AN- So quick story before I start this chapter. I took a story that had me out on a boat the other day and I was thinking 'Okay, great. Inspiration for my fic and I get paid, right?' Well, not really. I ended up getting sick and had to return to the dock. However, that traumatic experience helped me to write this chapter while possibly triggering me at the same time. So please give my commitment to my craft some love please.
Dashing Pirate Rescue
Chapter Nine
Killian waited until nightfall to make their final descent into the port town, choosing to remain scarce to minimize the risk of being seen. They had made it this far with minimal interference, the last thing he needed was to be divested of his prize now. It was well beyond nightfall now and they had spent the last several hours lurking silently at the edge of the small township patiently waiting for the time when they could make their move.
Emma bounced her legs impatiently, her foot tapping rhythmically against the wooden crate she sat upon. For the last hour or two, she had been agitatedly watching the pirate, who stood upon wooden scaffolding, one armed wrapped around one of the beams, the other holding a brass spyglass to his right eye.
"Are we leaving anytime soon?" She groaned, looking up at him from her spot on the ground, her fists tucked underneath her chin to hold her face upright.
"Hush." He hissed, adjusting his grip on his spyglass as he squinted to take in the comings and goings on the docks. Straining forward, he could see his beloved Jolly Roger moored in the distance, its distinct red, yellow, and blue markings signaling its appearance — not that he needed such indicators to recognize her — he could spot her from anywhere — calling and beckoning him home.
He was anxious to return to his beloved ship. He missed her crisp white sails, her bulky rigging, and her towering wooden masts. She was a marvel, his ship. He trained the spyglass back in the direction of the dock, viewing it intently — he almost had it. Just a little longer and it would confirm his suspicions.
"Killian…" She complained.
He lowered his spyglass, turning his head to give her a stern authoritative look. "What did I just say?" He spat. "I can't afford any distractions." He gritted his teeth in annoyance at the interruption and returned the spyglass to its former position.
"We have been here for hours. What are you waiting for?" She wondered, staring at nothing in particular.
"Did it ever occur to you that rushing into a situation such as this could have disastrous consequences? It takes careful planning to—"
"I thought that's why we were waiting for night to depart…" She interjected, cutting him off mid-speech.
"It appears your impatience has returned and is hard at work doing everything it can to test my already waving restraint." He muttered brashly. "As I was saying before, we can't just waltz in unnoticed. There is one man we have to get past." He concentrated his line of sight on the docks.
"Who?" She asked with peaked curiosity.
"The port authority." He stated. "It is their job to know everything that goes on, including what's in a ship's hold. Reporting my newly acquired cargo is not really a viable option." He explained.
"Can't you just—" She mined a knife to her throat and made a gagging noise to illustrate her point.
He raised a confused brow, his lips pressed together tightly as he turned to her. "No I can't just…" He repeated her same action with the added sound effect. "It would cause too much commotion. And since when have you ever been unopposed to killing. You were the last one I suspected of proposing such an idea."
"Somewhere between three hours ago and now." She provided, dryly.
Killian exhaled, shaking his head as he rubbed his face in aggravation. "Your priorities never cease to astound and amaze me." He commented in jest, his eyes sparkling with humor. "Had I known your boredom outweighed your objection to killing, it would have saved me a lot of time." He considered.
"And I'm already regretting mentioning it." She grumbled.
"Patience. Patience is required in matters such as these." He preached. "While you've been sitting there, I have been working out the dock schedule." He revealed with a cocky smile. "My calculations put the shift change at every four hours." He concluded, raising his spyglass once again to monitor the docks.
"If we time it right we should reach the docks during the turnover. The distraction should give us enough time to slip past them undetected." He stated plainly, collapsing his scope and tucking it away in his innermost coat pocket.
Killian jumped down, landing on the ground with a thud and immediately began collecting their packs and shoving them deep inside a thick berry bush for safe keeping. "We will need to travel light." He told her with a grunt, taking care to avoid the thorns as he pushed the bags inward.
"But—" She opened her mouth to protest.
"I will send a member of my crew to collect them in the morning just before we set sail." He assured her, looking up at her from over his shoulder as he secured them. He rose to his feet, clapping his hands together to remove any dirt he may have picked up.
"We aren't leaving straight away?" She piped up in question, concern in her eyes.
"It wouldn't be wise to make a hasty exit. We will need to settle our debts and claim our cargo before departing. Besides, it will take a few hours to round up the crew and we will need to be quiet about it. We've been docked for weeks and my sudden reappearance will no doubt rouse some questions." He explained and strode over to her, extending his hands out for her to take.
Her eyes darted to his hands and then back to his eyes, silently reading his expression. It was one of resilience and determination. His confidence put her at ease and she reached out her tentative hands, letting them slide atop his palms and allow him to lift her from the crate.
"If I am correct, we should arrive just before the shift change. The streets should be empty at this hour save a few whores looking for work and heavily inebriated men stumbling out of the taverns." He grabbed his brown leather satchel and slung it over his body. "Come on, love. We have but an hour to make it to the docks." He alleged, nodding toward the short path toward the town.
She shook out her nerves and tucked her hair into the hood before placing it securely on top of her head. She slipped on her gloves, wiggling her fingers as she stretched the material of her hand. "Ready." She announced with a firm nod.
"Stay close." He urged, quickly setting a stealthy pace through the dirt road and into the small town, Emma staying close behind him as he navigated them through the nearly empty streets.
His gathered intel had proved right and they made it safely to the docks. They tucked themselves into a narrow alley, his hand placed out to cage her against the wall to steady her. He glanced around the corner, squinting toward the man pacing the length of the dock. He strained further in the opposite direction to see a man walking to the docks.
"There he is." He whispered, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "When I say go, I want you to hide yourself behind me until we are safely out of sight. I will cover you." He directed. "Do you understand?" He asked in hushed tones.
"Yes." She breathed out anxiously.
