AN- Fuck! Can't believe we are already on chapter eight already! What the hell? How did that happen? Well, hope you guys are all enjoying it so far. Lots more to come. Including some real plot driven stuff and more pirates and violence. If you haven't read Rabbit Hole yet then you don't know how attached to piracy and blood I am. Expect more of that in the future. Unfortunately there is no smut in this chapter but this will give you all the aftermath of what just happened and that is important to progressing the story along. So hopefully you will forgive me for that. Enjoy!

Dashing Pirate

Chapter Eight

Killian hadn't spoken a word to her — not as much as murmur since they had left the stables. They took off into the forest at full gallop, cutting through the thick overgrowth and passing through the trunks of the towering trees with their lush greens along the way.

He refused to let up, pushing the horse to its limits as they sprinted toward their next destination. With eyes fixed on the road ahead, he was barely aware of the death grip on his waist as she trembled against him, her head buried into his back.

She grimaced at the images that assaulted her behind closed eyes. She could still hear the pained gurgles of blood bubbling inside their mouths, could still see the look of panic in their darken eyes as they felt the sharp edge of the blade pierce their flesh. But most of all she could feel the weight of her captor slump against her back — the back that got soaked with his blood as he slid down her back and crumbled to the ground.

The memory made her sick to her stomach—

"Killian…" She called out his name in warning, her face scrunched in pain as she clutched her stomach. "Killian, please." She begged in agony, raking her fingers against the rough leather covering his back. Tears pricked her eyes, her stomach churning as they whizzed past the foliage, the colors converging in a blur of greens and browns. "Stop, please…" She cried, panting.

"Stop! Please!" She screamed, doubling over as she pounded against his back desperately.

The sounds of her screams pierced his ears, his eyes widening as he pulled hard at the reins of the horse to stop it in its tracks. The horse whined, lifting on its hind legs and crashing back down onto the damp earth.

Killian steadied the horse as it trotted in place, looking over his shoulder, his eyebrows knitted together in worry. "Lass? You alright?" He asked.

Emma wordlessly helped herself off the horse, sliding off the creature and began to walk toward a patch of dense shrubbery, moving unsteady on her feet, her hands held out in front of her to brace herself in the event that she fell.

His eyes widened in concern, watching on as she wobbled dizzily, her body bent forward. Acting quickly, he unmounted the stead, swinging his leg over and jumping off, landing on his feet with an audible thud. With one hand stilled on the hilt of his sword, he rushed toward her and caught her in his arms as she swayed.

"Lass?" He agonized over her state, noting the claminess of her skin. "Emma?"

She shook in his hold, unable to push him away as she leaned forward, coughing and sputtering as she released the contents of her stomach. She could feel his hand on her back, rubbing in small circles comfortingly. She gasped in gulps of air as he brushed her sweaty curls and she gagged, hand flying to her mouth to suppress the bile rising in her throat.

When she came to, her world around her slowly coming back into view she groaned, shoving him backward away from her. "Get away from me!" She gurgled, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

Killian stumbled backward, his boots skidding against the dirt, a look of hurt and betrayal on his face.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me." She panted, pointing toward him as she rose to her feet, walking backward to distance herself from him.

"Emma—" He titled his head in confusion. "What the—"

"Just—" She could barely get a word out as she rubbed her stomach, which was currently rebelling against her.

"Emma, you're ill. Let me—" He insisted, stepping toward her to only have her throw up her hand, silently instructing him to not take another step further.

He heard her choked sobs as she winced, tears rolling furiously down her pale cheeks. A pirate he may be but even he wasn't cruel enough to sit back and watch her suffer. No. She would not dictate his actions of intervention.

Killian closed the distance between them, his hands extended as he reached her in hopes of once again consoling her in his arms.

"I said get the hell away from me!" She shrieked in rage, taking him aback. "What part of don't get near me do you not understand?" She questioned weakly, breathing raggidly at the pressure against her stomach. It felt like she was being squeezed to death, unable to escape the heavy grasp over her.

"Are you alright?" He demanded an answer from her, his tone stern as he tightened his jaw.

"Alright?" She mocked in disbelief. "I'm wearing the blood of a dead man!" She yelled, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. She tilted her head toward him with glassy eyes and hiccuped. "Do I look fine to you?" She stammered, hatred evident in her voice.

