There Is No Leaving It Behind

by MissEleanorVane

"It wasn't the life she wanted. What she wanted was to take charge of the tavern. Having responsibilities, something to do, being important because she was sure she would do much better than her father here." The entire past of Charles Vane and Eleanor Guthrie, from the beginning of their love affair until the start of the show.

NOTES : This is a translation of my french OneShot "Cause you and the sea set me free." Since all of my Black Sails OS are connected to each other, I decided to translate them into English in the form of a fanfiction divided into several parts. This first part is about the Rosario raid, the death of Eleanor's mother, how and why Charles and Eleanor became lovers. I write this text like, 6 or 7 years ago, and if I changed and corrected some things these last years, it's still an old text. Hope you will still enjoy it though!

PS: Lexy Romanova who write the fanfiction "SAIL", "Empire" and "When The Sea Calls" about Vane and Eleanor is one of my closest friends in the world and we share some ideas and created even some of them together. So if you see some things who are similar to her own stories, it's normal, it's not me who steal from her; it's just that we created these ideas together and that she just wrote them first :) we are like sisters, so don't worry lol.

« I hear your whispers,

Break the silence,

And it calms me down,

Your taste on my lips,

Your salty kisses,

They say I'm seeking out the danger,

That one day you won't let me go… »

New Providence Island.

1703. Twelve years before the events of Season 1. Eleanor is ten.

A great crash echoed in the house. Like a door opened too brutally.

Eleanor sharply opened her eyes, bewildered. Her gaze fell to her bedroom window, and she saw it was dark outside. It was strange though; she saw orange gleams through her window too. The little girl got up from her bed and then felt her heart race in her chest. She didn't know why, but she was about to get up to go downstairs to talk to her mother when that one entered her room, slamming the door open, making her jump.

Caroline Guthrie was standing at the entrance, in a nightgown, a candle in her hand. Her hair was loosened, and Eleanor froze at the sight of her mother's face. A terrified face. Her hands were shaking, and she could see the wax from the candle trickling down her hand, but she seemed not to notice a thing and walked over to grab her daughter's hand and pull her out of bed, almost shouting:

"Eleanor! Get up, quickly! Come on, darling, get up!"

Eleanor let herself be pulled by her mother and without her having even the time to really understand what was going on, she dragged her down the stairs, hurrying down the steps, almost knocking them down, until she reached the ground floor, empty. Richard Guthrie and his personal slave, Mr. Scott, left for Port-Royal on business, but where the hell the other slaves in the house had gone? Where were the bodyguards who were supposed to protect them while her father was away? Eleanor was looking around, but the candles were all out and darkness reigned in the mansion, as was silence. Screams outside the house were heard and Eleanor nearly froze. Screams of pain, fear, panic.

"Don't stop!" Her mother exclaimed, pushing her again. "Hurry up!"

"What's going on, mother?" She moaned as she continued to follow her.

Caroline didn't answer, dragging her daughter into the dining room where she let go of Eleanor's palm before rushing onto an old piece of furniture that she pushed with all her might, her daughter watching her uncomprehendingly, trembling in the middle of the place. Without even noticing it, Eleanor realized that she had brought one of her pillows with her and she instinctively hugged it to her chest, keeping herself from crying in fear when more screams and crashing of broken glass were heard outside. Whatever was happening, it was attacking the mansions in the land. And the Guthrie's was right in the middle of the road, and by far one of the biggest and richest. It would be a perfect target.

Once the cabinet was removed, her mother knelt on the floor and yanked a rug out before she began to run her hand over the edge of the wooden planks, apparently looking for something and after a few seconds, found a rope which she pulled, and Eleanor stepped back as the planks lifted at the gesture, revealing a secret trap door anchored in the ground. She had never known there was a hiding place under their dining room… but she was starting to understand why.

Caroline Guthrie lifted her green eyes, identical to her daughter's, to Eleanor and extended her hand with an encouraging smile, whispering urgently:

"Go ahead, Eleanor, go downstairs."

Eleanor obeyed even though she would have preferred her mother to go first, and she grabbed her hand which helped her down and she felt a ladder which she gripped, not knowing where it was leading her since there was nothing but darkness below her and that her mother had not given her a candle. Eleanor looked up halfway, as she was about to let go of Caroline's hand and gazed at her questioningly. Why didn't she start to come down, too? She leaned down to grab her daughter's face in her hands and her mother's gaze hardened a bit when she said:

"Listen to me. I forbid you to get out of there, is that understood? Whatever you hear, whatever happens, you don't come back up until your father or Mr. Scott comes back for you. Did you get it, Eleanor?"

"But, mother, no, you have to…"

"Don't argue and come down, quickly," her mother urged, her voice breaking slightly and the sweetness returning to her eyes. She stroked her daughter's cheek once more and whispered "Come on darling, go ahead. And don't make the slightest noise. Trust me, okay?"

Eleanor hesitated for a few seconds, but her mother gave her no choice, squeezing her hand one last time and then letting go before slamming the hatch shut, plunging her into total darkness. Eleanor heard her mother put the rug and furniture back in place before leaving the place. Eleanor was dying to climb back up and bang against the hatch, but she knew she had to do nothing. She would obey her mother, even if she didn't like it. She fumbled with her legs in the dark to find what was left of the ladder and eventually found the cold, slightly damp ground under her bare feet. She dropped down into her seat and put her hands around her knees in front of the ladder, and began to wait, hardly keeping herself from crying. She could do it, no one was there to see her, but Eleanor hated crying, even when she was alone.

She did as her mother told her and didn't move. After what seemed like half an hour, she heard a loud crash in the house. Windows we smashed, furniture we threw on the floor. She didn't hear the slightest cry, however, except for men's voices giving orders sharply in Spanish. It could only mean that her mother had been able to take refuge somewhere, elsewhere, and that she was also safe. Eleanor kept quiet, as her mother had told her, and she just closed her eyes and buried her face between her knees and waited, listening to the voices of the Spaniards continuing to speak abruptly just above her head. The few Spanish lessons she had taken did not help her understand what they were saying. It went on for what seemed like hours, hours when the crashing of their broken goods made her jump every time, hours when she saw vague flashes of light through the cracks in the floor thanks to the torches of the men. After a while they finally left the house, but Eleanor did not come out. Even without her mother's order, she would have been unable to do so, so frozen in on herself, trying to contain her shakings.

After a while, she could see that day had dawned, the light appearing through the cracks in the planks. She didn't move. She was starting to feel hungry and thirsty, and it had been a while since her trembling of fear had changed to a trembling of cold. But she did not move an inch and after several more hours of waiting, she dozed off against her pillow, lying on the floor, falling asleep repeating the same phrase in her head: come back, mother, please…

It was a spider that woke her up. It was starting to climb up her face, and Eleanor had a pleasant view of these long, big black paws when she opened her eyes and pulled it back abruptly, leaping up. At the same time, as she felt ready to give in to tears this time, she heard the cabinet move again and she looked up hopefully, feeling immense relief wash over her. Her mother was back. At last ! She didn't know how long she had been in that dark cellar, but she didn't want to stay there a minute longer. She just wanted to find her mother's arms again.

But it was not her mother's face that appeared in the trapdoor, lit by a torch. It was Mr. Scott's. Immense relief flashed in his eyes when he saw that she was okay and he immediately went downstairs, reaching out to her, whispering in his deep, calm voice:

"Eleanor… it's all good, it's over. Come with me, we are leaving here."