Killian eyed the docks as the man approached the port authority to relieve him of his duties and take up his post for the evening. He breathed deeply, counting rhythmically in his head before he made his move. "Now." He instructed.
They scurried toward the dock, staying low. They paused to duck behind a few large barrels before he signaled them to continue with a pat on her shoulder. He rushed them quickly as soon as their backs were turned, sliding past them with ease. Once they were past the sentries, he shoved her in front of him, covering her with his body and escorting her to his ship at the end of the dock.
To anyone watching it would appear he was out taking a nightly stroll along the dock but upon further inspection they would notice the small woman he was wearing like a second skin. "Keep your head down." He whispered without taking his eyes off his intended destination.
He released a contented sigh as his ship came into view, welcoming him back into her loving arms. Standing in front of the gangplank, he wrapped his arms around her waist, guiding her up the steep incline.
The only thing she could see were her dimly lit unsteady footsteps in front of her. The only thing keeping her from falling was his hands squeezing her, urging her forward. She felt his arm dragging against her torso, hugging her to his body as his other hand drifted to grab the railing of the ship.
They were immediately greeted by an attentive deckhand, who rushed to help them onto the deck of the ship. "Captain…" He addressed Killian with wide eyes.
"Shhhh." Killian hushed the younger man. "Watch your step, lass." He cautioned, taking her by the forearm and stretching it to the man in front of him to help lower her down onto the deck of the ship.
Killian placed his arm against his lower back, his leather duster rising slightly as his eyes darted from one end of the dock to the other to inspect his surroundings. Curling his hand around the edge of the ship, he abandoned his paranoid behavior and jumped down, landing on the deck with a thud.
"Killian…" She called to him with a shaky breath, cowering away from her unfamiliar environment, her eyes shifting to the men manning the ship around her.
With jaw set, he closed the distance between them and took her protectively into his arms to relieve some of her apprehension.
Emma placed the palm of her hand inside his jacket, clutching on to him as she gazed up at him with fear. She relaxed slightly as his arm slid around her waist, tugging her closely against him.
Killian leaned forward, dropping his voice down low as he addressed his crewman, "Send word that I have returned but do it quietly." He warned intently. "I shall take her down to my cabin and I expect my highest ranking officers to be on this deck when I return."
"Yes, captain." The deckhand stuttered until his captain's command.
"Killian?" She looked to him for reassurance.
"Come darling." He twisted her around, his hand closed over her shoulder as he directed them down below.
She could feel his grip on her tighten as he led her through the narrow passage, passing a storeroom and the galley on the way to a large grey door leading to what she presumed to be his quarters. Her suspicions were confirmed when he flung the door open and pushed her inside. She stumbled forward, nearly tripping on her own clumsy feet as she looked around.
She opened her mouth to speak but all the breath died in her throat when she heard the sound of the door slam behind her. Picking up her cloak, she rushed to the door, bracing her body against it as she heard the lock click into place. "No." Her eyes widened in panic as one hand slapped the door and the other jiggled the handle desperately.
Her resolve crumbled, her knocks becoming more faint as the seconds ticked by — the realization hitting her that there was no escape. It was no different than their trip to the inn nearly two weeks prior. She didn't know why she thought this time would be any different. She let out a long shallow breath and spun around, pressing her back against the door. She closed her eyes, mentally berating herself for her current predicament. She was aware he had his reasons for trapping in here but the idea of once again being confined in a room that was even smaller than the one she had occupied for years at the castle was distressing.
She panted, trying to catch her breath, melting into the cool door against her back to give her a bit of reprieve. Growing in confidence, she pried herself from the door and began to walk the length of the cabin, her boots squeaking against the creak in the floorboards. She could feel the gentle rocking of the ship as she made her way over to the table surrounded by chairs that was the first thing she had spotted upon entering the room.
Placing her hand out to brace herself against the chair, she looked around the room, lit by a single lantern tilting back and forth overhead. Curling her other hand against the back of the chair, she leaned forward, peeking up from that position to see a large window stretching across the back of the room giving her a view of the ocean below. The window seal was lined with a vast array of books and atlases with maps shoved in between several of the bindings.
Resting in the corner was a modestly sized bunk with blankets strewn about the light weight feather mattress covered by navy colored sheets. At the foot of the bed was a large black and brown trunk Behind her was a storage cabinet and a small bookcase with a number of books and trinkets from his many travels. She also noticed a small wooden desk with a few unfolded maps, a letter opener, an inkwell and pen, scraps of parchment, and several navigational instruments littering the top of the desk.
She rocked back on her heels, listening to her uneven breaths. She screwed her eyes shut against the onslaught of dizziness that invaded her senses and tried to ignore the shakiness in her limbs and the beads of hot sweat gathering on her brow. Her heart hammered in her chest as she squeezed the back of the chair for purchase, feeling the swaying motion of the ship beneath her feet.
It was sweltering in the cabin, the air unforgivingly humid. She reached for the opening of her cloak and tugged it from her body, letting it fall to the floor behind her as she tried to put the room spinning around her out of her mind. She was fighting against the wave of nausea that rolled through her as she jerked forward, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes darted around the room for something to get sick into.
She fell upon a rusty pail and launched herself at it, her hands gripping the sides as she tucked it close to her body. She surged forward, coughing and gagging as she felt the bile rise in her throat. She surrendered to the sea's cruel will and released the contents of her stomach. She grunted in pain as she retched, gasping for air as tears rolled violently down her cheeks at the force of her effort to empty her stomach. Lurching, she spit out the remaining bile into the tin bucket and scooted away on the floor with what little energy she had left until her spine hit the bed.
Topside, Killian was being filled in by the top ranking members of his crew as to what had transpired during his absence. He had been gone for nearly two months, but it appeared not much had changed. He leaned over several maps, listening intently as his sailing master, Gregory Randell, plotted their course.
"And we can leave soon?" Killian inquired, his fist pressed underneath his chin in uncertainty.
