Chapter 2: A Bumpy Start

Hello everyone! Here's chapter 2, posted on Friday as promised! Thank you to everyone who favorited and followed after chapter 1, it means a lot to me and definitely inspires me to post on time! I'm so glad you guys are enjoying it, getting those fave/follow emails made my whole week! And thank you SB (guest) for the comment, I hope the story continues to live up to your hopes and dreams for Brianna and Bonnet.

This chapter will be longer than the first, and Bree and Bonnet with get their first stand-off. Bonnet learns a few things about Bree and himself in the process. I hope you like the second installment of the series, I hope it'll be quite long when I'm through with it!

W: violence, language, sexual scenes possible

Bonnet trudged carefully up to the Gloriana, Brianna's hair and slender arms swinging wildly and rhythmically behind his shoulder with every step he took. As he approached the deck and began to climb, he noticed his first mate sitting cross-legged at the ship's forecastle. Apparently, he had decided that the night was better spent star-gazing than at the local taverns and brothels. He looked absentmindedly at the young women's body slung over Bonnet's shoulder, a sly grin stretched across his sallow face.

"Found one too good to let go, did ye?" he asked, casting the pirate a sideways glance. He was no stranger to the odd comings and goings of Captain Stephen Bonnet—having been a part of his crew for about 7 years—though he could not recall him ever bringing a woman back to the ship. A truly odd thing to do knowing the superstitions of his crew. They weren't even allowed a banana on deck, let alone a woman. Yet he suspected no objections would be raised if everyone wanted to keep their heads.

"I haven't quite decided yet what I've found," Bonnet replied with a broad smile, the moonlight glinting off his shining teeth. He looked like a child who had just been given a bit of candy, and it unsettled his first mate to say the least.

"Will ye be needin' anything captain?" he asked quizzically.

"I think we'll be settin' sail first thing, Dugan. Ready the ship and the men. It's time we moved on to fairer waters," he watched the captain stride by without another word, the girl perched upon his shoulder remaining unnamed and unmoving. Indeed, it was time to head to Barbados.

-O-O-

Bonnet stared at the small figure now resting silently atop his own mattress. He had never seen a woman asleep before, save his own mother when he was very young. He had always left long before the whores he had been with had laid their heads down upon the pillow in whatever hovel he had bedded them in. Rarely did he even take the time to undress them fully, let alone spend any amount of time with them after he had reached his pinnacle. He snickered to himself quietly. He doubted they would trust him enough in the first place to close their eyes in his presence. He was well known to the whores of Wilmington, it being a frequent offloading point for his smuggling operation of tea and fine brandy. While they went with him to the rooms willingly, knowing that he paid well, they often left feeling like they had just laid with the devil himself. They looked like they had too, as evidenced by the bruises, bloodied lips, and tattered clothes they typically sported on the way out.

Looking at Brianna now, she seemed to be something entirely different than the whores he had spent time with. Her porcelain skin shone with a sense of radiance that he not seen before, and despite her knotted and unkempt hair, she looked exactly like what he would expect a murdúchann to appear as. He could not deny that he would be tempted to follow her into the depths, had she appeared and sung to him as she looked now. Knowing this frustrated him; he was not one to allow others to have any bearing on him and his doings—such a thing would be a major weakness, and that was something he couldn't have. He continued his study of her, releasing this uncomfortable thought and letting his mind travel to places it had not ventured before.

She was certainly inhuman, he postulated. Her thick ginger eyelashes curved perfectly upward, nearly meeting the brow of her eye in length, and her slim waist was matched with a voluminous backside. She looked nigh past 18 with her lineless and soft features, unmarred by disease or the elements. She was put together perfectly, as if designed to bring men to their knees.

Bonnet, though he was a man who appreciated the beauty of objects and things, had never appreciated the beauty of a woman before. Though it had only felt like a moment, he soon realized he had been sitting pondering her for a while, trying to piece together the reality of such a unique individual at his disposal.