Eleanor looked at him for a few seconds, dying to ask him where her mother and father were because if Mr. Scott was back from Port-Royal, that meant her father too. But something in Mr. Scott's face stopped her. He looked exhausted, and incredibly sad too. She wondered for a second if his wife and daughter had been brought to safety. She hoped so. She liked Madi. She was her friend.

Eleanor grabbed Mr. Scott's hand, which helped her up the ladder. She felt weak and swayed on her legs and when she saw the darkness that reigned in the mansion again, she realized that she had spent the day locked in the secret cellar. That's why she was so hungry. But she didn't have time to worry much because the sight of her dining room froze her. The kid suspected what had happened there, considering the noise she had heard. But seeing it was quite another thing. There was nothing left of the dining room. The large table where she was dining with her parents had been snapped in two, and the chairs were gone. The pictures on the walls had either been torn or thrown and smashed on the floor and she saw scorch marks all over the walls. All the statues that her father loved so much lay shattered on the ground, as well as glasses and other dishes, as well as windows. The house looked like a huge chaos. Her house.

She felt so stunned that she didn't make the slightest gesture of resistance when Mr. Scott wrapped a blanket around her before wrapping his arm around her small shoulders to lead her out of the premises. When she came out, she saw a huge fire in the middle of the courtyard, made of several wooden pieces of their furnishings. As Mr. Scott seemed in a hurry to get her away from the mansion, she couldn't help but peek behind the blaze where she saw dead horses. Their stable had been devastated. But that's not what grabs her attention. It was the figure of her father that she saw, standing, observing something on the ground. He turned his back to her, and she couldn't see his face, but the twitch of his shoulders felt like he was crying. Eleanor frowned. Her father, crying? Impossible. She wanted to see what he was looking at on the floor, but Mr. Scott tried to stop her.

"Eleanor, no, don't look…"

As soon as he started this sentence, she struggled abruptly and managed to escape his grip and moved a little closer to see what he didn't want her to look at. And when she saw her, it took a few seconds to realize. It was as if her mind had slowed down and didn't admit that what was in front of her could be real. For a few seconds, she doesn't react. Just a few seconds. Afterward, a wave of pain exploded inside her and made her tremble all over her body. No. No. Impossible. She was hiding, too, it was obvious...

"Mother ! No, mother…"

She had started running without even realizing it, passing her father who was standing a safe distance from his wife's body. She heard and ignored Mr. Scott's calls. They could both go to hell. Eleanor came to her mother's body, lying on the floor, her eyes open, staring into space. Her hand held her bloodied stomach as her blonde hair was sprawled on the floor. Looking at her face, we could almost tell she looked at peace. But Eleanor was unable to see it. She couldn't see anything anymore. The tears she had been holding back had burst and her sobs became as loud as they were uncontrollable. Her eyesight had become so blurry that she couldn't even see her mother. She heard nothing, felt nothing. None of this was real.

The kid fell to her knees in front of her mother's body and put her hand on hers, feeling the sticky blood under her hands. She looked like she was screaming, but she couldn't really hear herself. She couldn't think of anything other than this: I shouldn't have obeyed her. It cannot be real. I should have come out to help her. It couldn't have happened. I shouldn't have obeyed her. God, make that it's not real. I should never have obeyed her... I should never have obeyed her; I should never have...

She felt two firm arms grab her and Mr. Scott's calm, soothing voice came in her ear, and he lifted her up, trying to pull her away from her mother's body. Eleanor struggled immediately, exclaiming "No! I want to stay with her!" With all her might, she finally turned to her father, still standing back behind them, to beg him with a look to give her a few more minutes. Richard Guthrie stared blankly at his daughter, even though she saw that there were red streaks around his eyes, and looking at him like that, Eleanor gestured to him. She wanted her father's arms, not Mr. Scott's. He had never hugged her before, but he couldn't push her away now. But when Richard saw that Eleanor wanted to approach him, he looked away and nodded at Mr. Scott, silently ordering him to take her away from him.

He obeyed and dragged Eleanor, who offered no resistance this time, watching her father as she let herself be carried away from her mother. It was like a second blow. I won't forget that. I'll never forget that, was the last thought she had before burst into tears again and this time coming to snuggle up against Mr. Scott, burying her face in his chest. Later, she would hate herself for showing such weakness in front of him, in front of her father who must have seen what was going on from afar. But at this moment, she didn't care. She needed someone to hug her. And Mr. Scott didn't push her away. Unlike her father.

Mr. Scott had taken her to Nassau, to the tavern. On the way, when she had calmed down, even if she remained silent, he explained to her that the Spaniards had put their threat to execution as to the pirate empire that her father was forming had cost Spain large sums of money. Two warships had ventured into the bay and stormed the beach. With the fort abandoned, no one could stop them. And as they stepped forward into the tavern, she could see the mess the Spaniards had left behind. Dislocated bodies lurked along the main shopping lane. Heaps of buildings and camps had been burnt down. She saw women crying, hugging their torn skirts against them, curled up in dark corners of the city. Nassau was no more than a smoldering heap of ashes where only tears and misery were visible.

A few days later, as the populace slowly began to move and wake up from their shock after the Rosario raid, the name of the larger of the two ships, Eleanor found herself standing next to her father at her mother's funeral, inland. The sky was gray, and it was raining heavily that day. As if God knew. She hadn't spoken to him, nor had a look since he had looked away when she needed him, and she hadn't the attention to do so. Having said that, she discreetly squeezed Mr. Scott's hand in front of Caroline Guthrie's body which was buried in the ground. Before arriving at the funeral, Mr. Scott gave her the locket her mother wore, telling her that she would have liked it to be her who inherited this jewel. Eleanor had observed the ancient locket between her palms for long minutes, finding it strange to feel it between her fingers, being so used to seeing it around the neck of the elegant Madame Guthrie. Then she awkwardly put it on. It was strange, but after what she had seen in Nassau her pain was muffled. She felt it there, deep inside, like a wave that had temporarily withdrawn but would be sure to return. But during the funeral, she was marble. Only her trembling hands bore witness to her inner distress and only Mr. Scott could tell. He too must have been broken too. His wife and daughter were killed in the attack, along with around a hundred of slaves, many of whom were his friends. She wasn't sure whether she had yet realized that she was never going to see Madi again either. Everything seemed unreal, false, meaningless. But whatever Mr. Scott was feeling, just like her, he was hiding it from the world.

Maybe that was the only way to keep holding on. Pretend and move on. Eleanor had learned the lesson well and she already knew she would never forget it.

---

I need you, Aquarius,

Enchanted I will have to stay,

I feel you, Aquarius,

Cause you the sea set me free,

You call to me, Aquarius,

I relinquish,

To your powers,

From your grasp,

I just can't hide,

I missed the danger,

I had to conquer,

You made me feel alive. »

New Providence Island, Nassau.

1709, six years later. Six years before the events of Season 1. Eleanor is sixteen.

She didn't liked rum, at first.

However, anyone who tasted this liquor for the first time could only hate it. It burned to the point where it felt like a fire had broken out. And yet, we always wanted a second drink. Then a third. And over time, we got used to the fire it started. We enjoyed it. And we ended up not feeling it at all anymore.