Randell peered up at him, his spectacles resting at the bridge of his nose. "I would need to confer with Mr. Bradley to make sure she is ready to sail, but weather permitting — yes."
"Excellent." Killian patted the man on the back. "Make the necessary preparations." He said as he dismissed himself to check in with the man in question.
"Bradley." Killian crooked a finger in the man's direction to get his attention.
"Captain?" Mr. Bradley, the boatswain, strode over to his captain.
Killian leaned against the main mast, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked the man over. "I want you to see to it that the ship is well stocked. We won't be stopping until we reach Ibbaros." He instructed. "I want to minimize any risk to the cargo." He dropped his voice, jutting out his chin in rough gravely command.
"Aye, sir. It will be done." Mr. Bradley agreed.
"See that it is." Killian nodded in challenge, watching as the man busied himself with collecting the crew that served directly underneath him.
Killian placed his hand at the hilt of his sword as he walked to a nearby table and sat himself upon it with a heavy groan. He reached around him and poured himself a glass of water. He downed the drink quickly, letting it refresh him and then collected an apple from a plate of fruit next to the pitcher. He tossed it in his hand and brought it to his lips, taking a generous bite and chewed, its sweet juices dripping from his mouth and into his beard.
"Smee!" Killian cried out for his portly first mate, looking out at the men on deck maintenancing the ship to get it ready for their departure.
He watched as his first mate, in his distinct red flimsy hat, came bounding toward him. "Yes, captain?" He panted.
"I have a special task for you." Killian indicated.
"Anything, captain." Smee answered without hesitation.
"Listen very carefully." He began, his tone conveying a seriousness that his first mate responded to. "I have stashed our traveling supplies in a bush located at a small farm just at the edge of town. I need you to round up some of the crew to go and fetch them for me." He instructed and the man nodded his understanding. "You will also find a horse. We won't be needing it so I want you to see if you can sell it for a decent price."
"As you wish, sir." Smee acknowledged.
"Don't disappoint me Smee." Killian clapped the man on the back and lifted himself from the table.
"Captain!" Smee exclaimed to capture his captain's attention before he resumed his task of running the ship.
"Smee?" He turned around to face the man, looking him up and down, his eyes dark and intense as if to say 'this better not be a waste of my time.'
"What of the princess?" Smee wondered.
Killian released a low growl of impatience and closed the distance between them to push his body near flush with the smaller man. "That is no concern of yours." He shoved his finger into the man's chest, knocking him off balance. "While she remains aboard my ship, she will be in my care. Is that understood?"
The man nodded his head fervently and then scampered off to recruit some of the men to join him on his quest.
"Mr. Madden." Killian barked in order.
His quartermaster was at his side in mere seconds. "Mr. Madden." He addressed him. "Prompt as always. The men chose well in their leadership." Killian complimented the man.
"You requested me, captain?" Mr. Madden wondered casually.
"First, I would like to thank you for seeing to the ship while I was away. You've done a fine job. I will see to it that you are well compensated for your effort." Killian told him.
"That's not that reason you called me over, was it?" Scott turned his lips up into a knowing smile.
"Always the perceptive one." Killian noted, returning the man's expression. "No." He finally answered. "I need your help with something." He supplied, resting his hand on Scott's shoulder. "You know the men better than anyone here and they trust you as much as you do them." He implied.
"What would you like me to do?" The man asked, extremely receptive to his captain's request.
"Our cargo needs protecting. We have enemies everywhere looking to take our prize. She will need to be guarded when she isn't in my charge." Killian explained. "I would like you to put your best men on the job and create a schedule to guard the door of my cabin."
"I can do that." Madden affirmed.
"I also would like you to interview a few candidates for the position of tending to the princess while she is staying with us — someone to provide her with anything she needs." He instructed. "I trust your judgement and expect you to choose wisely. It is an important job."
"I understand." Madden responded.
"The lass is rather mistrusting and skittish around people. Given her previous experience or lack thereof, that is to be expected. Make sure the one you assign to her is police and respectful. But most importantly — he shouldn't frighten her."
"You have my word." The man agreed.
"I knew I could count on you." Killian supported. "I must return and check on the cargo — make sure she is settling in. Update me on our progress and shall return to oversee preparations." He turned on his heel to leave before turning around, mentally berating himself for his lapse in thought. "I also need you to round up our sailors from the whore houses and the taverns. I want to be gone by midday tomorrow. If they aren't on board by then we are leaving without them."
"It will be done." His quartermaster assured him.
Killian turned on his heel dramatically, his leather coat sweeping out around him with the motion. He strode over to the stairs that led below deck and began making his way back to his cabin and back to his princess.
Upon his arrival, he reached into his coat pocket and produced the key, using it to unlock the door and push it open. He lifted a confused brow as he surveyed the cabin, noticing the empty room. "Lass?" He called out, plagued with worry when he didn't see her. His eyes darted about the room before he began to slowly enter the space.
He stopped at the chair on the floor, tapping it curiously with his boot when he heard the sound of whimpering emanating from the ground at the corner of his bed. He rounded the tipped over chair and looked toward the corner to see her slumped against the frame of his bunk, her entire body trembling violently as she sniffled.
"Emma!" He cried, dropping to his knees in front of her. He cupped her face, his expression dropping as he noticed how pale she was. He swept her sweaty hair from her forehead, his eyes glazing over with concern as he looked her over. Pressing the back of his hand to her forehead, he gauged her temperature with his skin. "You're warm."
She hugged her stomach as she gagged, suddenly aware of how sick she felt. "Make it stop turning." She moaned weakly.
"Make what stop turning?" He narrowed his eyes, perplexed by her words.
"The room." She answered. "It's spinning." She waved her finger about to illustrate her point.
Realization struck him and he had to chuckle a tad at her misfortune. "Come, lass." He picked himself up off the floor before bending down to help her onto her feet and guide her to the bed behind them.