The sun beginning to peak above the horizon alerted him to the passage of time and he shook his head, darkness overcoming his features once again. He couldn't allow himself to see her as anything more than what she was. A woman. A harlot. Perhaps even a witch, albeit a particularly beautiful one. He could not allow himself to fold around her, lest his reputation become nothing more than distant lore. This little game of wolf and lamb would be an interesting one, but one that would require restraint on his part if he didn't want to get bored with her before reaching Barbados. Restraint was not his strong suit, but he felt that Danu would not want him to be hasty about this gift, and appreciate it he would. He resolved to let her be for the night. It would be no fun anyhow if she did not at least try to fight it—the inevitable outcome of their proximity on the Gloriana. Standing up from the bed's edge, he took one last look at the sleeping girl and exited the room, closing the door and locking it behind him.

-O-O-

Drowning. She hadn't experienced it before, or anything close to it, yet she knew exactly what was happening. Blackness merged into murky blue as bubbles floated softly around her head, her hair trailing above her body in red spirals as she sank. Her lungs screaming in a plea for oxygen, fire engulfed her insides. She desperately clawed at the surface, sinking only further as she did.

The water was cold—no, more than cold, it was utterly frigid. Were her fingers and toes still there? She could no longer feel them. Grasping, reaching for anything, her hands fumbled in the calm expanse. How had she gotten here? Did she fall off a ship? Had she never made it to Wilmington after all? Her body taking over, she reflexively drew in a breath, attempting to quench her dire starvation of oxygen to no avail. Her nostrils and mouth filling with the salty essence of the sea, she could only pray that it would be over soon. She had tried to find her mother and Jamie and warn them, and she had failed. It was time to let go…let go…

Suddenly, she felt a rough hand wrench her from the icy depths. Gasping, she looked to her savior. A blank and empty canvas of a face stared back at her. A slim build, strong arms and tall figure was all that she could make out. The image was starting to come into view when…

BANG!

Brianna sat bolt upright. Her senses on fire, she clutched at her chest, taking ragged breaths which couldn't seem to satisfy her desire for air. Then, the feeling of oxygen depravity left her and she was hit with another terrible sensation. Pain. Searing pain just above her hairline at the base of her skull. Unable to make sense of anything but the overwhelming ache, she probed gingerly at the back of her head beneath her mane, wincing as her fingertips touched a dried mat of blood and hair. Finally, her fuzzy vision came into focus. Where was she?

The room didn't look like her own at the inn. She forced herself to think, only making her head throb further. What was the last thing she remembered? She raked her brain, trying to retrace her steps. The last thing she could recall was being pulled from the doorway of the tavern, and then a sharp thump as the starry sky around her faded away. Bonnet.

She quickly scanned the room, her heart pounding, taking in her new surroundings. Did she dare look down at herself? Were her skirts still in place? Almost too afraid to look she glanced down quickly. Everything was still there, save for her dirty boots she noticed as she wiggled her toes around. Still trying to piece together exactly what had happened, she was caught off guard when the room she was in gave a sudden lurch, nearly throwing her from the rudimentary mattress she had woken up on. Whether due to the pain or confusion she had been focusing on, she hadn't noticed her stomach was absolutely reeling. Her wits coming back to her, her mind cleared. She leaped off the bed and to a circular window against the wall of the oddly shaped room. Peering out, her heart nearly stopped.

Water. For as far as the eye could see. Shit. The window was a porthole. She was on a ship going god knows where, and by the look of the sun high in the mid-sky, a lot of time had passed since she was last awake. Perhaps a combination of drink, exhaustion, and trauma had kept her under for so long, she thought nervously. She had no idea where she was, but one thing was clear—she was certainly going in the wrong direction to be heading towards Fraser's ridge. Survival mode kicked in and she began frantically searching the room for something, anything. From the state of the room, filled with whisky, brandy, and other luxuries, she deduced it was the captain's. Where was he? She looked around nervously as if expecting him to jump out of one of the many crates that filled the room.

