Chapter 3: The Storm
Bush did not know what to make of this demure Lady Edrington. When he had first seen the woman he thought he had instantly recognized her. His years in the outer post of Port Royal had brought him into contact with many of the Caribbean's pirating vermin—one in particular, a Captain Isabelle Du Lac. She had been a hard one to chase, known for capturing and plundering with tricks and schemes rather than violence, it had taken considerable strategy to hunt down the elusive Du Lac. In the end, it had taken one traitor among her crew: a spurned lover, so to speak, to locate her ship, the Hurricane.
And when he finally saw, her, even the hard-bitten Bush had to admit she was magnificent. She was nothing like a lady, but nothing like a pirate either. Polite, for one, and well read, but totally irreverent nonetheless and took no small amount of joy in going against the laws—both of society and king. All flashing eyes and flyaway hair.
But she had no scar. And that was what made him reconsider. That pirating Isabelle did not have any mar on her face, save one white scar across her right brow. This Lady Isabelle was disfigured, and very shy. In the past week or so at sea, he didn't remember the lady ever on deck, in fact he didn't think she had come out of her room at all. Instead, invitations to dine were politely declined by her dressing maid and Horatio's attempts at socializing were similarly rebuked. When they were able to enter her cabin to speak to her, she mostly kept her head down and replied in quiet almost monosyllables. It was…to say the least…slightly frustrating.
"Captain, sir, Mr. Heyman's spotted storm clouds ahead sir," Midshipman Orrock reported to Horatio.
"Glass."
Orrock handed the scope to his captain and Horatio raised to his eye, yes, his earlier suspicions were correct, they would hit the storm in an hour or so, by the look of it, it would be a bad one.
"Styles! Get that rigging retied on the topsail! Mr. Bush! Check that loose canon there, Quickly now!" Horatio shouted over the gales of wind and rain. The Hotspur pitched violently on the sea at the whim of each wave and splash.
The deck was a complete chaos of men and rope, all scrambling about for a sure footing. And then suddenly, there was Lady Edrington, Lt. Bush glanced up from the canon to see her head peeking above deck. He struggled over the stairs and reached towards her.
"Lady Edrington! What are you—you must—."
Her face turned towards him, full of exhilaration and delight, she opened her mouth to speak whenthe ship suddenly pitched forward and Lt. Bush reached out towards her, trying to secure the lady, but in his panic for the slight woman he had overestimated and caught the side of her face, another pitch and just as suddenly they were both below decks, Bush sprawled across Lady Edrington, something in his grasp.
Colonel Andrew Edrington fretted. He hated fretting, lords of noble blood did not worry in such a girlish manner. But the thought of his sister aboard a ship captained by possibly the sharpist mind in the navy made him fret. Hopefully she had enough sense to stay out of their way. It was such a precarious situation! All one had to do was lift her sleeve a bit or even grasp her face and the entire charade would be over. Oh, her face, why on earth did he agree to that feather-brained plan of hers? Half the time they couldn't even get it to stay on.
News of a storm brewing in the Cortiz area only made him more nervous. It was right in the Hotspur's route, surely they would hit and surely, knowing his sister, Lady Edrington would not be able to resist a good storm.
"She loves the rain."
There was a flap of skin. There was a very real flap of skin in his hand. Lt. Bush stared up at Lady Edrington with absolute confusion. There was no scar now.
A/N: There doesn't seem to be much interest in this story, so I'm discontinuing it on Thanks!