"Why are you laughing?" She groaned, rolling her head against the pillow miserably. She watched with hazy vision as he dipped a rag into a bowl of cold water, wringing it in his hands to remove the excess water and returning to her.
He settled himself onto the bed beside her, his feet planted on the floor as he leaned over to her to place the cold rag on her overly heated skin.
"Mmmm. That feels nice." She sighed contently.
"We aren't even out to sea yet and you're already sea sick." He recognized, trying to hide his smile of amusement as he brushed the cold cloth against her face. "It is an unfortunate affliction this early on, but I'm afraid it does happen." He attempted to placate her embarrassment.
"It happened so fast. I was fine one moment and then—" She recounted her experience.
"Aye. It can set in quickly. It certainly picked a vulnerable victim." He smiled softly at his joke. "I'm sorry. I didn't think your body would respond like this and so quickly."
"Killian, it's okay." She reached out to give his hand a reassuring squeeze.
"We've just gotta get you your sea legs — get you adjusted to the sway of ocean tide." He suggested sweetly. "How about some ginger tea?"
"That sounds nice." She agreed, raising herself up slightly on her forearms.
"I shall make it myself. Meanwhile, you rest." He gently placed her hand against her chest to coax her back down onto the bed. He got up from the bed and leaned over to place a kiss on her sweaty temple. "I will be back in a moment." He patted her small hand and turned around to leave, taking care to shut the door firmly behind him.
He returned several minutes later to find Emma sound asleep. He carefully brought the cup of tea to the table and placed it on top before sitting beside her, listening to her peaceful breathing. He stroked her cheek tenderly, gazing at her beautiful face as she slumbered. He was loath to wake her — he really was — but she couldn't sleep in her clothing.
Gently lifting one of her feet, he placed it into his lap and began to unlace them enough to slip it off her foot. He repeated the action with the other one, noticing the way she shifted uncomfortably as he lowered her foot back onto the bed.
"Come on. Sit up for me, lass." He placed his hands underneath her back to help her up as she groaned in protest. "I know. I know." He understood, lifting her up so he could work the shirt up her body, keeping a hand at her back to keep her upright.
After removing her shirt, he slowly lowered her back down and immediately began to unlace her trousers. "Lift for me." He advised, helping her to hold up some of her weight as she reluctantly lifted her pelvis so that he could remove the pants from her hips.
"Good girl." He admired as he tugged the leather from her legs and hung them sloppily over a chair. Standing up and hovering over her, he collected a hand woven quilt and dragged it across her naked body. "Sleep well, love."
After tending to Emma, Killian made his way topside to oversee the preparations for their journey out to sea. He surveyed the men as they inspected the rigging and tested the integrity of the pulleys. He watched as previsions were brought on board and directed to the food stores where his boatswain took inventory with the help of the cook, who was already planning his meals. Mr. Finely, his master gunner, observed the restocking of the artillery, which included plenty of gunpowder, cannons, and muskets. They were placed with the reserve of weapons — a store of swords and blades in all shapes and sizes, rifles, bayonets, axes, pistols. Their storehouse of weapons could rival that of a small military base — and something told him that they would be needing all of it.
He observed his boatswain mark in the ledger and Killian made a mental note to himself to check it over later. Killian checked in with his quartermaster, who was currently busy looking over the roster. Mr. Madden had taken that opportunity to inform him that only 105 of their 125 had managed to return. There were still quite a few unaccounted for. He needed every able-bodied man possible to ensure a safe journey — well as safe as one could be given what they were carrying.
"I don't care what you have to do. Get them here." Killian insisted with a commanding growl.
It was half after nine when Smee returned with the recruits he ventured out with and the bags he had been sent out to retrieve. He quickly put the men back to work and instructed Smee to run an errand for him, reminding him to return before they set sail.
When Killian entered his quarters to deposit the bags, he noticed that Emma was still sleeping. He knew that she hadn't been sleeping well — the concept still foreign to her given seven years without — they had also had a very late night. With that in mind, he was inclined to just let her rest for the time being. She would just be a hindrance — a distraction he didn't need at the moment.
Upon leaving, he stumbled into the galley, requesting that the cook prepare a meal for the woman occupying his cabin and have it waiting for her when she woke. Everyone on the ship was clambering around — running from one end of the ship to the other as their superiors barked orders. He watched on as each man worked diligently to ready the ship for departure.
With an hour left until midday, the final barrels of rum were being loaded into the store room. Smee had also approached him and let him know that he had retrieved what he had requested. He further instructed his first mate to place it in his cabin and then return to resume the remainder of his duties.
Bradley strode over to him, holding up a velvet coin purse and handed it to Killian. "We are squared away with the harbormaster. This is what was left over."
"Any trouble?" Killian raised an eyebrow.
"No sir." The man answered.
Killian rounded his sailing master, who was busy making his final calculations. "How are we looking Mr. Randell?"
"Conditions should be perfect to press on." He concluded, glancing up from his notebook to look out into the water to see the gentle waves lapping against the side of the ship. "The wind isn't necessarily on our side, but it could be worse." He added for good measure.
"Madden, I'm going to need a final head count." Killian yelled, storming toward Scott with purposeful strides.
"118. We are still missing seven." He relayed to his captain, showing him the ship's manifest.
Killian shifted his stance, hand over his mouth and slowly lowering it down his face in mild aggravation. "We can't afford to wait any longer. Every moment we stay puts us all at risk." He rumbled. "Raise the gangplank. And that's an order." He barked, whirling around to address the rest of his hard working crew.
He took his place at the helm, a hand poised on one of the rungs. "Get ready to weigh anchor, we are taking her out to sea." He announced to a chorus of cheers.
When Emma finally opened her eyes, she was nearly blinded by the rays of the sun filtering in through the window behind her. She squinted against the onslaught of light and shielded her eyes defensively with a groan. Rolling over, she began to adjust her eyes to her surroundings. Her eyes widened in recognition that she was in his cabin. She had been ushered in so quickly that she could barely process what was happening around her.
