You know that. What makes ya think ah would honestly give his advances any sort of reciprocation?"

That look in his eyes, the worry and undertone of jealousy that she now recognised as the fuel for his agitated behaviour, didn't ease as his cheeks flushed a tint of pink even in the dim candlelight.

"I didn't want to imply either of those t'ings chère. I know dat y' can handle yourself. Mais, for moi, s'il vous plait, keep y' distance."

Rogue rolled her eyes again as she turned away towards the washbasin.

"This is one of the most ridiculous conversations…."

"Chère…please."

His breath tickled the shell of her ear, causing her to flinch at the suddenness of his close proximity to her. His body heat draped over her like a cloak as his hands shifted to her waist and held her still. The feeling that this was part of the manipulation to get his way was strong but so was the lure of intimacy they had both begun to feel and tiptoe around. It felt almost natural to lean back into him; to enjoy the closeness, the smell of his rain-washed cologne…

"You're being awfully unreasonable about this."

"I know, mais, I need to hear it from y' dat y' will promise to do as I ask. I trust y.' Since y' stitched moi up dat night, delirious as I was, I knew I could trust y' inexplicitly dat moment y' came into dat room."

Rogue felt her heart jolt at such an admission as his nose trailed down the edge of her ear. His arms tightened around her waist, bringing her closer into him as she tried to keep herself rigid and unaffected. With a growl she replied and elbowed him in the ribs for good measure as she turned and growled her reply.

"Ah'm not happy with ya ordering meh to stay away from someone when ya know ah would never encourage such a connection."

He rubbed his ribs as he stepped back but his eyes never left hers as he replied.

"Its not y' I don't trust amour. Give y' husband some peace of mind is all I'm asking."

Rogue felt the last of her resistance fall away as he stepped closer once more. His mouth pressed to the spot between the lobe her ear and the side of her neck. His touch was tentative, testing the boundaries of what she could accept, but sincere. His kiss lingered there a few more moments before she replied in a raspy voice she gradually recognised as her own.

"Alright."

His arms squeezed her a little closer as he turned his head and tucked it in her now-drying hair and inhaled deeply. A moment later, he gently removed himself from her and whispered a gentle thank you in her ear. When they parted, he offered one of his warm smiles and tucked that stubborn strand of hair behind her ear as he spoke.

"I'll send water up for a bath. Y' can relax while I deal with Cassidy et the others. If y' need moi-"

A sudden sharp knock at the door had him turning on his heel; a concealed blade now caught in one hand while the other took her arm and backed her behind him in but a few seconds of movement. A second rap of knocks erupted on the door before a familiar voice spoke.

"Captain? We have a situation downstairs. Captain Darkholme is here and she's bout to make good on her threat and set a cannon through Cassidy's eh… well, his britches, so to speak. You best come down and bring the Sheila with ya. She's asked after her too."

REVIEW!

Still getting into the swing of the story again. I've had to re-think some plot directions but I think we'll go well from here!