Usual disclaimers. blah!
Taking care of my friends little girls (age 2 & 3) today. chaos! At least I can type whilst looking after them.
***
Oran was grateful to Captain Ambazac for the ride on his ship - it had saved them a few hours slow sailing. He realised that Catherine had not been totally in character when she said she was frightened. Her hand trembled in his as they stood on the dockside whilst he thanked the Captain for the ride, surprised when he offered to buy their small boat.
"We lost our ships boat in a storm two weeks ago - if you are settling here then you will not need it. I will give you a fair price?" Oran nodded and they started haggling until at last both were satisfied with the deal. "You drive a hard bargain Monsieur," the Captain laughed, "but I wish you well!"
They shook hands and Oran leaned down to pick up the remaining bags. "Come on, let's find somewhere to stay." Leaning close he whispered in her ear. "Remember - a slip here and we hang. both of us!"
She paled, her grip on his hand tightening. "Okay, let's go find you a job!"
They walked along the docks, walking into six taverns until they found one that was willing to take Oran on as barman - Le Coq owned by Paul Fécamp. It was a dive, the last barman had been killed in a fight, but it served their purposes. For taking lower wages, they could have a room above and eat in the kitchen.
"You start tonight!" Fécamp insisted. "Can your wife cook? Yes? Good! She can start too - we need an assistant in the kitchens!" He paused for breath. "Good! Good! I will show you your room and you can get settled!"
Catherine smiled, wondering if the man ever fainted from forgetting to breathe, for he spoke non-stop.
"This way, this way!"
They reached the top of a narrow, rickety flight of stairs. Fécamp opened the door with a flourish as if he were leading them to a room of richly opulent instead of the musty ill-furnished place that faced them. The furniture was covered with dust - clearly the room had not been occupied for some time.
Catherine took a deep breath, promptly wishing she had not. She coughed. "Merci."
Oran recovered his wits. "Yes, merci monsieur, the room surpasses what we expected."
"Fine, fine! Just report downstairs at 6pm, both of you." He bustled out of the door, still talking as he walked down the stairs, albeit to himself.
"Oran!" Catherine switched to English as she inspected the bed inset into the wall. The mattress moved of its own accord. "Interesting wildlife," she sighed, bashing the straw to scare the mice from within. She opened the window to allow some air - any air - into the room. "I will need a bucket of hot water, some soap and a scrubbing brush - if this place cannot provide it then buy it!"
He nodded, unsure about sharing his bed with anything other than her. "I won't be long - bolt the door!"
He returned shortly, surprised that merely opening the window had improved the room. "Fécamp says you can wash anything you need in the sink by the back door." He eased the full bucket of hot water onto the table. "I had to buy soap and the brush."
Catherine smiled. "Somehow I am not surprised!" Rolling up her sleeves she pushed all the bedding and curtains into a pile by the door before handing him the scrubbing brush. "I'll be back shortly - you can start scrubbing!"
"But." Oran protested as she disappeared down the stairs with the bedding. She did not look back.
***
"Your wife, she is a good worker!" Fécamp praised as they finished for the evening. "Although why she washed so much I do not understand?"
"It is an English thing," Oran explained. "I believe they call it hygiene."
"Strange nation, strange people, but your wife is a pretty little thing so I suppose she cannot help it." He paused whilst he struggled to lock the door. "I will see you at midday."
Tiredly Oran climbed the stairs, ducking to avoid the low beams. He stopped in amazement when he opened the door, hardly recognising the room. The hangings and bedding was clean and a small scented candle lit the room. The few belongings they had brought from the hold of the Black Pearl to help their cover story were scattered around.
"Am I in the right place?" he smiled.
"Eh." Catherine jumped, having fallen asleep on the bed. "Sorry, I didn't hear you enter." Groggily she sat up. "But now you are here you can unlace this damned dress for me!" Sliding off the bed she came and stood before him, raising her hair so he could easily reach the ties.
For a moment he stood there, staring at her back.
"Oran?" Glancing over her shoulder she sighed at his stunned expression. "Oran, please!"
"Just promise when he finds out you won't let him shoot me?" He reached for the laces that held her dress snugly against her slim body, gently sliding the dress from her shoulders. Even though he had joked about it before, he was suddenly very aware that this was another man's wife he was undressing - his Captain's wife. As she turned to face him his eyes fell on a tattoo on her upper arm. "Wha. Jesus Kitty! When did you get that?"
"Belicia did it to make me one of the tribe."
"Well, short of hanging a large sign around your neck saying 'Property of Jack Sparrow' I cannot think of a more dangerous thing!"
"It doesn't show when I wear a dress an' I can keep it covered."
Oran took a deep breath. "You'd better Kitty - I'm too young to hang!"
"Dangerous or not, I'm going to bed!" She stepped out of her dress, standing in just her plain shift. "Are you coming?"
Ensuring the door was securely bolted, he placed a chair against it, firmly wedging the latch. Crossing to the table, he extinguished the candle before heading towards the bed alcove.
***
Oran was confused. A small, warm body was snuggled against him, a female body at that. Semi-conscious, he pulled the body towards him before drifting back asleep.
When he eventually awoke he was surprised to find Catherine still snuggled against him. He held her close, suddenly very jealous of his Captain as he watched her slowly wake. "Morning Kitty," he murmured.
"Ja." She sat up slowly, sleepily rubbing her eyes. "Oh, sorry - morning Oran." She stretched, yawning loudly. "Euch! Guess we'd better get up."
For a moment he wished she'd murmured his name. Sighing he kissed the top of her head before getting out of the bed so that she could too.