Burying her head in the pillow, she inhaled deeply, letting his heady masculine scent wash over her. The smell was faint given that he had been around to occupy it in several weeks but she could still pick up on the familiar notes of salt and the strong spiced drink he often sipped. She remembered the first time she had tasted it on his lips — the diluted substance tickling and numbing her tongue as his tongue delicately explored her mouth.
She hummed pleasantly at the memory and stretched her limbs across the bed until they were pulled taut to wake her muscles. She had no idea how long she had been sleeping but it had been far too long since she had rested so comfortably. There was something about this place that made her feel safe — like nothing could touch her here. But now that she was fully rested it was time to get up.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she gathered the blanket around her herself and tugged it off the bed with her. She padded over to the window and pushed herself up onto her tiptoes with the help of the window seal and peered out at the ocean. She could barely make out the town in the distance — they were already out in the water.
She swayed slightly as they hit a particularly rocky patch of waves. She placed a hand against the wall to hold her upright and the other flew to her now churning stomach. She gagged and lurched forward, fully expecting to have another bout of sea sickness, but managed to starve it off.
She was lightheaded and her head was positively throbbing. And despite her stomach's violent protest, it was growling for sustenance. Raising the blanket dragging across the floor behind her, she guided herself over to the table where there was a platter with a generous assortment of sliced fruits and a loaf of freshly made bread.
Even if her stomach was revolting against her, she had to admit that the fruit looked quite appealing. She couldn't even recall the last time she had grapes or pineapple, or even melon. Her stomach gurgled again in anticipation at the thought of indulging in one of the fruits on the tray in front of her.
She decided to start small, choosing to pluck a few grapes from its vine and plopping them into her mouth, letting its tart sweetness explode on her tongue. She closed her eyes, moaning at its sublime taste — how she had missed it. She spent the next hour listening to the tide roll against the side of the ship as she leisurely devoured the fruit and then the bread. It felt good to have something line her stomach, hoping that she managed to hold it down long enough to re energize her.
Getting up slowly, she directed her attention to the familiar bags that sat in the corner next to the door and moved toward them. She tilted her head curiously at a package wrapped on top of the largest bag and bent forward to pick it up. The last thing she wanted to do was assume that it was intended for her but it was among her things so it was safe to reason this was hers.
She flipped it over and tugged at the string holding the wrapping together until it gave way. Tucked inside was a crisp white cotton shirt — a nicer imitation of the one that had been ruined in the scuffle at the barn. She hugged it to her body, gripping it underneath her chin, staring down at it appreciatively. It hadn't slipped her mind that he was trying to replace the one that got ruined, she thought to herself as she put it aside and began to collect the rest of her scattered clothing so that she could dress for the day.
She spent the remainder of her day exploring his cabin. She scanned the titles of the books that lined the ledge of the window. Most of the works were nautical in theme save for a few fiction novels scattered throughout. Next she raided his desk, flipping through the maps and prodding the metal instruments littered across it. She pulled open its single drawer and leaned inside to find a single brown leather portfolio.
Pulling it out of its place in the drawer, she brought it to her lips and blew hard to remove some of the caked on dust before setting the object on the desk. She was stunned when she opened it to reveal several charcoal drawings. She thumbed through each one, admiring the detailed renderings of everything from the ship to a sunset over the ocean — each bearing the signature: K. Jones in the bottom right corner of the page — he had drawn all of them.
The last picture in the leather folder caught her immediate attention — that was because it was probably the only portrait in the bunch. It was a picture of a young man in a naval captain's uniform. Picking it up delicately, she turned it over to see the description on the back that had a single word on it: Liam, followed by the date. There was no doubt in her mind that the man in the drawing was his late brother.
However, it did strike her as odd that it would be the last drawing in the portfolio. She flipped back, concentrating on the backs of each piece of parchment, noting the ascending dates that ended with the drawing of his brother. That's when it dawned on her — the reason there were no more pieces of artwork — he had stopped drawing after he lost his brother.
A tear slipped from her eye and she immediately swiped at it to prevent it from falling on to the page. She collected the pages and tucked them back into their case before returning the folder to the drawer and shutting it.
She poured over the contents of his bookcase, fiddling with the worldly trinkets and souvenirs from his travels — each one carrying a story of its own no doubt. She replaced the last item she picked up on the shelf and ventured over to the trunk at the end of the bed.
At first glance there was nothing but spare blankets and pillows, perhaps a few towels even — but underneath was an old naval officer's uniform. She ran her hand over the fleece fabric and traced its gold buttons etched with the anchors. The items hidden inside the trunk were probably the only reminders he had left of his time before he was a pirate, she decided. Buried underneath the uniform was a small box, which contained a few loose pieces of copper and buttons, a handkerchief with the initials A.J. on it, a naval contract with his signature on it, and an object wrapped in a bit of cloth.
Gripping it firmly in her hand, she unraveled the cloth to find a stunning silver ring with an oval-shaped red gemstone flanked by two small diamonds in the center. She gasped at how simple yet beautiful the ring was as she twirled it between her fingers before slipping it onto her finger. She held it up, admiring it as the gemstone glinted against the sun — it was a perfect fit.
"That ring belonged to my mother."
She jolted at the sound of his voice at the door, placing her hand over her chest to calm her racing heart. "How long have you been standing there?" She gulped, shoving her hands behind her back so that she could slide the ring off her finger and tuck it into the palm of her hand.
He pushed off from the door and moved toward her with a murderous glint in his eye. He grasped her wrists from behind her back and pulled them toward him as he said, "long enough to notice you pilfering my belongings, it would seem." He accused as he forced her hand open to retrieve his ring.
"I didn't mean to — I was just—" She spoke up in her defence.
"Just what?" He spat, looming over her, a look of betrayal crossing his face. "It's bad form to go through a man's things." He scowled, wrapping the ring back up and placing it back inside the box before tucking it back into the trunk.