The first time Eleanor Guthrie had tasted rum, she was thirteen. Alone, she had stolen a bottle from the storerooms of her father's tavern, and then she had taken refuge in the back. God, how much she hated it. And yet she had swallowed a second sip almost immediately. Since then, like everyone in Nassau, she had grown used to rum and for it to work on her, she had to drink a considerable amount of it. The kind a woman wasn't supposed to drink. Sometimes that suited her well, because she hated losing control of herself and it had to happen if you really pushed the rum too far. And sometimes it annoyed her a lot. As it was then, as she was sitting in her father's office in the Guthrie Tavern.

She ran her finger over the neck of the half-empty bottle, after she had swallowed half of it. It was either that or go break something. The bottle on her father's head, maybe? This was an idea that she liked a lot. Who knows, maybe she would let herself be tempted one day. Eleanor squeezed her glass in her hand and took another sip of rum. It didn't work. Not fast enough. She wasn't even sure she wanted to get drunk, to be honest. But there was only that to be done now. She lifted her eyes and let her gaze wander over to Richard Guthrie's imposing office where he had spoken to her just a few hours ago, before retiring to their home in the Nassau lands.

In a week, she would accompany him to Port-Royal, he said. He had important connections that he would like to introduce to her. Which meant that he felt it was time for her to start looking for a good match, one that preferably would bring great benefit to their family. Eleanor took a deep breath. Just the thought made her want to throw up. He hadn't asked her any questions or asked her opinion. He had contented himself with announcing as clearly and coldly as when discussing business with his partners. As if there was no question of the future of his only daughter.

He doesn't give a shit about my future, she thought, pouring herself another drink as she watched the sun slowly set over the island through the open balcony. She knew it though. She had always known it, since she was a kid. It annoyed her to feel that stabbing pain in her chest every time. She should have been used to it though. Unless it's something we just don't get used to. God, if mother had been there…

She's not there. She's dead. Eleanor looked down at her glass of rum and stared at the bronze liquid. It wouldn't have changed anything anyway. Her mother, Caroline Guthrie, was not a cold-eyed woman. When she was a little girl, she told her that her grandfather didn't want her to marry Richard Guthrie. Caroline Quincey came from a respected family and of a much higher rank than the Guthrie, whose name was not even familiar to them, this family just beginning their rise at that time and this, in the American colonies, not in London. And the Quincey's were that kind of arrogant and haughty family who believed themselves even though they were not part of the nobility, having made their fortune about 40 years ago thanks to a copper mine found by pure chance. Caroline, the youngest of three daughters, had been promised to a little earl living in Bristol. To which Caroline responded by secretly marrying a small merchant who was just starting out, her dear father. Because of this, her mother had been disinherited and had never had any contact with her family again. And that ultimately didn't matter much, as they had quickly moved from London to Boston, her father's hometown, where she had been born. What astonished Eleanor each time was the smile and good humor that her mother used to have when she spoke about the rejection of her family. She looked so happy that she didn't care. Eleanor often wondered how this was possible as a child. Now she assumed that Caroline Guthrie was just very much in love with her husband. This too, Eleanor wondered how this was possible.

Would her mother have been against this trip to Port-Royal? To be honest, Eleanor didn't know and that only made her feel more depressed. Caroline Guthrie died six years ago when she was ten and anything that might have happened with her after that doesn't matter anymore because it would never happen. Her mother would not help her. I do not need help. No, she could solve this problem on her own. She just had to figure out how.

No doubt she could go to Port-Royal with her father and act out, but Richard Guthrie wouldn't stop there. Somehow, she had a feeling he was hoping to get rid of her. His cumbersome daughter... an investment that would come to nothing, that's what he must have thought... money to spend on feeding her, dressing her, educating her, all so that she ends up with a fucking merchant, spreading her legs to lay brats… Eleanor clutched her glass again in her palm. Funny, but she almost wished the glass had broken. Feeling the pain of the pieces sink into her fingers would certainly have freed her from the one burning her stomach.

Fuck you, father. Fuck you.

She wouldn't get married. Or at least, not on the orders of her dear father, nor with a man he would have appointed her. No fucking way. She still preferred to go throw herself from the top of the fort right into the rocks. But no. There was always a more logical outcome. Either way, it was time that she started to think about what she was really going to do in the months to come, in the years to come. She was sixteen now, and she felt like she had been watching for decades, biding her time. And something told her that things were going to escalate much sooner than expected. She felt like she had to be ready. Ready to prove her father wrong. Ready to take what was rightfully hers, being his legitimate daughter and his only child.

Eleanor stood up, leaving the rum behind, having lost all desire to drink, and went out to the balcony where she leaned on the railing and watched the street in front of her, where the merchants came and went. A few pirates also passed by as loudly, but it was only in an hour or two that they would all flock to her father's tavern to get drunk until they ended up in the arms of the whores next door. At this point in time, most of the pirates were still recovering from their last night in their tents on the beach below. A pirate approached a tree and Eleanor saw him stick his cock out to piss in plain sight, laughing and mumbling to his friend who had stopped to look up at the stars.

Nothing was changing in her face, but if she had listened to herself, she would have taken the gun hidden under her father's desk to shoot at that pig's cock. As well as all those of the men who pissed and shit all over Nassau. This town stank half the time. The smell of brine, shit, and fish. She loved this city. She had always loved it, even though she lived apart in their house a few dozen kilometers inland. A house she had hated since her mother died. As often as she could, she came here, in the harbor, in the tavern or elsewhere. Officially, she still lived in their home with her father, but she spent so much time in the tavern that she often ended up falling asleep on the desk bunk. He hated her coming here, and she knew it. Which just made her love this place more. The pirates and other men of the tavern had become so used to seeing her in these places that they sometimes mistook her for the boss. And if Eleanor had wanted this power for years, that desire was far more violent once she tasted it. They didn't like her; she knew that too. Men hated it when she came down into the room and gave orders, but no one dared to disobey her either. Well, hardly anyone. There was always that bastard Vane to piss her off.

Charles Vane. Eleanor chuckled in exasperation at the thought of that one. It had been years since he appeared, and she had a distinct impression that Providence had brought him to Nassau just to torment her. She remembered perfectly the first time she had seen him, when she was thirteen, on the beach. It was three years after her mother died, and she was starting to really understand the taste of anger and hatred against her father. Vane had looked at her strangely and already there, he had exasperated her. And he'd taken great pains to repeat this feat so many times over the past three years that a night when he wasn't at the tavern bothering her seemed almost strange to her. She also remembered the first time she had spoken to him, about a year and a half after their first meeting. She was wandering, against Mr. Scott's advice, in the Guthrie Tavern and spent what seemed like a good hour staring at Vane from the top of the stairs, hoping he would look down first. It was a little game they'd gotten into the moment she saw him again after the beach hit. She had lost that night. She had been forced to look away before him because of Mr. Scott appeared with a look of disapproval and exasperation in his eyes and it had frustrated her so much. As well, as she came back down the stairs after he had more or less lectured her - he had understood for a while that he and Mr. Guthrie could talk as much as they wanted, this girl wasn't ever really listening that she would end up escaping again to go frolic in Nassau - she had heard the crash of a broken table and discovered Charles Vane lynching another pirate on the ground while the other men encouraged the fight in yelling and hitting the tables with their glasses. Mr. Scott had wanted to drag her outside, but Eleanor had pushed him back abruptly, feeling a surge of anger rising in her at the sight of this table in pieces and the other damage that these two morons were causing at the tavern of her family. Without even thinking for a second what she was doing, she dashed into the middle of the room, sneaking among the pirates without caring about the calls from Mr. Scott and grabbed a full glass of beer from a table without looking who it belonged to and had thrown it at Vane and the other dog.

