Chapter 3: A Dance with the Devil

Hi guys! Here's chapter 3! I know it has been a bit of a slow burn so far, but things are really going to be heating up next chapter for our main characters!

In this chapter, we'll see Brianna catch a glimpse of the real Bonnet, for better or for worse. Someone definitely gets the short end of the stick in this installment, but we all know that Stephen Bonnet is a pirate through and through-and now Brianna knows too.

Thank you to the people who followed and faved this past week, you guys are awesome and I appreciate everyone else who reads as well! It means the world to me you guys are enjoying it. Feel more than free to comment, I love hearing people's opinions and notes, they really are some of my favorite emails to get.

That's all I'll say for this little intro! Enjoy, and check back next week for our face-to-face with Alston!

Bree laid splayed out on the bed, silently staring up at the cabin's ceiling for what felt like hours. For a while, she had listened to the never-ending shuffling of boots above her head, until finally the din became background noise and she settled for counting knotholes in the wood above her. She had just reached number three hundred and fifty-two when she suddenly heard her stomach give off a protesting growl. She paused, and then continued counting, trying to ignore the aching in the pit of her stomach which proved to be nearly impossible. She briefly regretted what she had to said to Bonnet about the food, but pushed the notion out of her thoughts as quickly as it had come. Trying to take her mind off of her hankering, she began to think again about her plan. With as many pairs of feet as she had been hearing, it was damn near impossible that everyone here would harbor the same feelings as the captain about kidnapping and prisoners. Then again, it was a pirate ship, she thought to herself.

The cynical part of herself wondered if she would ever even get out of the room itself to try, but she had to maintain hope. If her mother could come here completely by accident and somehow manage to survive it, she was sure she could too. Suddenly, tears began to well up in eyes. It was September now, and all she could hope was that the fire had not already happened. She would never forgive herself if she was implicated in the deaths of her father, mother and biological father. Deep in thought, and trying to piece together yet another half-baked plan, her stomach riveted off another few gargles and clicks pulling her attention back to the present, and she finally sat up. The sensation of hunger mingled with the subtle backdrop of sea-sickness was nearly intolerable.

Getting up off the bed, she headed to the porthole and pushed out on the paned glass until she felt an inrushing of fresh air. Pressing her face up against the sill, she took a moment to close her eyes and appreciate the comforting coolness of the briny air. The sun was setting, and it cast a glorious pink expanse across the sky. She reached as much of her hand beneath the pane as she could, as if trying to grasp the sky's colors with her fingertips, reveling in the zephyr. She wished desperately to be outside, feeling the salty breeze brush across her cheeks and flow through her hair. But, on the other hand, that would mean she would have to face Bonnet again. The thought sent a chill up her spine. The man had a serious disregard for the value of human life, and a temper which seemed to grow and shrink like an unsettled flame. He was unpredictable and certainly dangerous.

As if she had manifested him with her thoughts, she suddenly heard the sound of boots once again approaching the cabin. Her breath caught in her throat, and she reached quickly for the glass shard she had stowed in her binder and hid it in her hand behind her back. She suspected he had managed about as much time as he could without tasting her himself and had come back to claim his prize. Well, he's going get a nasty little surprise if he tries. This time, she would be ready.

The lock slid out of place again, this time with a lot more effort involved. The door swung open slowly as Brianna clutched the glass, her eyes wide and her knuckles turning white. When her gaze fell upon a stouter and older figure with curious gray eyes, she loosened her grip on the glass. She felt a warm liquid drip slowly from her fingers where she had been grasping the glass and realized just how tightly she had been holding onto it. Acting as if nothing was wrong, she smiled broadly at the man. This was her first chance at making a friend.

"Oh, hello! My name's Brianna Fraser," keeping her hand still behind her back, she hoped he wouldn't notice the bleeding.

"Dugan, first mate. Brought ye some things, at the cap'n's orders. Pottage, clothes and some water for ye to wash up." He appeared to be struggling, juggling a vessel filled with water, a small wooden bowl and what looked to be an expensive silk dress.

"Let me help you," Brianna rushed forward, and reached with her good hand to take the bowl he was balancing precariously in his left. Whatever he had brought her smelled less than appetizing, but she was thankful nonetheless. Even just to see a face besides that of Bonnet's lifted her spirits.

Dugan allowed the woman to take the bowl while he sneakily looked her over. He was shocked to find her in nearly the same state he had seen her last—dare he say, she looked even better now than the day prior. She sported no marks, no bruises and no tattered clothing. She was stunningly beautiful, and seemingly untouched. How odd, he thought, what was the captain playing at with this one? Though he respected Bonnet through and through, and had quite a healthy fear of him on top of it, he knew women at sea were a liability, and he couldn't help but pass a little bit of judgement on him. On land it was all good fun, but on the ocean it was war. It was no place for a dainty and delicate creature such as this one. Perhaps he had finally gone mad.

Walking across the room and placing the basin of water and the dress on the desk, he glanced at the few pieces of glass from the whisky bottle that remained on the floor, and then back to Brianna. She smiled sheepishly, hoping he wouldn't make a connection between her and the bottle and tell Bonnet about it. He stopped, looked as if he was about to say something, and then thought better of it. Without another word, he briskly turned on his heel to leave and Brianna saw her opportunity fading. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Wait!" he stopped and turned to look at her incredulously. What kind of women was this Bonnet had locked down here? She drew her hand back quickly, her eyes burning. She had to say something, before she lost her chance.