"You were gone so I just thought—"
"You just thought you could go through my possessions and I wouldn't notice?" He leaned forward to close the trunk with an audible crash that made her jump. "I expected you to occupy yourself with a book or two but never did I expect to find you knee deep in my personal property. Even pirate's have more respect than what you've just displayed." He scolded her as he rounded the trunk, lowering the latches to secure it shut.
"I came to see if you would care to join me for an early dinner before I retire for the evening." He said as he stood up to face her.
"Retire? The sun has barely begun to set…" She gestured to the glaring sun poking in through the window.
"Unlike you I don't have the luxury of sleeping all hours of the day." He took a few steps toward her, flinging his arm about flamboyantly. "In case you haven't noticed… I have a ship to run and I require rest."
"That's not fair. I haven't slept in seven years." She defended. "And are you telling me you haven't slept since we made camp two nights ago?" She wondered, her mouth slightly agape at how he was still standing upright.
"Aye. Now that keen sense of awareness finally kicks in." He tapped his temple to further illustrate his point.
It was then that she noticed the dark circles underneath his eyes, nearly hidden underneath the smudged coal lining his tear ducts. "Killian…" She exhaled in sympathy, her hand flying to her locket — a habit she had developed long ago.
"So, did you find anything interesting? Should I be searching your pockets before I bring you home?" He rolled his shoulders to help him shed the weighty leather on his back.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—" She attempted to apologize, knowing that it couldn't make up for her snooping.
"Aye. You shouldn't have." He agreed coldly, shaking his arms out of the jacket before folding it over one of the table chairs.
He seemed so at ease in his cabin — shuffling about the room absentmindedly without fault or question. She stood awkwardly before him, glancing over at his fingers as they nimbly undid the buttons of his waistcoat and slid it off his person.
"Well I am absolutely famished after today. What do you say we sit down for dinner?" He proposed as he leaned over to set his vest with his coat. "I've taken the liberty of soliciting the cook to prepare a meal for us. It should be here shortly." He rambled on as he gripped his shirt and tugged it out of the waistband of his pants, the material lifting slightly giving her a tease of what lay beneath.
"Please sit." He insisted, gesturing to the table before flipping the collar of his shirt to relax in the comfortable setting that his quarters provided to him.
Emma took a seat at the table, never taking her eyes off of him. She curled her fingers around the edge of the table and watched as he flitted over to a small wash basin to splash cold water on his face and finished by dabbing at his moist skin with a nearby rag.
"I trust you are finding your accommodations satisfactory?" He presumed, tossing the rag on the table. "Of course that is a pointless question to ask considering how I found you." He tightened his mouth and shrugged as he took the chair opposite her and perched his legs on top of the table — the place they were supposedly eating at.
He leaned back in the chair, balanced on its hind legs as he stroked the facial hair lining his jaw.
"I said I was sorry." She croaked in reminder.
"I see you've found the shirt I left for you." He noticed, nodding toward the shirt that hung loosely against her chest. "Well… the shirt Smee left for you." He amended, swinging his legs from the table, the chair scraping against the wood as it landed on the ground with a thump.
Tucking her chin into her chest, she examined the shirt, playing with the white cotton strings dangling from the open neckline. "I appreciate the replacement. Thank you."
"You're welcome." He said, his voice raspy from shouting commands all day.
"When I woke you weren't here." She averted her gaze. "We're already out to sea…" She acknowledged in earnest.
"Aye. That we are." He affirmed. "Are you feeling any better? I see the color back in your cheeks." He pointed out.
She blushed at the comment and swallowed. "Your crew have been very attentive with bringing me a few cups of tea to soothe my stomach throughout the day."
"I'm glad." He tilted his head, his eyes roaming her face as if to read her mind. "Tell me what's on your mind."
She gave him a questioning look, caught off guard that he was able to call her out to easily. "Nothing. It's nothing really." She awkwardly rubbed her forehead.
"No it's not." He challenged. "Given all of our time together, I would wager I know you better than you know yourself." He provided, his eyes boring into hers. "So I'm going to ask you again, what has you vexed?"
She gulped, fighting the urge to flee in fear that he would retaliate for her disregard of his privacy. "I… I stumbled upon the drawings… the ones you keep in your desk drawer." She confessed, closing her eyes as she mentally berated herself.
"That doesn't really surprise me. I ought to find a better hiding place for them." He admitted, twisting the jeweled metal on his ring finger.
She opened her eyes in confusion, noticing his pensive expression. "You're not mad?"
"Oh, don't get me wrong. I am absolutely livid." He canted his head putatively. "But I sense that your findings warrant a question so I will allow it… just this once." He held up his pointer finger, stressing the importance of a careful selection.
She released a heavy sigh and opened her mouth to speak, "I guess you stopped drawing when your brother died." She supposed, holding his gaze.
He scrunched his face in bewilderment at her words. "That's not really a question." He distinguished.
"More or less an observation." She discerned with a nod.
"Then it appears we don't have anything further to discuss." He gave her a crooked smile as he rubbed his fingers together.
"If I recall properly, I still have a question to use at my discretion." She rebuked his assertion.
"I seemed to have developed a habit of underestimating your insistence to try patience." He grumbled in annoyance, pushing himself against the table and leaned forward.
"You don't scare me." She rebuffed his dangerous facade. "I see right through you. Deep down you are just as vulnerable as the rest of us… you are just scared to let—"
"Enough!" He rumbled, slamming his fist down against the table. "You know absolutely nothing about me." He dropped his voice into a low growl, seething with anger. "You are nothing but a foolish girl and right now you are grinding on my last nerve."
They were interrupted by a knock at the door and he turned in its direction to see the cook poke his head through with their dinner. "Sir?"
"That's quite alright, Pete." Killian replied, using his hands against the table to help himself out of his chair, which raddled behind him as it pushed backward to give himself enough room.