His eyes roamed her attire, keenly aware of the crimson soaked into her linen shirt with traces of tried blood crusting along her hairline. He took in a sharp intake of breath at the sight and trained his eyes toward the sky, cursing himself.

He rolled his head, peering down at her, shifting his feet as he scrubbed his hand down his face. "I don't know what you want me to say…" He provided, waving his hand.

"I just watched you kill four men." She let out an exasperated breath. "And you feel absolutely nothing…" She closed her eyes as the tears rolled hotly down her face.

"Was I supposed to feel remorse for the men that were threatening to kill us? Or did you forget that you were the reason that happened?" He barked, rubbing his temples in aggravation. "Yes, I killed them and I would do it all over again."

"That." She stated. "That right there." She acknowledged, drawing attention to her point.

"What—" He shook his head incredulously.

"You've killed people." She discerned, shaking her head to keep more tears at bay.

"Need I remind you that I'm a pirate, love?" He paced in front of her, his look berating her where she stood. "Pillaging. Plundering. Killing. It is kind of part of the job description." He aggressed further.

"It is one thing to think about the implications of piracy, but another thing entirely to witness it for yourself!" She argued.

"What exactly are you implying here, love? Because I fail to see your point." He raised his hand in the air, prompting her to answer his question.

"Doesn't it bother you?" She wondered, her voice broken at the notion of his deadly past.

"Does what bother me?" He replied dryly as if he didn't already know what she was talking about.

"The killing…" She supplied, swallowing hard before continuing. "Not only do you kill… you enjoy it." She balked at the realization, recalling the way his erection brushed her leg after all of the carnage. "You get off on it…" She shook her head, willing the thoughts away.

He strode toward her and lowered himself into a crouched position in front of her so that he could look her deeply in the eyes as he confronted her with the thing he knew she had been avoiding during their time together. "I am a man." He explained without a hint of guilt in his tone. "We crave one thing in life. Pleasure. Whether it be from laying with a woman or piercing another man with a sword… the end result is the same." He explained. "I am simply sating that need… that desire… that hunger and yearning."

"And as to your question of being burdened by my intent to kill." He glared down at her with a menacing smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. "I live for it." He stated, his mouth practically watering at the intoxicating promise of blood and violence.

"It drives me. Motivates me." He spoke of the pastime lasciviously. "I long to feel the warm splash of blood on my face, to bathe in the death of my enemies. It is so satisfying to hear their blood curdling screams as I ram them through with my blade… to watch as the light leaves their eyes and they take those last gasping breaths knowing that they will be their last." He bit his lip at the memories his words conjured in his mind, and could feel his cock twitching to life in his leather trousers.

Killian reached his hand out to stroke her face, his eyes glazed over with lust as he watched with rapt attention as the fear and panic crossed her features. "Are you afraid now princess?" He teased coldly, reveling in her shaky shallowing breathing.

"Why?" She squeezed her eyes shut as more tears gathered. "What on earth made you this way?" She sniffled, shaking her head, unable to wrap her mind around the fact that the man before her was absolutely psychotic. "There must be some part of you that still cares for human life."

Killian afforded her a small carefully crafted smile, watching the hope flood through her at his soft expression. "I don't." He gritted out before dropping his lips to her hair. He rose to his feet, looming over her before snapping his head up to survey their current surroundings.

He huffed, releasing a long drawn out breath as he scratched the back of his head in query. "Well this is going to set us back at least a day but I suppose this is as good a place as any to make camp for the night." He decided, inhaling deeply to suss out the nearest source of water.

He hummed knowingly as he caught the faint whiff of a nearby stream and smiled to himself. "Yes, this will do nicely." He turned back to Emma, his hands at his belt as he addressed her. "We will stay here until you feel better enough to travel."

After whirling around, he strode over to the horse and grabbed it by the reins, dragged it over to a nearby tree and hitched the horse to the trunk. They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, the only sounds heard were the rustling of the trees overhead, the chirping of the blackbirds, and her uneven shallow breathing. He glanced up at her from his spot at the back of the horse as he unpacked the supplies, taking the packs and dropping them to the ground.

Bending down, he rummaged through one of the bags, pulling out a few items and setting them aside before compiling them and shoving them in his leather satchel. He stood to his feet, looking around at the canopy of trees above and slung the bag across his body.

Adjusting his satchel, he made his way over to her, his head down as he regarded her disheveled state.