Vane had straightened up suddenly, letting go of the second pirate - who was barely conscious, anyway - ready to go after whoever did this to him, but froze when he saw the girl in front of him. All the pirates were staring at her like she was a strange and terrifying creature. Eleanor had met Vane's gaze, who was watching her silently with strange curiosity, his fist still raised, and she had then exclaimed out, in a furious voice:

"You two, get out of my tavern immediately! Get the fuck out! And you better repay the price of this table, is that clear?"

The whole room was silent. They knew who she was, and the customers didn't know how to react. Eleanor had briefly looked at the men around her and felt a slight doubt when she saw the scornful, even hateful looks some men had on her. But she didn't lose face for a second and had returned her attention to Vane. It was him that she had addressed and no one else. He had stared at her for a few seconds without saying anything, curiosity still shining in his eyes, then his fist dropped, and he burst into a genuinely amused laugh, shaking his head. He had looked down at the man at his feet and without warning, gave him one last blow in the stomach, startling Eleanor, but she didn't back down and continued to stare at Vane who had then approached her, an arrogant smile on his lips and had declared, stopping at her side:

"'Your tavern, your laws, Miss Guthrie."

It wasn't the first time she had heard his voice. She had often heard him speak with men of his crew. To tell the truth, his voice still distracted her from what she was doing to glance where it had come from. A very deep voice, more than any of the men she had heard before. Eleanor had watched him without answering, her brow furrowed, and she quickly realized from his sarcastic tone that he was having fun at her. However, his blue eyes that she had been observing for months and months had a glimmer... of respect. He hadn't challenged her order and left the tavern, carrying a full bottle of rum off the counter in the process, without bothering to pay for it, of course.

After that, Mr. Scott had picked her up, furious, as furious as he could afford to be as a slave tasked with educating her, though Eleanor still struggled to remember that he was a slave, so used to him and that he always spoke to her in a direct way. But she hadn't listened to anything from his sermon. All the way home, she had been in a bad mood. Vane had that gift, the gift of just driving her mad.

Three days later, when she was sneaking back to Nassau again, she saw him at the end of the day, drinking alone with a skinny young man who seemed to be talking for two at a recessed table, and she had approached them before asking Vane to reimburse the table. The skinny young man had watched her as if she had lost her mind, but Eleanor hadn't paid him the slightest attention, staying fixed on Vane. He had taken a sip of rum, half a smile on his face, but before he could answer her, Mr. Scott had appeared again. She had been forced to follow him, but she made it clear to Vane that she was not done with it. After that, Eleanor hadn't had the chance to return to Nassau for two weeks, Mr. Scott watching her like a guard dog. She had only been able to return to the tavern with him to join her father. While waiting for them, she had sat on the stairs leading up to the tavern floor, annoyed at being left there to just wait when she could have listened and participated in their business conversation. To learn.

There were few customers at that time, but there were a few drinkers walking past her, nonetheless. She wasn't looking at them, keeping her eyes down on her hands, trying not to give in to the urge to slip away to go for a walk in the camps or near the fort. She'd been pushing Mr. Scott way too much lately and he didn't deserve her to add more. It was then that a shadow stopped above her, and a hand dropped a few coins into her open palm. Surprised, Eleanor looked up to find Vane standing next to her, eyebrows raised and still with that amused glint in his eyes.

"Satisfied, Miss Guthrie?"

She was about to answer him but obviously he wasn't expecting a response from her and had chuckled before walking away to leave the tavern. Eleanor blinked, then looked at the gold coins in her hand. The count was good, indeed. Somehow, she felt extremely proud to have been able to get reimbursed from a pirate and it had put her smile back on her face for the rest of the day. Indeed, she was very satisfied.

Eleanor couldn't help but smile at the memory. She remembered finally giving the gold coins to Mr. Scott, specifying that it was Captain Vane's reimbursement for the damage done to the tavern. His mouth was speechless, which made her even happier with herself. She even gave Vane a smile the next time she saw him in the tavern, during their usual game, him downstairs, her upstairs. The smile that had evaporated when he smashed the front door in another scuffle hours later. And since he wasn't responsible for the mess, she couldn't claim a refund this time. At least not from him and the other pirate had never given her a penny. From then on, she couldn't hold back from telling Vane what she thought of him and often asking him to leave the place. He obeyed when it sang to him. Sometimes when she yelled at him, he would sit down on purpose, with a provocative look as if to say "try to get me out of there" or sometimes he would leave the tavern and still find a way to make fun of her, whether by the tone of his voice, a gesture, his gaze, or a well-placed word. Other times that said, she would see something appear on Vane's face, usually while he was fighting. Something animal. A dark glow that invaded his eyes and, in those moments, she no longer saw any mocking or playful glow in him. In those moments, she had realized that it was best to avoid provoking him further, even if that didn't stop her from giving him reproachful looks.

Most people thought she was crazy. She was one of the few who dared to do this to him. Everyone in Nassau seemed to respect him, some even feared him. It was true that he was impressive, and intimidating, but she had never managed to be afraid of him, without really knowing why. Yet she could see he was dangerous. Maybe it was because of his mentor. She feared this mentor, even though she would never have confessed that. Captain Teach. He rarely came to the Guthrie Tavern, having little affection for the Nassau smuggler, but on the rare occasions that Eleanor had seen him with Vane, she had been careful not to come too close. Something about this man did not please her and stressed her. She hated to see him in her tavern. She hated seeing him alongside Charles Vane, too, without really knowing why. But thank goodness it was rare for her to be at the tavern at the same time as him, although in her last months she was spending most of her time in Nassau, coming to forget that she lived in the same house as her father, far from the bay.

Recently, something had changed in Vane's behavior around her. She wasn't sure if that should worry her or if she should be flattered, to be honest. His gaze had changed. He lingered more on her than before and she had repeatedly caught his eyes wandering over her body. When she spoke to him, whether to yell at him or not, his answers now seemed to be double-sided. Eleanor was no fool. Granted, she hadn't known a man yet and didn't particularly want one yet, but she wasn't entirely ignorant about it. Eleanor knew enough to recognize a man who wants a woman. And Vane wanted her. In fact, he wasn't even hiding it. About three weeks ago, late at night, she was out of the tavern, exhausted and pissed off by the mess she couldn't manage properly because she was not given the same authority her father had. She was sitting behind the tavern, in a dark corner where a few steps led to the office balcony. There was no one on that side and she had inhaled the cool night air as she watched the torch flames light up the alley that led to the beach. God, she loved that sight. It soothed her far better than any glass of rum.

A noise finally caught her attention behind her, and she recognized, even in the dark, the silhouette of Charles Vane. His cigar was glowing, and he stepped forward, noticing her. She could hardly see his face in the night, but she heard his voice clearly when he whispered:

"What Miss Guthrie is doing on her own, out in the middle of the night?"

Eleanor frowned. She didn't like his tone at all, but as far back as she could remember she had never liked the tones Charles Vane used to speak to her. His face came out of the darkness as he leaned over the railing to get a better look at her. He looked thoughtful, intrigued too. Always with that little pinch, half amused, half mocking, in the eyes that each time made her want to hit him.

