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Chapter six: Unleashed
Clara slowly sauntered onto the deck, feeling particularly better that day. After two more break outs, Jack finally gave up and put her and Abigail into the cabin they had first met in. Everyone was starting to warm up to the women, liking Clara for her bold as brass ways and defiance to their captain, and Abigail for her lady-like qualities and easy-going.
Clara would walk up to the pirates, and ask them questions. Sometimes serious, sometimes making them laugh until Jack would have to bark at them to get back to work. She was well liked throughout the whole crew. Except for one. His name was Dirk, and he couldn't stand the little thing.
To Dirk, Clara was the biggest nuisance that ever walked the earth. He hated her questions, and the way she walked around the ship like she owned it. But the in-depth reason why Dirk hated Clara, was due to the fact that she turned him down. No matter who you are, when someone takes a blow you your manhood, you tend not to take it in stride.
Dirk was not handsome. He wasn't by definition of homely either. Just in the middle. Tall, with a tuft of dark hair somewhat covering his eyes. He was muscular, and easily towered over the smart mouthed little bitch.
As Clara looked around for someone to bug, her eyes fell on the form of Dirk, who was tying off ropes; his eyes on her. She frowned. This was the only crew member to actually try and come onto her. It disgusted Clara to no end. Sex was something she preferred to avoid. Not at all costs, but she was inclined to decline when it came up.
Feeling particularly malicious, Clara swaggered over to Dirk, and gave him a reedy smile.
"Can you answer a question for me?" She asked, batting her eyelashes, and turning a shoulder. Most of the crew thought she was pretty enough, but they admitted that her nose was rather long, and if she would only keep her hair out of her eyes and her face; as well as keep her face clean, she would look a hell of a lot better. But Clara cared nought.
"Go away, wench," Dirk grunted, taking out his thing and wicked looking blade. Clara blinked, but Dirk simply took it to the ropes he was tying. She didn't move.
"Well...You see, only you can answer this question," She needled. Finally, Dirk threw down his work, and made to grab at the small girl. The crew that were on deck in the midmorning sunlight started to inch towards what would definitely be a fight. They knew that Clara would easily get pummeled if Dirk was allowed to touch her, and he had a thing for hitting women. His whores in Tortuga never escaped those ministrations.
Dirk placed both his large hands on Clara's neck, trying to squeeze the life out of her. She felt her feet being lifted off the deck, and dangle almost helplessly. Almost.
This was exactly what she wanted. She brought up her knee and it connected audibly with Dirk's how's your father, causing him to release her and fall to the floor. She fell unexpectedly on her leg, letting a gasp of pain through her lips. Dirk quickly recovered and grabbed her by her long hair.
"This is what happens to stupid little whores who say no to me," He spat, pulling her up again. Her one leg out of action, Clara lashed out at him with her nails, leaving large scrapes along his right cheek.
Then, in a fit of strength, she wrenched out of Dirk's grip, pulled her arm back and threw all her weight behind her fist. The sound of bone on bone was what finally motivated the rest of the crew to act.
Parkinson grabbed Clara up by the waist as she struggled to get back at Dirk; who had regained his footing. His face was oozing blood from the marks left by her nails, and before anyone else could stop or hold him back, he went up the confined Clara, and punched her.
She was out like a snuffed candle. Suddenly, Jack burst from his cabin, his face murderous. He ordered Dirk to be taken down to the brig, then he would be dropped off at the nearest island. No one objected, and a few felt rather relieved. He was giving the crew and pirates a bad name with whores, as well as made everyone uneasy. Sure, Clara needled him...that was what she was good at. But the crew knew there was nothing behind it, and found humor in her words. This man needed to go.
Jack then called for Parkinson who was still holding the unconscious Clara to bring her into his own cabin, and for someone to get Abigail who was the best nurse Jack had ever run into, or captured...either or.
Parkinson gently laid down the slight figure on Jack's chaise lounge, knowing better then putting her on the bed. When he stepped back, Abigail and Jack entered.
"Now what did she do?" Abigail asked, gently feeling Clara's face.
"Being her usual self. Only Dirk took it personally. The whole crew was shocked at how she managed him. I think his jaw is broken, and he will have scars for life with those nails. Serves him right," Parkinson muttered. Abigail shot him a look, then grabbed up a thing of salve from her bag. She rubbed it onto the places that would bruise, and it should bring down the swelling.
"You should have acted a bit faster," Jack said, frowning down. "She could have been seriously hurt." Both Abigail and Parkinson shot him strange wide eyed looked. "It lowers the ransom!" Jack exclaimed, then went to one of the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of his dirtiest rum.