"Leave her's here. I will be taking mine in the galley." He told the man as he rounded the table only to be stopped by her firm grasp on his wrist. He looked down at her, his eyes cold and lifeless against hers.
"Killian, don't do this." She whispered, her tone desperate and full of concern.
He dropped his head, wincing and fighting against the urge to stay with her. He slipped his hand out of her grasp and leaned forward, his eyes as harsh and detached as she had ever seen them as he scanned her face. "That is Captain Jones to you." He growled assertively.
Her lips curled in anguish, blinking rapidly to keep her tears from falling as she listened to the heavy footsteps of his heated exit. She trained her eyes toward the ceiling, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall as the cook placed a tray of food in front of her.
"Here you are Miss." He said politely before slowly backing away.
"Thank you." She rasped quietly.
She ate her dinner in silence, dining on a meal of broiled fish and potatoes. She savored every last bite, taking her time to indulge herself in hopes that the longer she took that it might give him more time to change his mind and rejoin her. But after an hour or two of waiting for his return, she sulked with the realization that he wasn't coming back.
Emma got up from the table, her chair sliding behind her and moved toward the lantern, extinguishing it and plunging the cabin into darkness. She made quick work of her clothing and placed it in a pile on top of the trunk at the foot of the bed before sliding into bed.
She curled herself into the sheets, tucking her hands underneath her head as a few errant tears rolled down her face.
She wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep but even in the throes of sleep she registered the slight dip in the mattress underneath her. Her eyes snapped open at the weight of the warm body against her back, his erection pressing against her backside as he settled himself underneath the sheets next to her.
He curled his arm around her waist, drawing her body flush against his. "It's just me." He whispered as he brushed his knuckles lightly against her arm.
She released a contented sigh at his familiar touch, basking in the rough and pleasant scrape of his stubble against her skin and his hot breath caressing her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around his neck, pushing herself up into his explorative fingers as they danced across her skin. Her head fell back against his shoulder, shuttering as he dragged his coarse fingertips against the length of her torso. Her eyes slammed shut at the cool bite of his ringed fingers brushing her flesh, his thumb drawing shapes against every curve of her body.
"I'm sorry." She whispered, raking her nails lightly against his neck.
"Shhhhhh." He hushed her, his breath grazing the shell of her ear. Hugging her closely against his chest, he trailed his fingers toward the swell of her breasts. He heard her breath hitch in anticipation as he tenderly stroked the curve of her breast, enjoying the sounds of her whimpers for more contact.
The sheet sagged to her waist, bearing her naked chest to the unforgiving chill in the air. He palmed the rounded flesh as she rolled her hips against him in impatience. "Shhhhh." He chided, his voice whispering against her neck. "You'll get what you need." He assured her as he gingerly circled her nipple with his thumb.
He admired the way it pebbled underneath his ministrations, her body responding to his every touch. "Gods, you are beautiful." He murmured huskily against her pulse. He rolled the puckered bud with the pad of his thumb, marveling in her mewls of pleasure. He nuzzled the hollow of her neck with his cheek, raking the sensitive skin with his stubble.
Abandoning her breast, he resumed his attentions with its jealous twin, repeating his actions and giving it the same attention. He twirled it between his fingers with a sensual slowness that had her body aching. He could feel her desire for him soaking his throbbing cock as she rocked back against him for more.
She moaned feverishly with every pass of his thumb against her nipple, working it in time with her needy desperate thrusts. Her body was so sensitive to his every touch, yearning and begging for his attentiveness. She could feel her sex pulsing with need to the point where it hurt with its emptiness. "Killian…" She keened. "Please."
He placed a trail of hot open mouthed kisses to her shoulder, still thumbing her nipple despite her cries for relief.
Emma craned her neck to capture her lips with his, drawing him away from his heady exploration of her body.
He cradled her in his arms, caressing her cheek as his lips brushed hers in a demanding kiss. Slanting his mouth over hers, he crushed his lips against hers, holding her steady to control the force of his kiss.
She whined into his mouth as he swept his lips over hers, his tongue snaking sensually into her mouth as he passionately kissed her. His kisses never ceased to make her dizzy. There was something needy and desperate in the way he kissed her, like he was trying to brand her with his lips.
She let out a gasp as his lips slipped from hers and he flipped her in his arms so that her back was pressed against his front. She felt his fingers lightly brushing her stomach, stroking her soothingly to calm the tension he was creating in her body. She mewled against him as he caressed her, his fingers inching to where she needed him most.
He removed the sheet from their bodies to grant him further access to the sensitive moist flesh between her quivering thighs. He felt her tighten her hold around his neck, dragging his head forward to guide his movements against her.
She opened her legs instinctively, unabashedly bearing herself to him as she panted with need.
He seized her leg, hitching it across his own and dragged his fingers over the nest of curls just above her sex. He heard her inhale sharply at his proximity to her aching clit, just pleading for stimulation. He cupped her gently, rubbing his palm against the length of her dripping cunt.
She wriggled against him, pushing herself up into his hand in search of relief. "Please." She implored him, her voice broken and tortured by his merciless teasing.
He smirked devilishly against her skin as he slowly removed some of his fingers until only his middle and pointer remained. He gently parted her, setting a finger on either side of her quivering lips and caressed her, letting the wet flesh glide against his fingers.
She thrashed against him, whining in impatience as she willed him to pleasure her with his fingers — to make the unbearable ache go away. She raked her nails against his skin, drawing a hiss from his lips while her other hand seized his wrist and coaxed it lower.
She choked on a gasp as she felt his long finger sheath itself inside her. Her eyes fluttered closed at the welcomed intrusion, her body responding in kind as she began to steadily rock against him.
He fingered her with slow purposeful slides of his finger, drawing out her pleasure. "You are so wet." He practically growled possessively with the knowledge that he was solely responsible for the sensations he was creating against her body. He added another finger to the mix, plunging them in tandem as he worked them in and out of her dripping cunt.