"I don't see how that concerns you. Remember that even here, it's my tavern, Vane."

She never called him "Captain Vane". Not when he was present, anyway. It was clearly a lack of respect, a lack of respect that no one else dared allow themselves to do. True, Charles Vane was still a young captain who struggled to appear as formidable as his terrifying mentor, nonetheless he was beginning to gain a good reputation, enough to frighten most of the inhabitants of this island. Eleanor knew he had acquired a ship about a year ago in a raid on Boston with Teach, a massive brig whose name they did not know and whom Vane had named the Ranger. It was then that he had become an independent captain, although he still made few attacks without his mentor. Nevertheless, he had already brought some pretty loot back to her father.

He chuckled lightly as he took a hit from his cigar and Eleanor gave him coldly so as not to give him time to answer:

"I've seen you hanging around here for a while. Why are you not at sea, looking for wealthy ships that will bring you some coins thanks to my father? Ah, maybe it's because Teach doesn't seem very motivated to go hunting. Are you afraid of leaving without him?"

Shots fired. Vane's gaze hardened and the look he gave her would make any pirate pee on themselves in fear. Eleanor just answered him with a provocative half smile. She had touched where it hurts, and she was proud of it. She'd seen that kind of remark pissed him off since he'd been a captain. She had heard men say that without Teach, Vane was nothing and it was because of these same men that he tended to destroy the furniture in her tavern. Charles Vane increasingly hated that he was seen as inseparable from Teach. Unable to fend for himself.

He rolled his cigar between his fingers and leaned in a little more to whisper in a sharper voice:

"And you, why are you here almost every night? Maybe because you're still hoping that your dear daddy will eventually grant you a little power, or even a little bit of interest. Do you think you'll ever stop begging to get his attention?"

Eleanor barely held back her fist. I am not begging my father for anything. I am not begging anyone. He couldn't have said more painful words than that. She supposed she'd been looking for it, but anger had started to boil in her. You bastard. That said, she had to admit that he knew how to touch where it hurts, too. She stood up abruptly and gave him a poisonous look before turning on her heels:

"Fuck you, Vane."

"Don't worry about it," he sneered behind her back. "In the future, you should be careful of what you say."

"Keep your threats," she exclaimed, turning to retrace her steps, to clearly show him that she was not afraid of him. "You should be careful of what you say. No matter what relationship I have with my father, he's still my father. I could very well ruin your pirate career before it even really starts."

"Give it a try," he replied with a smirk, suddenly looking much more amused and relaxed. "I am curious to see this. It would be so easy to twist your little neck before you even say a word against me…"

"Why don't you do it now, then?" She provoked him, moving even closer, until she was inches from his face. "Mhh? Go ahead, do it. We are alone, and so I will never be a threat to you. Why don't you do it, Vane?"

You are playing with fire. Eleanor knew that and she didn't give a fuck. His threats didn't impress her, nor did they scare her, and she was determined to make it clear to him. She was so close to him that she almost felt his breath on her face, and the urge to kick him between the legs crossed her mind before she pushed it aside. She was ideally placed for it and sweet Jesus, she wanted to, but she wasn't completely foolish either.

Vane raised his eyebrows slightly and something changed in his gaze. His blue eyes darkened, but not in the same way as usual. It was more ... animal, but strangely also a lot more lucid. Those same eyes moved down to her lips and passed briefly over the rest of her body before whispering softly:

"I do not know. Maybe because I want you."

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows, but she didn't miss a chance to turn the discussion to her advantage. She had noticed his gaze, lingering all over her body and it was not the first he had looked at her like this. With desire. Somehow, the fact that this man wanted her that way troubled her, but she couldn't tell if it was a pleasant disturbance or, on the contrary, embarrassing. The only thing she knew at that moment was that she could play it however she wanted and there was no way she would miss it.

Eleanor slowly approached again, a half-smile appearing on her lips, and Vane's mouth was so close to hers that she would have had just a few inches to descend to kiss them. She wanted to tempt him. She wanted him to feel the brush of her lips, pulling her away at the last moment. She wanted him to have a glimpse of her breasts under her shirt, without allowing him to touch them. Make him want it but give him nothing. Leave him there, frustrated. It was a punishment she felt was equal to his insult. She let him believe for a few seconds that she was going to kiss him, until she saw surprise appear in his eyes, showing that he was playing her game. He smelled rum and cigars and for a second, she was tempted to go all the way. The smell attracted her more than she would like to admit and the more she observed these lips, the more she wanted to taste them. The only person she had kissed so far was some girls from the brothel. Did a man's lips taste different? Was it more brutal? How would his light beard feel on her skin? How different was it from kissing a woman? She could easily answer these questions. She would just have to come forward and forget her first idea of playing with him. For a second, she almost gave in to the temptation and did so. He was still pleasantly surprised and suspicious, perhaps that was why he was not taking the lead. He was waiting. He watched her and waited for what she was going to do.

No. She had almost fallen into her own trap and the realization vaguely exasperated her, but she showed nothing. She shouldn't disappoint him. Eleanor leaned forward again, until she felt Vane's lips brush hers before whispering, looking him in the eye:

"You will never get me."

She then turned abruptly and left him there with the firm intention of not looking back this time. Eleanor heard a deep laugh behind her, and Vane shouted so she could hear well:

"We'll see that, Miss Guthrie!"

She instinctively glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to see him smile with genuine amusement, but she didn't turn and walked on to the tavern. Along the way though, she couldn't help but laugh lightly. These games with him were fun. She had also found that her fatigue and weariness was gone, and she felt ready to impose herself again in this damn place. Maybe she would go and provoke Charles Vane more often, there was something invigorating about it.

Eleanor laughed to herself, still leaning on the same balcony that had hosted this exchange. She glanced to her right where she and Vane had been standing. It seems that what she had said had also had an energizing effect on him because he had left three days later to chase a merchant ship from Kingston that he had heard about and without Teach. He had returned just four days ago, and she hadn't seen him at the tavern yet but had learned about it from Mr. Scott and from the whispers that Vane had brought some nice loot back to her father. He would reappear eventually, surely before she was forced to leave for Port-Royal.

This booster sting darkens her again. And to think she almost forgot, for a second. Night was now almost falling over Nassau and a cool breeze swept over her face and Eleanor closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of the sea. Certainly, associated with a smell of shit, like every time, but oddly, she loved that smell. It was just the smell of Nassau. Beautiful and dirty. When she opened her eyes again, she saw several men walking along the alleyway towards the tavern. With the night soon to be here, the customers were arriving. Her gaze lingered on two men she saw every now and then, even though they weren't the most drunkards in Nassau. She knew their names… Flint. Yes, Flint, that's it. Accompanied by Mr. Gates, of course. She had known Mr. Gates for many years, he had worked in Nassau for a while, although he had only arrived after the Rosario attack. She liked this guy quite well. Once, when he got closer to Mr. Scott and she were next to him, he smiled happily at her and rubbed her hair with a gentle gesture, but he understood through her gloomy gaze that it was better not to do this again in the future. This Flint, meanwhile, was the new captain of their ship, the Walrus. He hadn't been in Nassau for a long time, only a year and rarely came to the tavern. However, his name had stuck in her mind because he had several very impressive takes over the past few months. He was making a name for himself quickly, obviously.