Finding the source of the clangorous sound which had awoken her to be a shattered whisky bottle, she quickly collected the largest shard that she could find and stuffed it into her chest binder. Using it would hardly be ideal in the middle of the ocean, or wherever they were, but it was best to have something rather than nothing, in case he tried to force himself onto her. She shuddered at the thought of his knees brushing her skirts the night prior, and thinking about his hands on her made her stomach somersault again. How could she have been so foolish? She had misread all of the signs, there was definitely something off about him. Rushing to the door, she threw her weight against the heavy oak, pulling ruthlessly on the handle. It was locked, and would certainly not give to her weight. Though she expected it, knowing she was trapped, well and truly, caused a sob to finally escape her lips. Placing her back against the door, she slid down it and hit the floor with a soft thud. She would not allow herself to cry in front of him, he couldn't know that he had caused her as much anguish as he had. Not simply for kidnapping her, but for dooming her mother and Jamie to perish in the fire foretold in the obituary.

After a few moments of tears and a string of colorful vocabulary thrown as she attempted to thwart the door once again, she sat down incredulously at the edge of the bed. Kicking herself for letting her guard down, she touched again at her wounded scalp. She needed to clean up her head before it got infected. With minimal supplies in this century, any sort of small infection could become disastrous—it was something her mother had talked about often. Once again scanning the room, she noticed a small glass bottle filled with a clear liquid on a desk across the room. A white linen rag rested next to it. Cautiously walking over the bottle, she picked it up and smelled at the opening: it appeared to be water.

She poured a bit onto the rag left there, seemingly for this very purpose, and dabbed at the wound. Groaning, she began gently removing clumps of dried blood and hair while attempting to assess the damage. It was tedious work, but it appeared to feel a lot worse than it was—she wondered for a moment what she had been hit with. As she started to think about the possibilities—a knife hilt, or perhaps a piece of wood—she heard the sound of heavy boots approaching the door. Her fingers went slack and the rag fell softly to the floor.

Fear gripped Bree's entire body and she felt herself freeze, goosebumps cropping up on her arms, her hair standing on edge. Like a deer in the headlights, she felt stuck in place, praying that whatever happened next wasn't worse than what had transpired the night before. She held her breath as she heard the door's bolt slide out of place. She almost wanted to close her eyes, screw them up tight as if that would take her far away from here, but decided against it. She couldn't let him know just how vulnerable she felt.

The door swung open heavily, hitting the wall of the generously sized cabin. There Stephen Bonnet stood, a hulking figure with piercing viridescent eyes. They seemed to pass through her like x-rays, making her feel suddenly naked in his presence despite being fully clothed. Her arms, which rested at her sides, moved quickly up to cover her stomach and chest awkwardly, a reflex as old as time. This seemed to amuse Bonnet, as he cracked a large grin in response. Had the situation been different, she was sure she would have found her voice immediately upon seeing him enter the door, but at the moment she could not seem to be able to form words. At least, not ones that would allow her to survive past the hour.

He strode into the room with a confidence she remembered from the night prior. He exuded cockiness, she thought to herself.

"I think it would be appropriate to formally introduce myself again, as I wasn't quite honest with ye at the tavern. Captain Stephen Bonnet, smuggler and pirate, at yer service," he bowed comically as if to mock her. She glared at him, her own eyes becoming daggers aimed at his. She said nothing. Remembering the shard she had stowed in her chest binder, she tried to piece together a plan of escape from his looming presence. But to where? There was nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide. On a ship with a damn pirate heading to who the hell knows where. Could it really get much worse?

Stephen studied her face, looking for anything that may give away the state of her current thoughts. She appeared eerily calm, aside from her initial protective maneuver. Bonnet could read people like a book for the most part, but Brianna seemed to be able to control her face even better than he. How frustrating. He wanted to walk over to her, to grab her and shake her, to force anything out of her that he could, but he refrained. As if she felt the impending doom of his thoughts, her face began to change, contorted in anger. Bonnet smiled broadly—it was exactly the response he was looking for.

Suddenly, Bree boiled over, unable to contain her emotions any longer. Her brown eyes seething, she leaped off the bed and to her feet.