Taking care of my friends little girls (age 2 & 3) today. chaos! At least I can type whilst looking after them.
***
Oran was grateful to Captain Ambazac for the ride on his ship - it had saved them a few hours slow sailing. He realised that Catherine had not been totally in character when she said she was frightened. Her hand trembled in his as they stood on the dockside whilst he thanked the Captain for the ride, surprised when he offered to buy their small boat.
"We lost our ships boat in a storm two weeks ago - if you are settling here then you will not need it. I will give you a fair price?" Oran nodded and they started haggling until at last both were satisfied with the deal. "You drive a hard bargain Monsieur," the Captain laughed, "but I wish you well!"
They shook hands and Oran leaned down to pick up the remaining bags. "Come on, let's find somewhere to stay." Leaning close he whispered in her ear. "Remember - a slip here and we hang. both of us!"
She paled, her grip on his hand tightening. "Okay, let's go find you a job!"
They walked along the docks, walking into six taverns until they found one that was willing to take Oran on as barman - Le Coq owned by Paul Fécamp. It was a dive, the last barman had been killed in a fight, but it served their purposes. For taking lower wages, they could have a room above and eat in the kitchen.
"You start tonight!" Fécamp insisted. "Can your wife cook? Yes? Good! She can start too - we need an assistant in the kitchens!" He paused for breath. "Good! Good! I will show you your room and you can get settled!"
Catherine smiled, wondering if the man ever fainted from forgetting to breathe, for he spoke non-stop.
"This way, this way!"
They reached the top of a narrow, rickety flight of stairs. Fécamp opened the door with a flourish as if he were leading them to a room of richly opulent instead of the musty ill-furnished place that faced them. The furniture was covered with dust - clearly the room had not been occupied for some time.
Catherine took a deep breath, promptly wishing she had not. She coughed. "Merci."
Oran recovered his wits. "Yes, merci monsieur, the room surpasses what we expected."
"Fine, fine! Just report downstairs at 6pm, both of you." He bustled out of the door, still talking as he walked down the stairs, albeit to himself.
"Oran!" Catherine switched to English as she inspected the bed inset into the wall. The mattress moved of its own accord. "Interesting wildlife," she sighed, bashing the straw to scare the mice from within. She opened the window to allow some air - any air - into the room. "I will need a bucket of hot water, some soap and a scrubbing brush - if this place cannot provide it then buy it!"
He nodded, unsure about sharing his bed with anything other than her. "I won't be long - bolt the door!"
He returned shortly, surprised that merely opening the window had improved the room. "Fécamp says you can wash anything you need in the sink by the back door." He eased the full bucket of hot water onto the table. "I had to buy soap and the brush."
Catherine smiled. "Somehow I am not surprised!" Rolling up her sleeves she pushed all the bedding and curtains into a pile by the door before handing him the scrubbing brush. "I'll be back shortly - you can start scrubbing!"
"But." Oran protested as she disappeared down the stairs with the bedding. She did not look back.
***
"Your wife, she is a good worker!" Fécamp praised as they finished for the evening. "Although why she washed so much I do not understand?"
"It is an English thing," Oran explained. "I believe they call it hygiene."
"Strange nation, strange people, but your wife is a pretty little thing so I suppose she cannot help it." He paused whilst he struggled to lock the door. "I will see you at midday."
Tiredly Oran climbed the stairs, ducking to avoid the low beams. He stopped in amazement when he opened the door, hardly recognising the room. The hangings and bedding was clean and a small scented candle lit the room. The few belongings they had brought from the hold of the Black Pearl to help their cover story were scattered around.
"Am I in the right place?" he smiled.
"Eh." Catherine jumped, having fallen asleep on the bed. "Sorry, I didn't hear you enter." Groggily she sat up. "But now you are here you can unlace this damned dress for me!" Sliding off the bed she came and stood before him, raising her hair so he could easily reach the ties.
For a moment he stood there, staring at her back.
"Oran?" Glancing over her shoulder she sighed at his stunned expression. "Oran, please!"
"Just promise when he finds out you won't let him shoot me?" He reached for the laces that held her dress snugly against her slim body, gently sliding the dress from her shoulders. Even though he had joked about it before, he was suddenly very aware that this was another man's wife he was undressing - his Captain's wife. As she turned to face him his eyes fell on a tattoo on her upper arm. "Wha. Jesus Kitty! When did you get that?"
"Belicia did it to make me one of the tribe."
"Well, short of hanging a large sign around your neck saying 'Property of Jack Sparrow' I cannot think of a more dangerous thing!"
"It doesn't show when I wear a dress an' I can keep it covered."
Oran took a deep breath. "You'd better Kitty - I'm too young to hang!"
"Dangerous or not, I'm going to bed!" She stepped out of her dress, standing in just her plain shift. "Are you coming?"
Ensuring the door was securely bolted, he placed a chair against it, firmly wedging the latch. Crossing to the table, he extinguished the candle before heading towards the bed alcove.
***
Oran was confused. A small, warm body was snuggled against him, a female body at that. Semi-conscious, he pulled the body towards him before drifting back asleep.
When he eventually awoke he was surprised to find Catherine still snuggled against him. He held her close, suddenly very jealous of his Captain as he watched her slowly wake. "Morning Kitty," he murmured.
"Ja." She sat up slowly, sleepily rubbing her eyes. "Oh, sorry - morning Oran." She stretched, yawning loudly. "Euch! Guess we'd better get up."
For a moment he wished she'd murmured his name. Sighing he kissed the top of her head before getting out of the bed so that she could too.