Mr. Gates caught sight of her and nodded at her with a friendly smile, which she returned with some difficulties. She wasn't in the mood to be friendly and given the look Flint was making next to Gates, he didn't look very joyful either. Poor Mr. Gates, still upbeat and still stuck with grumpy captains. She chuckled and glanced at the brothel down the street. She thought about going for a moment, to indulge herself with one of the girls from the brothel. She had never allowed herself to go too far, but she had thought about it often. That could relax her. She even felt capable of paying a few coins just to talk.

But no. It wouldn't be enough tonight. It wasn't so much comfort and a listening ear that she really wanted. She wanted to find something that would allow her to vent the anger she had inside her. And pissed off her father at the same time. No girl in the brothel could help her with that, and she didn't want to go and lay her poor misfortune on someone else's shoulders. In the eyes of one of these girls, even if they would act like nothing because they would have been paid for it, it would not appear that bad to them. And compared to their situation, it might not be that much. Damn, she should ask Vane, he who knew how to get her off her hinges with such ease, he would undoubtedly have some good advice to give her on this subject.

This is where it crossed her mind. She paused for a few seconds and looked up at the bay in the distance. No… no, I'm not going to do that. And why not, after all ? What was stopping it? Who was forbidding her? No one could afford to tell her what to do with her body. No one, and certainly not her father. So, what better way was there to make him understand that than to give her body to a pirate?

No, no, no, that would be giving Vane what he wants. No way. Maybe, yes, but she would rather have Vane on her back than her father. And somewhere, she had to admit that that wasn't the only reason she was thinking about it right now. The questions she had had that famous evening, alone with Vane in front of the tavern, had not left her mind and the more time passed, the more they began to become incessant.

"You will never get me." The more she had thought about this sentence, the more she found it hollow. She didn't even really mean it when she said it. The only thing she had thought about then was that she had almost given in to her own game. And why not give in, after all? She had wanted to, that night. Even though she had a tough time admitting it, she had wanted to.

Losing her virginity with a pirate. This would make her father mad with anger. Pirates served him well, and he never complained about them, but he would for sure despise them when he will learn that his daughter had ruined any chance of a good marriage by fucking a pirate. Already he had probably struggled to find suitable suitors for her given the reputation he dragged behind him... well, that would not prevent a marriage if she were honest with herself, but it would be the perfect provocation towards her father. Of course, she didn't really need it because, anyway, there was no way she would marry anyone, even if she were going to Port-Royal...

But now that she thought about it, she craved it. She hated the idea that she was going to vindicate that bastard of Charles Vane. And she loved the idea that it was going to make her father mad. And more than anything, strangely, her curiosity was burning now. She wanted to know, to find out. And if she was being honest with herself, she saw no other man for that than Vane. None had ever even caught her eye except him.

Eleanor suddenly turned and walked inside the darkened office since she had not lit any candles and left the office in question to find herself plunged into the heart of the hubbub and the heat that reigned in the tavern. Sometimes Eleanor wondered why her father kept this tavern. He spent most of his time in their home and he hated the place. She, despite all she could say about this place, had to admit that she was attached to it. One day, she would find a way to take this place from her father. That, and all the rest.

She stopped by the bar as she passed by and grabbed a bottle of rum from under the counter before continuing her way without glancing at the bartender. Her tavern, her laws. That was what Vane had told her one day, years ago and she smiled at the memory as she left, bumping into a prostitute who had strayed from the brothel, and who yelled something at her to which she didn't listen. At one time, Mr. Scott would have been berserk if he had known she was venturing out alone on the beach at night, where spirits were heated the most. By now he had realized that there was no point in trying to prevent her from going there, even though he insisted that she should have a bodyguard to protect her. She was thinking about it too, but right now, she didn't care. Her heart was pounding in her chest at the thought of what she was about to do. Somehow, she thought to herself that she was crazy and that she was really playing with fire. At the risk of burning herself violently. And somewhere that thought intoxicated her even more.

After long minutes of walking, she finally arrived on the beach and she felt her feet sink gently as she ventured onto the sand where the pirate camps began to appear, lit by imposing torches posed here and there in front of the tents. She walked straight ahead, looking at the pavilions, looking for Vane's. She felt the pirates staring at her, although it was less frequent than before. Everyone knew who she was, everyone knew who her father was, and everyone knew they couldn't touch her. She ignored them, therefore, and continued to advance, keeping her eyes on the pavilions floating above the camps, indicating who owned the tents and the crew installed and she finally spotted Vane's, at the end of the beach, a little out of the way. The black flag was not very visible at night, but she easily catches the bright red colors of the skull, knife and heart that served as Vane's banner.

She slowed down, feeling her breathing quicken as she approached. A campfire had been made in the sand and several men were talking around, but Charles was not there. She recognized the skinny guy who always followed Charles - Rackham, if she remembered correctly - sitting on a wooden crate, his hand in the hair of a red-haired woman that Eleanor had also seen a few times at the tavern, but whose name she did not know. The latter was drinking a bottle of some alcohol, her head on Rackham's knees as he spoke briskly with another half-drunk man next to him, but Eleanor saw that he noticed her presence when she crossed the camp to reach the tent from which the pavilion protruded, and even though he continued to speak with the other pirate, he did not take his eyes off her, his weasel gaze seeming visibly puzzled. If they were hoping their young captain would join them, they would wait a little while.

She had no hesitation in getting inside the tent and found Charles crouching in front of something, and when he heard her arrival, he suddenly turned, and the point of a sword ended under Eleanor's throat. She felt the sharp iron brush against her skin, but she didn't move an inch. It would be silly not to draw a weapon when someone walks into your camp in Nassau. Stupid and suicidal. She expected a reaction like this. She even wanted it. She wanted to catch him off guard.

And seeing the gleam of surprise that passed in his eyes, mingling with mistrust, she had succeeded. Charles let his sword a few seconds closer to her throat, looking at her with suspicion and curiosity. More suspicion than curiosity. After a few seconds, however, he finally lowered his sword, though he didn't let go, and raised his eyebrows, throwing at her:

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Eleanor smiled at this, though inside she felt her stomach twitch in trepidation and excitement. She felt strangely the same as the first time she dove into the ocean as a child from the top of a rock on a beach, close to the harbor. This same excitement and envy at the idea of the danger of the waves and the depth, and the adrenaline she was going to feel, this same fascination for the moving beauty of the water and the foam that threw itself on the rocks and sand, and that same fear of the darkness and violence of the sea. Somewhere, this man could be as dangerous as the ocean. But she wasn't afraid of him.

She approached, dropping her bottle of rum which fell heavily on the ground, trying to prevent her emotions, the apprehension, the excitement, the fascination, the envy, from making her tremble in front of him, and as she saw his gaze grow more and more suspicious as she walked towards him, bringing her fingers to his shirt with the intention of unbuttoning it, not wanting to go all the way to make it clear, but her fingers hesitated, without really knowing why and she answered instinctively in a provocative tone:

"Well, what? Don't you want me anymore?"