She was sitting on the ground, her cloak spread out around her when his hand shot out in front of her face. She looked up at him and then back to his hand, her brows furrowed and her lips set into a thin line.

"Come on lass." He encouraged, determination evident in his eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." She rejected his offer.

"I can't very well leave you here alone darling." He stated with mild frustration. "Please don't make me carry you because I will do it." He threatened.

She scoffed, snapping her head away from him and crossed her arms over her chest in objection. "You wouldn't dare—"

He released an exasperated sigh and bent forward, plucking her off the ground and into his arms as she thrashed and screamed in protest. Killian hoisted her up and slung her over his shoulder, adjusting her weight and began to take off in the direction of the stream.

"Put me down!" She demanded, striking her fists against his body as he carried her. "My God! Are you ever not an obnoxious overbearing brute?" She scolded.

Killian couldn't help but smile in amusement at the frustration in her tone. "Actually I am. I just reserved all of my incomparable aggressive behavior for you." He jostled her slightly eliciting a yelp from her.

"Lucky me." She groaned.

"You haven't the slightest idea." He licked his lips provocatively.

He diligently followed the sound of the running water, letting it guide him through the forest. His boots squeaked against the wet grass as he walked, the added weight of her on his back causing him to dig into the thick mud. He pursed his lips in annoyance at the elements making the trudge through the trees far more difficult than it needed to be — but eventually they found their way to the stream.

Shifting her body on his shoulder, he paused a few yards away from the opening of the stream. With eyes loosely shut, he listened to the water flowing through the rocks as it ran down a small decline and settled into a shallow creek. The familiar sound of the water visabally relaxed him, the refreshing smell of the water wrapping him in its cool embrace.

He had been away from the water much too long. The sea was in his veins, wearing it like a second skin. He longed to feel the touch of the ocean breeze in his hair, missed the salty mist splash on his face, and wanted nothing more than to breathe in the heady scent of the sea. It was unbearable being parted from his home — the place he felt most comfortable and most himself. He felt vulnerable without its presence — disconnected from the content it provided his mind, body, and soul.

Shaking his head, he shoved the thought down, burying it deep inside his mind so that his yearning to be reunited with his ship didn't distract him from his goal. Killian grunted as he slowly deposited her to the ground, allowing her to sit on the rocks behind him.

He walked toward the edge of the pond and crouched down before it, running his hand through the water, letting it flow seamlessly through his fingers. The ebb and flow of the stream was mesmerizing to behold but nothing could compare to the intoxicating sight of the waves crashing against his ship.

Training his eyes down into the water, he could see his reflection in the ripples of the water. His expression remained fixed on the man staring back at him, his appearance familiar yet vaguely distant. He tried to recall the last time he found himself in such a disheveled state — his dark hair matted to his forehead with a combination of blood and sweat, his face caked with dried blood — however the instances in his mind all seemed to blur together in various shades of crimson.

"Killian?" She spoke up, her voice small and timid as it pierced through the veil of his reverie.

He twisted his head over his shoulder to see her perched on the ground, her legs tucked underneath her as she watched him curiously. His silence had startled her and concerned her to the point where she felt she had to intervene.

She was struck by his contemplative expression, his lips set into a firm line. She tilted her head, meeting his impenetrable gaze, which seemed to stretch on for miles. There was so much more to this complex man that met the eye — his walls built around him like a fortress that he expected her to scale. She shook her head, breaking off her thoughts to casually slip back into her aurora of loathing him.

Abandoning his view of her, he concentrated on his task, removing the bag from his shoulder and setting it down beside him. Digging through his satchel, he pulled out a flask of rum, a cake of soap, a rag, a small rusty tin, and a thick bristled brush.

She looked at each object produced from the satchel with a discerning eye, wondering what the intended use of each would be. She was immediately caught off guard when he stood up and began to shed the clothing from his body, beginning with his leather jacket.

Once his jacket hit the ground next to him, he began to mindlessly work the buttons of his vest until his body was free of its grasp. He shrugged the material of his vest over his shoulders, letting it fall on top of the growing pile of clothing.

"What are you—" The words died in her mouth as she watched, mouth agape, as he gripped the hem of his shirt and began to strip it from his body in an exuberantly slow fashion. The cotton material brushed against his well-muscled chest, her eyes roving appreciatively over his dark curls as inch by inch of his naked upper half was slowly revealed to her. She watched as he lifted his arms over his head, the muscles in his abdomen clenching as he shoved the material up and over his head.