She grinded against his fingers, fueled by the rhythm of his thrusts inside her. She fucked herself on his fingers, feeling the purposeful slide of them inside of her as they brought her closer to the edge. She arched her back, screaming as he curled his fingers inside her, rubbing the sensitive flesh relentlessly.
His hand flew to her mouth and hushed her to keep her quiet. He could feel her cries vibrating against his palm. He groaned as she rubbed wantonly against him, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of her, curving them upward each time.
"Come on Emma." He urged, his thumb skimming the length of her sex seeking out her neglected flesh at the apex of her thighs. He could hear her muffled screams in his hand as he brushed his thumb against her clit. "Are you going to come for me?" He whispered against her ear as he circled the swollen bud.
Killian picked up the torturous pace, enthralled by the way her stomach coiled the closer she got. "Come on, let me feel you." He encouraged, brushing his fingers against her innermost walls, crooking them forward until he felt her body quake and her sex flutter around his fingers.
She cried out his name against his sweaty palm as she surrendered herself to her pleasure. Her body twisted in his hold, riding out the waves of her euphoric high. She felt him remove his fingers, letting them join the assault on her clit, rubbing it with his hand to prolong her orgasm.
Her body went slack against his, coming down from her climax but it was short lived when he felt his erection gliding against her from behind, coating himself in the proof of her orgasm. Gods, she needed him — she needed him desperately, as if her body depended on him for survival.
"Can I have you?" He murmured into her sweaty hair.
"Yes. Gods, yes. I'm yours… only yours." She proclaimed deliriously, overcome with the promise of once again being joined with him.
Killian growled possessively at her declaration of ownership and squeezed her hip, surging forward to bury himself inside her warm depths. He could never tire of her — his cock needing to gorge and sustain itself on her pleasure.
She let out a contented sigh as he filled her, her body welcoming him home. She felt his hands roam across her heated skin appreciatively as he began to thrust into her with shallow strokes. "Killian…" She keened, wrapping her arm around him to return his movements against her.
Upon hearing her helpless pleas, he sped his movements inside her — her body willingly accepting his seamlessly fluid thrusts inside her. He brushed the hair at the top of her head as he ground himself against her in earnest, his cock sliding inside her with every downward stroke of his hips.
She would never get enough of him — getting lost in his shaft pressing into her, filling her with his desire. She arched her back against him as he cupped her breast, rocking his hips against her as she fucked back against him.
He cherished her body with his fiery touch, his hips snapping vigorously against hers. He felt her hand close around his own, guiding his fingers across her skin and she moaned at the contact.
Using the arm wrapped around his neck, she dragged his head down, angling hers to meet his lips. She swallowed his groans of pleasure, greedily sucking them down her throat as her lips massaged his.
His hips moved persistently against hers, his body rocking back and forth as she impaled herself on his cock, taking him inside her and wrapping him inside her sweltering heat. He felt positively drunk on her, unable to have his fill of her as he steadily rutted against her. He chased her kiss, his mouth craning against hers to sate his craving.
Their bodies were molded to the shape of one another, moving in sync, pushing and pulling against one another. He grunted, getting lost in the purely invigorating way her hips rolled against his as she rocked back into him. His hips stuttered, pumping into her strenuously as he dragged his lips against hers.
Killian panted into her ear, his hand gently wrapping around her neck to hold himself steady as he snapped his hips relentlessly against hers.
"Killian, I can't—" She whined as her eyes screwed shut.
"I've got you." He swore. "Just let go." He encouraged, his voice raw with lust as his eyes roved over her face, which was wrecked with her pleasure. "Come for me." He beckoned, his fingertips sliding slightly at the column of her neck.
He felt her constrict and spasm around him, her walls gripping him tightly, her orgasm washing over her and triggering his own. His cock swelled inside her and he had to bury his head into her shoulder, gently biting down to keep himself quiet. He released himself deep inside her, sliding lazily as he allowed her to drain him of his pleasure.
"Killian…" She sighed, cupping his flushed cheek, coaxing him to look at her as he came down from his high. She could just barely make out the blue of his eyes sparkling in the moonlight filtering in through the window behind them as she lovingly stroked his face.
He went slack against her, breathing heavily but managed to press a single kiss to her shoulder blade before withdrawing from her and rolling on to his side.
She whimpered at the loss, closing her eyes in silent mourning as she felt him slip from her core, his essence sliding warm and sticky down her thighs as the only reminder of their encounter.
"Killian." She said softly, tucking her legs underneath her.
He ran his hand down his face, exhaling before tilting his head toward her. "Not now." He said dismissively.
Her face fell at his slight and winced. "Please—"
"I said, not now, Emma." He grumbled, flinging his arm out in annoyance.
She blinked rapidly, trying to keep her tears at bay and begrudgingly turned around and laid on her side, her hands tucked underneath her head protectively.
"Emma…" He spoke, his strained voice piercing her ears.
She flipped around to face him, watching his shadow move as he lifted the blanket to invite her inside.
"Come on." He relented, urging her to come closer.
"Fine." She whispered, wiping the moisture underneath her eyes and tucking herself against his warm body. She placed her hand on his chest, nuzzling against him as he wound an arm around her.
He lowered the blanket, wrapping them into its embrace and hugged her against him. He watched as her face relaxed and she began to drift off to sleep. He brushed a few strands of hair from her face and pressed his lips to her head. He leaned back, adjusting himself against the mattress. He ran his fingers through his hair, releasing a long winded sigh, unable to control his racing thoughts.
She was falling for him — and right now he was fighting like hell to not do the same.
AN- I apologize for the rushed smut at the end. It isn't up to my usual standards because I was distracted by the near endless disruptions from my boyfriend. Why are men so needy? Freaking annoying. Anyway, hope you guys still enjoyed it. This chapter is just to really move the story along as I have tried to cut down on the number of chapters so you guys can get to the ending faster. I am determined to finish this so I can move on to other projects.