Charles frowned at that answer, as if to think that she must be laughing at him again. The realization gave her a vague feeling of satisfaction, though she wished he hadn't doubted her right now. Her fingers were still tied to the buttons of her shirt, but she let them drop, deciding to go about it differently. Now that he was right there in front of her, the temptation was even stronger than before. She could see his lips with the reflections of the lit candles in the tent, giving an orange glow to her face and like that night a few weeks ago, she was dying to taste it. She would be dying to feel that beard irritating her cheeks. At the thought, she raised her hand to run it over Charles's lips, running her fingers over his cheek. She had stopped thinking. She felt like she was falling into a strange torpor. It was the heat, the rum, the fear. At this contact, something changed in Charles's gaze, darkening. The suspicion vanished, and she began to see the same desire appear in his eyes, as she had seen so often lately. She couldn't help but smile. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't resist. Although something told her he absolutely wouldn't want to.

He then let go of his sword, which fell with a snap on the wood on the sand, and the next second, his arms were wrapped around her waist to draw her to him as his mouth took possession of hers. It was like a rude awakening for Eleanor when she felt herself trapped between these two strong arms which pressed her to his hard body. Her first instinct was to struggle, but then she remembered that it was she who had come to him and that was what she wanted. Why would she steer? Relax, she ordered herself mentally.

"Are you going to try to escape now?" He whispered as he felt her move in his arms, barely parting her mouth from his, without releasing her.

She quickly met his gaze and saw his provocative smile. She could almost hear what he wasn't adding aloud. You're wasting your time. Because now that you've come to me, I won't let you get away from this. Now that he understood what had brought her here, he felt in control, and he enjoyed the situation. It was a victory for him. Part of her wanted to fight the grip of his arms around her, push him away to wipe that stupid smile from his face. Remind him that he wasn't the boss here. And he never will, not with her. This is what she would have done in any other situation. But not this time.

"No, I will not."

So, she tried to forget her hesitation and kiss him back. She would gladly grant him that victory tonight. He had no idea what she would gain from it. She finally felt that beard against her mouth. It tingled, as she imagined, but it was pleasant enough, even exciting. This kiss had nothing to do with what she had known until then. It was more… animal. More brutal and somewhere sweet, too. She felt something light up deep in her body, like a light brazier that they only blew on it to titillate but that was just really ignited. His lips tasted of rum, cigars, and sea salt. If the smell had always attracted her, the taste was even more exquisite. His hands were hard on her, demanding, as if he could never hold her close enough.

Letting go, she wrapped her arms around his neck, stroking his long hair in the process, and she squeezed his neck to deepen the kiss. Charles responded to this by running his hands lower to lift her up, and seconds later Eleanor found herself lying on the furs stacked on the floor, forming a makeshift mattress, and she felt his weight on top of her.

A slight turmoil overcame her, and she felt again the urge to push him back. Under this weight, she knew that she could not escape and that feeling did not please her. A feeling that allied to the fact that she also felt like she was out of control. But her thoughts grew blurry when he demanded her lips again, and she felt his rough hand pass over her cheek before descending to her hips, brushing her thighs. She felt him clearly against her, hard, and that touch brought back the apprehension that had touched her and as she ran her hands over her warm back, she felt them shake and did all she could to control it. Don't tremble. Don't show him it's your first time. It was ridiculous; he must have guessed it. And if he didn't, he would notice it soon enough if he had a bit of intelligence.

Charles pulled away from her and watched her in silence for a few seconds, so intensely it made her uncomfortable. The irony and arrogance had completely disappeared from his eyes. They were dark with desire, and he was looking at her like she was everything in this world. He ran his hand over her neck, his fingers so large they completely encircled her throat, before moving down to her breasts, which he caressed through her clothes. She felt a strong shiver run through her and it awakened something in him as he got up to remove his shirt, revealing his chest and when she was about to do the same and undress, her hands went up instinctively and landed on Charles' warm, hard skin. Her eyes met his and she was captivated by the gleam in the green eyes, almost blue, staring at her, a wild and controlled glow at the same time. She gets that he took it upon himself to contain himself. Her fingers brushed a strange scar on the top right of his collarbone, with an odd shape, like a mark, and he groaned slightly when he felt the touch but did not push her away. He could have pulled his hand away and forced things to go faster if he wanted to, but he let her explore his skin for a few minutes before moaning and leaning down to bury his face against her neck, and it was her turn to sigh when she felt his lips against her.

Eleanor raised her hands between her body and Charles's to find the buttons on her shirt which she began to gently pull back, her fingers clearly shaking but at this point it didn't matter that much anymore. But Charles pushed her hands away to finish the task himself and when she felt both the cool air on her tight and tender breasts, she felt vulnerable. Much too vulnerable. And it only deepened as his lips moved down her neck to find her chest. She closed her eyes, moaning softly, and her thoughts clouded over in her mind. His beard gently irritated her skin, but it was a pleasant pain. She wanted this to continue. She wanted it to go much further. And she wanted to cover herself up too and put an end to it all. She wanted more and she wanted less.

She felt Charles's hand slip between them and loosen something from his belt and she couldn't help but hold her breath, apprehension knotting her stomach. For the first time since she had known Charles Vane, she felt intimidated. For the first time, he almost scared her. It might even be the first time she had experienced this feeling, and it was with any man. She almost felt… fragile. And at that precise moment, she couldn't tell if she found it embarrassing or if she didn't care. She felt like the lighted fire had been devouring her from within since he started touching her.

Once he was rid of his pants, she felt him pull up her skirts which kept him from going any further, and a new shiver ran through her, although it was gentle compared to the one, she felt when his bare thighs touched hers. His lips pulled away from her body and he then stood above her, resting an arm next to her face, as his other hand slipped between her legs again to guide himself. Here it is. It's going to happen right now. She didn't take her eyes off him, she just couldn't, and ended up wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer. She needed it. Their lips were only inches apart, and then she moaned against his mouth when she felt him inside her, the hard push hurting her more than she thought. Charles's hand then passed her cheek in an almost tender caress, and he breathed a quiet whisper that surprised her. She couldn't resist the urge to wrap the wrist of his hand that he had rested on her cheek, squeezing it gently as she closed her eyes as he continued. He went slowly at first, but soon ended up groaning and the thrust from his hips became much more intense. It hurt. And felt good, too. Eleanor still had one hand wrapped around his wrist, which she squeezed with each thrust inside her, while her forehead rested against his. Her other hand was on his back, and she was digging her fingernails into his skin. To hurt him too, perhaps.

She didn't know what she was feeling. It was unlike anything she had known before. Much more intense. She was in pain, it was burning, she felt stretched, torn and yet she didn't want it to stop. There was this feeling that he was taking her, that he had her completely and that she couldn't change that. That she was no longer in control. He was in charge; he was at the helm. She felt small under his body and if a few moments ago she would have hated it, now she found herself liking it. His other hand had grabbed her hip which he was crushing too tightly, and she knew he was going to leave a bruise, and the feel of that hand holding her in place turned her on more than anything. That didn't stop her from nibbling his shoulder, causing him to growl. He eventually groaned near her ear and came inside her, and her own moan accompanied his, though she knew her pleasure had been less than his. At least this time. And yet, it had been more intense than anything she had tasted yet. And she knew she would want more.