He looked toward her, his gaze narrowed as he noticed her flushed face, her mouth parted slightly at the sight of his naked chest. He waded the shirt in his hands, a teasing confident smirk playing at his lips at her reaction to his partial nudity. "See something you like?" The corners of his lips twitched and he balled his shirt before flinging it to the ground.

Turning on his heel, he lowered himself to the edge of the stream, positioning himself over the rocks. Leaning over the water, he brought his hands together and tucked them under the water, gathering it into his hands and splashed it across his face.

He gasped in relief at the sensation of the beads of moisture that rolled down his face, obscuring his vision as it dripped from his dark lashes. He reached back in for another healthy dose, the length of his silver chain dangling from his neck, nearly touching the surface as he repeated the action.

His mouth parted at the shock of the cold water against his heated skin. Cupping his hand over his mouth, he rubbed his hand down his face. His hand settled at his sharp jaw, swiping his thumb across the dark stubble that lined his ruggedly handsome face.

"Take off your clothes." He instructed firmly.

"No." She hissed, her eyes wide at the rough command of his voice. "Had I known that this was just a ploy to get me naked again I wouldn't have—"

"If you would like to continue on in your bloody clothes, be my guest." He gritted out. "It makes no difference to me." He muttered hotly.

She inwardly groaned in annoyance but complied despite her reservations and questionable intent.

He could hear the rustling of fabric behind him and lifted a curious brow. It sounded as if she was fighting it off rather than removing it from her person — it was a struggle and battle he wasn't sure she would win. He chose to ignore her growls of frustration, opting to inch himself forward and placed his head inside the water, letting it soak his face.

Reaching for the soap, he gathered it in his hands, rubbing them together until it created suds against his palms. Closing his eyes to prevent a sting in his eyes, he scrubbed his hands over his face, running his fingertips over the trail of dried blood lining his face. Once he was satisfied, he bent down and dragged his hands through the water and began to push it up toward his face, washing the soap free from his skin.

Emma stood next to him, her eyes cast along the contours of his face, noting the red droplets rolling off his beard. She grimaced at the sight, her mouth opening and closing as she held her shirt protectively against her chest — suddenly very grateful to him for procuring it for her.

When he leaned back, he ran his hands over his face before reaching for one of the rags and dabbing it across his wet skin. The rag swept over his eyes, removing the traces of water gathered underneath the creases. Lifting the rag from his face, he trailing his eyes up to see her standing in front of him, her body shivering against the light breeze in the air. It was then that he noticed the bloody shirt covering her breasts.

"I went through a lot of trouble to provide you with proper undergarments." He blurted out, hiding his amused grin underneath the cotton rag.

"I thought you of all people would be the last person to complain." She huffed in reply.

"It wasn't a complaint, love. Simply an observation." He provided, reaching out to collect the shirt held against her chest, his body straining with the effort as she flinched away from his grasp. "The longer you wait, the more the blood settles into the fabric. Hand it over." He insisted, motioning with his hand to give it to him.

Emma pushed it off her body, throwing it in his direction with a weighted breath.

He managed to catch the fabric in his hands, prying it from his face with a scowl. "Thanks, milady." He held the shirt in his hand, directing his sarcastic thanks before turning back around to submerge it under the water.

She stood, her arms braced over her chest as she watched on impatiently.

Dragging the dripping shirt from the water, he twisted the fabric, wringing it tightly to release some of the moisture. He brought it into his lap, unfolding it and inspecting the bloody stains that had seeped into the cotton. Furrowing his brows in concentration, he blindly reached for the soap and began to steadily work it over the stains.

He grabbed the brush and began to vigorously scrub the soap into the material. He gritted his teeth, forcing the soap to envelope the stain. "It has set in but the least I can do is draw some of the color out of the fabric." He assessed, his shoulders shaking as he scraped the brush. "Toss me your cloak, love."

She padded back over to where her cloak was pooled on the ground and she bent forward to grab it, testing the material in her hands. With trembling fingers, she stroked the streaks of red that made a violent pattern against the dark grey.

"Lass?" He called out for her attention, beckoning her to him with his hand.