It was the first time Abigail had been in the captain's cabin. Clara had been there a few times, and the first was when she ruled a senior crew meeting and set down the amount of money for their own bribes. The more Abigail got to know of this heiress with no want of the lifestyle, the more she liked and was confused by her. No matter. The cabin was large. The biggest Abigail had seen on a ship, and she had been on a few. The walls were whitewashed, and the adorns were a nautical blue color. He had a few plush velvet rugs thrown haphazardly around, and had a bed, instead of a bunk.
There was a large wardrobe that a few people could easily fit into; anchored to the same wall as the bed. A huge post office style desk was on the opposite wall, maps in most of the cubicles. Then there was the chaise lounge that Clara was on, also in the blue color. The huge bay windows on the final wall were thrown open to emit any breeze into the already cooled cabin. If Abigail had been in different situations, she would have wanted this cabin.
"What the?" Clara's eyes suddenly snapped open. As soon as she was awake, she let out gasp of pain.
"My leg!" She cried, trying to sit up and clutch it. Parkinson hurriedly held her down as Abigail bent low, pushed up her skirts and looked to see what was the matter.
"I think it's broken," She muttered, running lithe fingers over what was obviously a broken bone.
"Shit!" Jack stormed out of his own cabin. Abigail quickly pulled out a small vile from her bodice, when Parkinson went to help Jack go and locate things.
"Is that what I hope it is?" Clara gasped out, trying hard not to scream in pain. Abigail nodded.
"Open up," the raven haired woman said, and put a few drops on the other girls tongue. By the time that Jack and Parkinson came back, Clara was totally out of it.
"Passed out from the pain," Abigail shrugged, the vial hidden once more. She was almost out of the amber liquid, and that scared her slightly. Maybe she could pick some up in Italy when they went.
Jack produced two long and thin wooden boards. Almost blushing, the pirate captain motioned for Abigail to lift up Clara's skirts, and she complied. With a sickening sound, Parkinson set the leg, and strapped the two boards to it.
Jack watched, frowning slightly. He then realized something; this woman had nice legs. They were beautifully shaped...and bare. All women had hairy legs, it was a fact of life. Sometimes the really dark hair repulsed him, but lately he had seen a few of the richer whores with bare legs. Once he questioned his number one whore; April, about this. She told him how it was becoming a new thing to shave their legs. It sounded so absurd, that Jack laughed, until she showed him. All they did was take a man's straight razor used for facial hair to their legs. And when April did it once for him, he couldn't stop feeling them. It was a new sensation, and soon afterwards, he would even pay other whores(when April was not available) extra to "shave their legs".
Clara wasn't a whore, was she? She didn't exactly look like one, and she practically avoided sex like it was the plague. Jack wondered a few times if she had a bad experience, working a drudge/slave for the man who killed her father. And it wouldn't surprise him if that was the reason why she turned down the men on his crew, when she could have gotten paid.
"She should sleep in my bed tonight," Jack said, his face and mind void of anything.
"What?" Abigail asked, snapping her head up, and her grey eyes narrowing. Jack was glad that the women had become more comfortable, for various reasons. The main one being that he couldn't stand screaming hysterical women. In fact, he would be almost sore to see them go...but the thought of money would be great consolation.
"You two share a bed, do you not?" Parkinson came to Jack's rescue, shooting his captain a wry look behind Abigail's back "She should be able to stretch out, and keep her leg propped up."
"But...she's worse off on this thing!" Abigail kicked a leg of the chaise. Jack put a hand on her shoulder tightly, and frowned.
"I will sleep on this thing," He said, after staring her down a minute. She can have my bed. Its all our fault that we didn't stop her; we know how she can be with that tongue," The three chuckled, and after Parkinson easily deposited the limp Clara onto Jack's bed, and propped her leg with pillows, left.
Parkinson watched as Abigail strolled around the deck, smiling up in the sunlight. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her raven hair was in one long braid, and wrapped in a bun at the base of her neck. Her pale skin was coloring at being outside, and her upturned nose was just barely pink. She was wearing a gown from the trunk that they had managed to save from the wreckage of the ship they plucked her from; a pale green brocade with mother-of-pearl buttons, that made her pink cheeks and black hair stand out. And Parkinson admitted that he desired her. It was purely lust, he told himself easily.
Yet, as he looked over at Jack, who himself was looking at his cabin door with a trace of worry lining his brow, Parkinson knew he wasn't the only one smitten.