They gasped for a few minutes, each catching their breath, and it took a moment for her to get back to thinking properly. He had let himself go on her and he was heavy. Too heavy. He wasn't suffocating her, but it bothered her, and she made it clear to him pushing him off with her legs, and he pulled away from her to tip over onto his side. Eleanor then remained still and silent, watching the tent's ceiling move with the wind. Her breath subsided a bit and she found it a bit difficult to realize that she had just given herself to a man. To Charles Vane. Completely and entirely. The feeling of vulnerability hit her again. She was too exposed like this, her breasts open, her skirts pulled up to her thighs, the feel of his seed still between her legs. She straightened up, heart pounding, and pushed her skirts back onto her legs as she buttoned up her blouse, trying to clean her head. But she couldn't think properly as she felt the warmth of his body right next to hers. She better go home. Yes, that's what she was going to do. She just had to find the strength to get on her feet, which was not won. She then felt a hand grip her arm, and she turned to look at Charles, who was lying on her right, watching her indecipherably before asking:

"Why did you really come here? You were clear last time about that."

His question caught her off guard and she frowned. Why had she come to him again? To provoke your father. To challenge him. Yes, that had been her first motivation. But now that she was repeating these words in her head, they rang false and hollow. Maybe it was just an excuse she made for herself. An excuse because she wanted to try something with this man, and she didn't want to give him the victory for being the only one on this island to make her want to do that. But at least she could give him that. A slight smile appeared on her lips, and she whispered softly, repeating his words without lying:

"I do not know. Maybe because I wanted you."

Charles laughed softly in the shadows and shook his head. His hand let go of her arm to stroke her back and Eleanor closed her eyes at the shiver that ran through her spine at the touch, and he whispered huskily:

"Stay. There is enough room for two here."

"What about your men?" She asked without opening her eyes as he continued to stroke her back with a slow hand. "Aren't they waiting for you outside?"

"Fuck them," he growled.

It was her turn to laugh softly. But she didn't answer right away. Somewhere, she really wanted to go home. To find the tavern desk and the bed her father had never slept in, and which had become hers. She would feel fully herself there. The one she knew and who reassured her. She wouldn't have that sense of vulnerability that had tugged at her since she came here. She wouldn't have to rethink how much she had loved to lose control. But at the same time, she felt good. So much so that she didn't want to move at all. She opened her eyes and glanced outside. The night was here for good now. And the more the night progressed, the more the spirits became violent. It was better if she stayed, indeed.

She lay down again, taking care to turn her back to him. She would have been unable to stay and look at him. She didn't know what could be read on her face right now and she didn't want to take any chances. Her cheek snuggled into the fur, and she saw Charles get up to take a blanket spread lower down and pull it over the two of them, before leaning against her and wrapping one arm around her belly, the other one above her head. She almost pushed his arm away but ended up finding the contact quite pleasant. As well as the sensation of his body just behind her. It almost alleviated the sense of vulnerability she had felt so far. Almost.

She felt a movement behind her, and he then whispered quietly in her ear, in a playful and satisfied tone:

"'Think I got you in the end, Eleanor."

"Oh, fuck you,'' she mumbled, nudging him, and trying to push him away, but he only closed his grip on her with a laugh and a hand went down to her hair, pushing a strand behind her ears almost tenderly and the gesture soothed her.

They stood there in silence, fingers resting on her belly in lazy circles, his other hand continuing to play with her hair above her head and she relaxed despite the heckling she could hear on the beach, even though she never thought she would one day find herself like this, sleepy in one of these damn tents, in the arms of a pirate. Neither would she have believed that a man like Charles Vane would enjoy staying like this. She was sure he was one of these men who didn't waste their time with hugs and sweet words after have fuck. And yet he was there, caressing her in silence and she could feel his gaze on her. She was about to fall asleep and moved slightly to position herself more comfortably, and she felt a stab of pain between her legs that made her hiss. Shit. It would be better to avoid sudden movements in the next few hours.

"Still hurts?" She heard behind her.

She took a deep breath and shook her head for the only answer. She would have been unable to answer properly. Of course, he knew. She suspected he would notice. She had shaken her head, but it wasn't quite true, and he must have noticed since she heard him sneer behind her. No way to admit it, however. Especially not after this question. Fortunately, he didn't insist, just hugging her tighter. They said nothing more and after a while she felt the fatigue return. She felt warm. Protected. And she liked it. Maybe it was because she was half-conscious. She didn't really care. She just brought her head up to his arm, using it as a pillow, and finally put her hand on the one he had on her stomach to bring it to her chest, keeping it under hers. And it only took a few moments to fall asleep after that, with the last image of her fingers mingling with his against her.

It was the cool air that woke her up. The cool air and the cries of seagulls that accompanied the sound of the waves. Eleanor opened her eyes, bewildered, and took a few minutes to remember where she was. And what happened last night. She blinked and struggled to get up, running her hand over her face to wake up. Charles's arm was still resting on her stomach, and it slid gently as she straightened up. She glanced at him, lying next to her. He was still asleep, in a deep sleep, with his regular breathing. She couldn't help but watch him for a few minutes. To be honest, he surprised her slightly last night. He hadn't been that brutal, unlike what she expected from a man. From a pirate. She wouldn't go as far as to say that he had been the most loving or the most patient. But she often heard the girls of Nassau say that the men were real animals. Not really, with him. Harder, rougher but still quite soft. But she had felt he had held back. That he hadn't let himself go completely. She wondered what it was like when he wasn't holding back.

She shook her head and then stood up, wincing at the pain she felt between her legs, but ignored it and tried to stand up quietly. She didn't want to talk to him now. Quite frankly, she wouldn't know what to say to him. She buttoned up the last buttons of her shirt and then noticed the full bottle of rum she had brought. When she had come there, she had thought at first that they would drink first, but nothing had turned out the way she had imagined. Which did not displease her too much, in the end. He can keep the rum; he'll appreciate it more than her anyway.

Slowly, she passed over him and left the tent as quietly as possible, the crisp morning air instantly refreshing her mind. She saw that the sun was barely up, which didn't surprise her, she was unable to sleep much, going to bed late and getting up early. A few men were sleeping by the extinguished campfire on the sand, but no trace of Rackham and the red-haired girl hanging out with him. And apart from the sleeping drunks, there was not a cat around. It was too early for them, most of them had just gone to bed.

Eleanor started to leave the camp and thought about what had just happened. She couldn't help but have a small smile on her face as she picked up the pace. She felt much better than when she had walked this way in the opposite direction the day before. Almost liberated. Freed from her anger. She didn't really worry about her father's wedding plans anymore, not knowing why. What had just happened would not stop a marriage, she knew. No, it wasn't the fact that she had fucked Charles Vane that was going to stop her father. It's just her. She did not want to get married, and no one will force her to do so, and she will make her father understand that during this little trip to Port-Royal. Who knows, it might be fun in the end.

Being a wife… It wasn't the life she wanted. What she wanted was to take charge of the tavern. Having responsibilities, something to do, being important because she was sure she would do much better than her father here. He didn't care about this island, all he cared about was the benefit of it. He let Nassau rot in its own shit. She would know how to do both. Maintain a constant profit while making this place something much bigger than it was right now. She wanted that, and to be able to feel that sea air she breathed in right now as she walked up the beach, her feet sinking into the sand she barely felt under her boots, peering behind her to see the sunrise reflecting off the water. It was something she would never get tired of. And no one would take it from her.

She wanted to find other ways to piss off and provoke Charles Vane, too. And find other excuses to join him in his tent in the middle of the night. Lots and lots of other excuses.

"They say I have to be aware,

That one day you won't let me go,

I long for your, Aquarius,

I need to be with you again,

I fear you, Aquarius,

My destiny till the end."