He had been about finished with her shirt when she approached him with the other bloodied garment that was in need of a thorough wash. Picking up the shirt in his hand, he held it up, creating a shadow over his face as he inspected the fabric. "It will have to do." He relinquished the shirt and set it out on a nearby rock to dry in the heat of the sun poking out from the branches overhead.

She held out her cloak, trying to keep one hand on it while shielding her body with her arm. The cloak slipped from her fingers and into his possession. She watched as he unraveled the cloak, fanning it out before him, as his fingers grazed the material.

"How did you learn how to do all this?" She wondered.

He flipped the cloak over, his eyes raised as he looked over the stark smears of blood embedded in the once pristine fabric. "Unlike the life of privilege you were born into, I had to do my own laundering." He acknowledged sternly.

"I meant how to remove blood stains…" She amended in aggravation as she plopped herself down beside him.

"You're seriously going to ask me that after what you just confronted me with?" He feigned shock and surprise. "You think me a monster, remember?" He reminded her sharply before dipping the cloak into the water.

"I still do." She absentmindedly caressed the smooth flat rock beside her.

"And yet you are inquiring about my ability to launder blood out of clothing? You are the most confusing woman I have ever met. One moment you are scolding me on my petulance for murder and the next you are asking me to unravel the wayward secrets of my bloodlust?" He claimed, clearly irritated by her unpredictable behavior. Just when he thinks he has her all figured out — she goes and says something like that and it shatters the vision he had created of her. Her personality was as fluid and ever changing as the water drifting downstream.

She scooted forward and began to untie her boots. "Since when is curiosity a crime?" She retorted, removing one boot from her boot and placing it behind her.

"It isn't a crime. But the hypocrisy is." He reasoned, rubbing a generous amount of soap into her cloak.

She looked up at him, her head resting on the tops of her knees as she rocked back and forth. "I am just trying to understand you — why you are the way that you are."

"I hate to break it to you, love, but you aren't exactly the forthcoming type either." He shot in accusation as he pushed the brush in circles over the cloak.

She turned her head away from him, acknowledging the truth in his words. Leveraging her foot, she was able to take off her remaining boot and after setting it down sank her feet into the pulsing water. "What is it like?" She spoke up, her voice shaking with apprehension, unsure if she wanted him to answer her question.

"What?" He looked at her directly, trying to read her uncertain expression. "Killing?" He drawled out, his voice dropping slightly at her unexpected question. "Do you really want to know?" He pressed, his eyes dark in challenge.

She nodded her head in confirmation.

"Well…" He scrunched the fabric in his lap to gain access to another section. "Just remember you asked for it." He warned, casually picking up the soap and running it over the stain in front of him.

"I suppose it started out as survival. When confronted with death, your instincts start to kick in and the only options are to fight or flee." He told her, picking up the brush beside him.

"However." There was a slight lapse in his explanation when he began to dig the brush into the material with all his might in hopes of removing the blood stains. "When you're on the water…" He started back up again. "There is nowhere to run. You quickly learn that it is either kill or be killed. There is no second choice."

She felt her breath hitch in her throat at the description of his mental state.

"Your heart beats faster, the blood pumping furiously in your veins, the adrenaline coursing through your body…" Killian peered up at her, reading her colorless expression underneath his long lashes. "It feels like you are burning from the inside out. Your feet carrying you without thought, without care… all in hopes of fulfilling a need. Do be reunited with the invigorating sensation of knowing they are about to die. The power of holding someone's life in your hands rouses something up inside of you… like something waking from its slumber."

She swallowed thickly, bowing her head to stare absentmindedly into the water. "And it doesn't bother you?"

"It might have, once upon a time." He alluded to his past.

"And it doesn't anymore?"

"No." He shook his head resiliently. "The repentant man died the same day his brother did." Killian referred to the death of his brother as his surrender to the darkness. "He is long gone and he isn't coming back."

"You don't know that—" She interjected.

"There is no saving me. There is a special place reserved in hell for people like me. There is no atoning for what I have done." He growled darkly. "I can't change my fate any more than you could when the witch locked you in the tower."

"You can change…" She reached out with a tentative hand toward him.

He grunted, twisting away from her with a scowl. "And I'd suppose you would be the one to change me then?" He suggested, his eyes shining with mirth.

Her face dropped at his words and she retracted her hand as if she had been burned. It was like someone had driven a red hot poker into her chest. She bent her head down, closing her eyes and fighting the urge to cry.