"Who the fuck do you think you are to take me without my permission? And, what the HELL did you hit me with?" her hands forming into balled fists, she could feel her face and the tips of her ears reddening. It was infuriating to her that her body was betraying her, making her look like a blushing schoolgirl. Her vision red with fury, she shook softly.

Bonnet's eyes flashed. No woman had ever dared speak to him in this manner—and what a mouth on her. As if forgetting his own promise to Danu to take it slowly, he strode up to her, grabbed her arm, and towered over her, his eyes looking down into her own menacingly and unwavering. The charismatic smile now gone from his face, Bree swallowed nervously. She could see the threat before he even spoke it.

"I would choose yer next words very carefully, sweetheart. I'm sure ye don't know the extent of yer predicament quite yet, but I can assure ye that over the next 3 months it will become quite clear where ye stand," he snapped back at her. She lifted her chin higher as he squeezed her upper arm painfully tight.

"I'm not afraid of you," she squeaked back. Even she could hear the utter terror in her own voice. It was not a tone she had ever heard herself use before.

Bonnet laughed, if you could call it that. It sounded much more like the grumble of a bear who had been hastily awakened after hibernation by an annoying fly. As quick as he had knocked her out the night before, he thrust her against the wall beside the bed, pressing his entire body and weight against her. Grabbing her arms and placing them above her head, he had her pinned. There was no way she was reaching the shard in this position. Beads of sweat broke out across her forehead. She had never been so terrified in her life.

"Well perhaps I should change that then," a wicked smile spread across his face, bunching his scar up near his left eye. Removing his right hand from her arm, and securing it again quickly with his left, he traced his rough fingers along the edge of her jaw, and slowly turned her head to the side. Unable to avoid it any longer, Brianna finally shut her eyes, willing him to go away. Her arms trembled underneath his solid hands. Bonnet leaned in and drunk in her sweet smell, like a field of wildflowers. By Danu, this was going to be difficult.

"Please just let me go. Take me to land, just drop me wherever, I don't care," she whispered, her eyes still tightly shut.

"I can't do that darlin'. I doubt ye'd want me to drop ye here, lest ye be shark bait. And we wouldn't want yer pretty face to go to waste like that. Not when there are so many other entertaining things I could do with ye," letting go of her chin, he traced along her side, feeling the warm curves of her hips. A hunger growing within him, he felt himself losing control. Not yet, he thought.

Releasing her suddenly, he stepped back. Brianna dared to open one eye, and seeing him back a few feet from her opened the other. She stayed firmly pressed against the wall. His moss green irises seemed to have mellowed to the color of a spring meadow. She couldn't understand why he was toying with her, why he hadn't just taken what he wanted from her already and gotten it over with. Though she could say she was relieved. Her shoulders which had been clenched and clamped finally relaxed slightly.

"Perhaps I'd rather be thrown overboard than spend another moment aboard this hellhole with you. Had you considered that?" his distance gave her strength, and she found her voice again. She would not back down, for every woman who had come before her and any that would come after, she wanted him to know that she had a voice and would use it. It may not be 1969, but it was never too early for a little education. She braced herself, waiting for her brazenness to be rewarded with more violence. Much to her surprise, it never came.

Choosing to ignore her last outburst, he smiled to himself. He would never admit it, but her spitfire attitude had been what had sent his body into a furious war with his mind—wanting to take her but knowing he could not. She was so small, yet she had tried to stand up to him and contained her fear until he had forced it out of her. She had fight, and he liked it. Perhaps this slow and steady game they were playing would teach him a thing or two. It would be all the sweeter when she released herself to him in her own right. And he was sure they would get there before Barbados. Thinking of it, he felt his trousers tighten slightly around his manhood.

"And here I was, going to ask Dugan to bring ye some fresh water to clean yerself with, some fresh clothes, and a bit of pottage. I suppose not anymore," he taunted her, looking judgmentally at her partially dreaded locks. She reached up and touched them protectively, then looked down at her petticoat. She hadn't noticed before but it had become spattered with brown-looking flecks, the remnants of the altercation from the night before.