"That's what I thought…" He concluded, thrusting the cloak in the water to remove the soap from it. He needed her to know that he wasn't someone she should get attached to. He noticed her toying with the gold locket hanging around her neck, twirling the chain nervously in her hand. He didn't know why she wore it, much less kept it — it was a useless trinket that he could have sold for a generous price.

"Who do you suppose he is?" He asked incredulously.

She snapped her head up to meet his gaze and then looked down to see the locket closed in her fist.

"The bloke in your locket." He gestured to the item around her neck. "Some handsome chap inheriting his father's kingdom I'd wager."

"What? Jealous?" She mused.

"No simply wondering how big your dowry is." He smiled, confident in his assessment of the situation.

"It's like you said. It's broken. So what does it matter?" She repeated his earlier observations when they had first met, mirroring his skepticism.

"Then why do you still wear it?" He inquired, discouraging its continued use.

"It is the last thing my parents ever gave me. Why would I get rid of it?" She dropped her hand from the locket and leaned backward on her palms, giving him an ample view of her breasts.

"You miss them don't you?" He noticed, his voice broken as he took in her pained expression at the mention of them. He averted his gaze, choosing to concentrate on laying her cloak out to dry next to her shirt.

"Of course I do." She said wistfully. "Who wouldn't?" She questioned breathily.

"Not everyone feels as you do. Some of us didn't have the luxury of building familial ties and had to raise themselves." He supplied, his eyes screwing shut, inwardly cursing himself in regret for having brought it up in the first place.

She opened her mouth to speak but he quickly silenced her.

"I'm not saying more on the subject." He told her.

"If you want to talk about it, I will respect your wishes." She relinquished her curiosity and opted to change the subject. "So pirate?" She addressed him casually. "What about your ship?" She asked with knee interest.

Killian poked his head up at her question, his lips curving into a haughty smile. "What about it?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"What's it like?" She wondered, cocking her head to the side.

"You are going to have to be more specific." He grabbed his own shirt, treating it a little less carefully then he did hers.

"To be out at sea… must be exciting." She baited him with her enthusiasm.

"You mean you've never—" He tried to wrap his mind around the fact that she had never been on a ship in the ocean. Had ever experienced the rush of the breeze on her face as the boat rocked steadily against the waves.

"Never had the chance." She confirmed his suspicions. "Never been close to them." She admitted.

"I suppose that is excuse for why you don't know how to swim." He began to piece together her short lived childhood. "You've lived a fairly sheltered existence up until now." He concluded as he cleaned his shirt.

"My parents wanted to protect me from the outside world." She chirped.

"So you've never even been outside the castle grounds? At least until now?" His eyes widened in disbelief.

"I guess in a way I have always been trapped in that tower — oblivious to the world around me." She confessed solemnly, the implications of her words grating against her tongue.

"I see." He acknowledged, his eyes flashing toward hers, glancing for a moment before returning to his shirt.

"So your ship—" She brought up again.

"The Jolly Roger." He filled in the blanks, smiling to himself.

"The Jolly Roger." She tested the name on her lips. "Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Roger." She sing-songed.

He chuckled at the melodic sound of her voice — it was a nice change from their more serious conversations. His heart fluttered in his chest at her carefree attitude as she tried to imagine the infamous pirate ship.

"Aye. The Jolly Roger. She is as loyal as they come. She's been my home for many years now and I am rather impatient to get back to her." He supplied.

"Do all men talk of their ships like they are women?" She lifted an amused brow at the way he spoke about his ship.

"There is no room in a captain's heart for a woman. The only love he has is for his ship." He responded humorously. "She is all I need."

"And she keeps you company at night?" She speculated.

"A pirate's life is a lonely one, but it is a small price to pay for freedom." He replied, lowering his shirt to dry before beginning to run a wet rag over the leather, the rug easily picking up the traces of blood attached to it. "We answer to no one. Take what we want. Go where we please."

"A life of adventure…" She appreciated the notion without condoning the deplorable actions that accompanied piracy. "To die would be an awfully big adventure." She murmured a quote she had once read.

There was a persistent drive and hunger in her to experience life for herself, but her parents' fear of her death kept her from it. She longed to experience adventures outside of the pages of her books that she often read sitting in the bay window overlooking the castle grounds. She made a promise to herself right then and there that she would make the best of this journey and take in everything that it had to offer her before she resigned herself to a life of royalty.

"What was that?" He questioned the quote she had rambled off under the assumption that he couldn't hear her.

"It's nothing." She said dismissively. "Just something I read in a book once." She sighed wistfully.

"Wise words to live by." He agreed, looking over his jacket for any spots he may have missed. He set it down with a drawn out sigh, taking a stock of the items next to him when he fell upon the small tin. He had nearly forgotten. "Come here, love." He instructed, beckoning her forward with his hand while the other picked up the container next to him.

She scooted closer to him, stopping herself when she was within his reach. She glanced down at the tin in his hand, her eyes flickering back to his as he pried it open and revealed its contents. "Leaves?" She commented, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Are you really that hungry that you need to eat the vegetation?" She quipped.

"Oh it isn't for me." He alluded, meeting her questioning gaze.

"For me?" She balked. "No. I am not putting whatever that is in my mouth!" Emma threw her arms up in protest.

"You act like I'm trying to poison you." He brushed his thumb against his lips, trying to not laugh at her brash reaction. "It is just mint." He held up the container for her to inhale.

She lowered her head, picking up its pleasant and refreshing scent.

"See?" He affirmed.

"Fine. I'll bite." She said reluctantly, her eyes darting to the leaves in the container. "But if this gives me hallucinations I'm stabbing you in your sleep." She threatened in jest.

"You wound me love." He placed his hand over his heart. "This will help settle your stomach." He swirled the tin in his hand before plucking a few small leaves and handing them to her.

"Do I even want to know why you have that just lying about?" She pondered, prolonging her avoidance of taking part in its healing properties.

"New recruits tend to get a little seasick. I imagine you might feel the same once you're onboard." He supplied with a slight shrug. "Please take it. I might not be repentant for my actions back there but I do regret the distress it caused you. So please, allow me to make amends." He prodded her gently with his hand.

She looked up at him and then back at his hand before taking it from him and bringing them to her lips. She saw him nod his head in encouragement and she rolled her eyes and placed them in her mouth, chewing and then swallowing.

"Better?" He asked hopefully after setting down the tin beside them.

"I don't think it works that quickly." She gave him a skeptical look.

"I wouldn't know. Never needed the stuff. You could say I was born with the sea in my lungs." He leaned over to his side, his eyes never leaving hers as he dipped a clean rag into the water. Taking it out of the water, he squeezed it to release the access water and closed the distance between them.

"Come, let's get you washed up." He insisted, raising the wet rag as she leaned into his touch. He tenderly stroked her face with the rag, wiping her face in gentle circles to take off the dirt, sweat, and blood caked on her face.

She noticed how attentive he was with her as he gingerly cared for her. She couldn't help the softness in his face, making him appear almost human. Witnessing the few times he had been patient in kind with her didn't outweigh his resilient pirate nature, but it did provide her with a rare glimpse into the man behind the pirate facade. She saw the cracks behind the walls and they were finally starting to crumble.

"I don't believe you, you know. What you said about changing." She spoke up, swallowing and steeling herself in preparation for his response.

He tilted his head up at the sound of her voice, his eyes quickling finding hers, struck by the innocence shining in her green depths as he removed the rag, letting it hover in the air. "Is that so?" He narrowed his stormy blue eyes incredulously, the hunting skepticism of his words making her shiver underneath his dark yet composed demeanor.

"You can deny it all you want but everyone is capable of change whether they want to or not." She told him with a resilient tone that struck a pang of doubt in his chest.

He swallowed hard, bowing his head to collect himself before rebuffing her bold and unsolicited statement. It was a silly notion really — that one doesn't have control over their own fate and desires — that humans are just slaves to the wants and needs of someone above themselves.

He clenched his jaw, raising his head to see the conflict etched on her face. There was a glimmer of hope in her expression — hope that he might reciprocate her sentiments — hope that needed to be put down like a wounded animal.

He brought his head toward her until they were near flushed with one another. He could hear her heart thumping loudly in her chest at his proximity — could feel her tremble against him as his warm shallow breaths caressed her face.

He sensed her longing, her desperation, her eyes silently pleading with him to just let his guard down — but his stubborn refusal to appear weak in front of her kept him from giving in. "Believe what you want to believe. Makes no difference to me."