Looking up again, she narrowed her eyes. "As if I would trust anything you give me to eat or drink. I think I'd rather starve." As soon as it had left her lips, she knew she would come to regret it.

Stephen had to laugh at that. He shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself then, we'll see how yer feeling about that wise decision later. And I would advise ye to hold yer tongue a bit better, darlin'. The crew would love nothing more than for me to toss ye overboard—yer bad luck you see. Don't give me a reason to give them a show," the Irishman's eyes flashed and she knew he was not joking.

"I'm sure you'd have a lot less fun if you lost your toy to the fish," she spat back bitterly.

He scoffed. "Aye, now that ye might be right about," flashing her a wink, he made for the door, walking past her without another glance. She made no move to follow, knowing it would only result in more force. As he closed the door behind him, she heard the lock slide into place heavily. Waiting a few moments to ensure he had really left, she swallowed the lump that had grown in her throat and collapsed upon the floor for the second time that day, tears flowing freely.

Of all the idiotic things she had gotten herself into, this was perhaps the worst. Worse than the time she took her mother's 64' mustang out for a spin and crashed it near the Colonial Theatre. She felt a pang of sadness pass through her. There was a time when she had cried about that incident, a time when she had laughed about it, and now she was in another time where she longed for it. She would do it all again, even take the one-month grounding, if it meant she could be home again with her parents. Well, one of them at least. She thought suddenly about Frank, wondering what he would do if he were in her shoes. Her tears slowed. Probably study anyone and everyone on the ship. She let out a weak laugh, then her eyes widened as a realization came to her. Maybe she could do just that! Study them and in turn befriend someone on the ship who may be able to help her. She had time; she didn't know where they were going, but Bonnet had said 3 months. That was more than enough to make a friend on the inside. Bonnet may have started this war, but she would end it.

-O-O-

As Bonnet walked purposefully away from his cabin, a sly grin on his face, he noticed a strange sensation growing within his gut. Unable to place it, he stopped dead in the hallway, scuffing the heels of his boots loudly on the wooden deck. He felt slightly ill. Were these feelings? He shook his head stubbornly. Couldn't be. He was cold, heartless, and cruel—and he liked it that way. Though trying to continue on his way, the thoughts and the dithers in his stomach persisted and he stopped once again. He was not one to "feel" things, and this shook him to his core.

Bonnet could not recall the last time he had felt genuine fear or any strong emotion like it. He had killed more people than he could remember and had felt nothing close to what he was feeling now. Even on the day he was given his signature scar, he couldn't recall feeling anything more than the scorching pain. Death did not frighten him. If anything, the Grim and he could be considered solemn friends with an unspoken agreement: he would send soul after soul to the depths as long as he walked this earth. He strode off again, more slowly and tentatively, still considering the events that had just transpired.

He was not afraid of Brianna, that wasn't the unpeaceable emotion. Was it admiration? Even his men had hardly the gall to look him in the eye. This woman had not only looked into his eyes but, he recalled uncomfortably, seemingly into his soul. Even knowing she was trapped, like an animal in a cage or a fish on a gaff, she still sought to carry on bravely and defensively. Whether or not she was truly afraid before he had pushed her into the wall, he still could not say. And what sort of woman spoke the way that she did? Intelligently yet with the mouth of a sailor. He shook his head again. But there was something about her, so different and refreshing, like a territory he had not explored before but desired to more than anything. He wanted to have her. To possess her soul. It was something of a rare one, he had decided. She hadn't simply yielded to him immediately, she had a fire in her that rivaled the brightness of her gorgeous locks. He could imagine himself wrapped around her in his quarters, experiencing perhaps one of the last true rarities left for him on this earth. He had had it all, but he had never had one like her. Picturing his hands on her inner thighs, the honey-sweet skin gracing his calloused fingertips, he moved up her body, searching slowly under her slip for her pert breasts which stood at attention for him. He needed her. Tracing the soft outline of her hidden nipple he was about to take hold of a breast when...

"Cap'n?"

Lost in thought, he nearly knocked Dugan over as he trudged through the hatch to the main deck. He looked pointedly at his first mate, his thoughts being launched back into reality much too prematurely for his liking. If he hadn't been the one man he trusted in his crew, he was sure he could have thrown him overboard for ending the reverie early. Dugan looked at him apologetically.

"Sorry cap'n. I know ye had a long night. The men hadn't seen hide nor hair of ye, and were wonderin' what was holding yer attention so astutely. I just wanted to check in on ye, see if ye were needin' anything," Dugan knew something was up. The captain rarely slept while they were at sea, this was true, but he had a different sort of exhaustion in his eyes today. A mental one.

"Aye, all's well. I was just about to head back up to the helm. How's the wind been today?" Bonnet really did not care about their current position, and he barely took note of the curious eyes of his crew following him as he made his way to the upper deck. He could hardly focus his thoughts on anything but the woman he had left in his cabin.

"Fair. Been holdin' at about 11 knots. Still on track just fine. There was somethin' I wanted to talk to ye about though," he raised an eyebrow, hoping it was a good time to bring up his poor news. Though, if he said nothing soon he was liable to lose more than a hand.

"Aye, out with it then," Taking the helm he felt a sense of peace settle within his soul. The girl would not get to him, it was imperative. If anything he would break her down and have her begging for him to take her maidenship. Though he was not sure if the begging would be out of fear, or something deeper. The thought made his head hurt. What did it matter to him how it happened anyway?

Dugan stood awkwardly next to him, realizing he was still deep in thought, and leaned into his ear nervously.

"I know ye were otherwise occupied last night, so I didn't want to bother ye. But I saw Alston on our tail leavin' the Carolinas. He appeared to trail us for a while, and just today I've seen him come into view clear now three times. I think he's after us," Dugan stopped and waited for the storm to start. Bonnet's eyes turned near black as he released the helm, and grabbed his first mate by the lapels.

"And why, pray tell, was this not somethin' ye told me immediately? Ye understand we've been tradin' on his land, do ye not? If he's followed us this far he means to have blood," he whispered a little too calmly into Dugan's ear.

Philip Alston. A colonist turned pirate, he was not a particularly menacing character. Certainly not as feared or dangerous as Bonnet, but this would be an annoyance he would have to deal with at some point. The counterfeiter had just gotten into the trade of tea, and Bonnet, hearing of its lucrative nature in the Americas, followed suit. He had a good deal of customers he had taken from under Alston's belt, whether by violent coercion or better prices. It was only a matter of time before the two were set to come to an altercation.

"Hand me your bring em' near," he demanded, grasping the small telescope as it was offered. He glassed the horizon behind them and just barely spotted the mast of a tall galleon keeping on them like a well-aimed arrow.

The hurricane in Bonnet's eyes vanished as fast as it had come as he considered the prospect of a good brawl. What was life at sea if not a constant adventure?

"'Spose it had to happen sometime now. I could stand to spill some blood. Let's see what the good lad Alston has aboard, shall we? Let the men know we'll be meetin' with a friend in the next few days," Bonnet sneered, and Dugan reciprocated with an equally enthusiastic toothy grin.

"Aye sir, anything else?"

Bonnet briefly considered letting the girl starve, and making her rue her words. But he figured that it would probably bother her more if he ignored her request and sent food anyway. Anything he could do to get under her skin was a small victory in his eyes.

"Yes, before I forget. Will ye bring our dear guest, Miss Fraser, a wee bit of pottage, some clean water to wash with, and some appropriate clothes. I believe we managed to pick up quite a few fine silks and women's things from the last trip to England. I've no use for them, so anything will do. Perhaps something that shows off a bit of skin though, aye?" he looked to Dugan, mischief dancing across his eyes and lighting into a broad grin.

"I'll get to it," he replied and set off on his way.

The next few days would be interesting if nothing else. Bonnet turned his attention back to the horizon behind him and squinted at the blurred mast. He may not be able to have Brianna yet, though he could still have a bit of fun. Whatever came his way, he would welcome it. The sun now setting far in the west, Stephen sighed. It was good to be back on the water.