"Um, where are we going? And is there any way I can go up on the deck and get some fresh air?" she fiddled nervously with the glass in her hand behind her back.

Dugan laughed, a solemn and forced sound that made Bree nervous. "Ye'll have to take that up with the cap'n, only he decides when ye come out. And if he hasn't told ye where we're goin' then I surely won't. But a word of advice for ye: I would stay in here as much as possible. The men are not likely to sing yer praises on deck," and with that he turned away from her in finality, walked out of the door and closed it. She was getting too used to the sound of being locked in, and the metal sliding across the wooden bolt had become expected at this point.

Brianna hadn't noticed, but her jaw had somehow ended up hanging down and she had to remind herself to close it as she stared at the door. It would be a lot harder than she thought to make friends here. She had no idea what had caused the men on board to already dislike her, but the small torch of hope she had been carrying wavered. She looked down at the glass in her hand, and the once clear shard was now smeared with streaks of scarlet. She wiped it on her filthy dress and placed it on the desk next to the small tub of water. She had three little cuts just before the first joint of her fingers where the glass had dug in. Straightening out her hand, they burned slightly and she winced. Just another thing to deal with. She picked the rag up off the floor she had dropped earlier and wrapped it around her hand, clenching her fist shut to ebb the remaining bleeders. Her stomach rattled off a series of annoying inhuman gurgles once again, and reminded her of the pottage Bonnet had eluded to bringing down a few hours prior.

Walking over to the bowl she had placed beside the bed, she looked down into it. Her thankfulness had passed, and now all she could feel was ruefulness. This was a test. She had told him she would rather starve and he had it brought down anyway, just to see if he could bend her to his will. To see how weak she was. She picked up the whittled spoon resting in the thin substance and observed it. It appeared to be boiled cabbage mixed with some kind of broth filled with chunks of meat of some sort. She dropped the spoon back into the bowl. What I wouldn't do for a piece of pizza right now, she thought, her appetite fading in the wake of the odd soup that was supposed to be considered sustenance here.

Though the food was a no-go, what she would make use of was the basin of water. Her hair was downright ratty and her skin was dry and flaky from a lack of bathing. Making her way back to the desk she stood over the basin and peered into it. She noticed a slab of lye soap resting in the basin and excitedly lifted it from the water to her nose. It smelled distinctly of lemon, and she let out a long and relieved sigh. She had days' worth of grime to scrub off and the privacy to do it.

Looking quickly at the door, and then back at the basin, she began to strip, and fixed her eyes on the door's handle as she did so. Once she was down to just her undergarments, she plunged her hands into the water happily, wincing slightly as the cuts on her fingers stung. It was cold, but it would do. She tasked herself with cleaning her wounds first, then she scrubbed everything on her without wasting a single moment. She hurried to dry herself with one of the blankets on the bed, shivering from the chilled water. Once done, she was positively beaming with victory as she looked smugly at the door. "Not today, Stephen Bonnet," she said out loud, proud of her efficient use of time. He wouldn't ever see her naked if she could help it.

After reveling in the success of bathing without prying eyes, she then moved on to tackle her hair. Bringing the basin carefully to the floor, she sat down wrapped in her blanket, and dunked her hair into the water. It felt weak and damaged, certainly in need of some serious TLC. She rubbed the soap onto her long red locks and began the task of combing through the knots and tangles with her left hand, and cleaning the raw spots from her first encounter with Bonnet. It was tedious work, and a little bit painful as well, and took much longer than she would have liked to sit on the floor in only the furred blanket, but when she had finished, she felt like herself again. Her banana curls were reforming by the time she had pulled the sopping hair out of the bucket. She rubbed a bit of the blanket roughly over her head and then turned her attention to the dress Dugan had brought in.

It was a deep emerald green, much like the color of the captain's eyes she noted, and was a lot nicer than the gown she had crossed through the stones in, which had certainly seen better days. Her fingers now clean and done bleeding, she held the gown out in front of her with both hands and admired it. It certainly was beautiful; she couldn't deny it. She unwittingly put it on, realizing as soon as she did why he requested it to be brought to her. She could nearly see her entire breast in this gown, as it was fitted and pushed them up seductively with the clean corset which had been provided with it. As much as she hated it, she had no other clean clothes and was sick of smelling like a barnyard. It would have to do. She could only hope he kept his hands off of her.

The thought reminded her of her glass shard, which she once again picked up. She stowed it in the nook between her breasts, which was a tad uncomfortable but certainly beat the alternative of having no protection for herself.

She looked around, satisfied with her work until she realized it was finally completely dark outside. A new fear hit Brianna like a freight train. Would he sleep here with her? As if the devil himself had called him to order whenever her mind drifted to him, she heard his characteristic gait coming down the hallway toward the door, noting how much heavier and quicker his steps were than Dugan's. At least he was predictable, she jested. He certainly had a knack for showing up just when expected.

She watched him stride in, his eyes sinking into her like fangs the second he entered the room. His charismatic grin broke out immediately when he saw her in the gown.

"Well, I can't say I'm not pleased to see ye in this state. Ye look markedly better than the wet dog I picked up and carried aboard," he was teasing her again. She couldn't have looked like a wet dog if she'd tried, he thought. It was something of a mystery to him how she could look so appetizing simply by being. But, she need not know that.

She grimaced at his comment and placed her hands on her hips, once again, exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

"Well," she added mocking him in the same tone, "I didn't put it on for you," her voice was palpably acidic, and Bonnet sneered in response. There she went again, both annoying him, and lighting his fire. The woman was positively maddening.

"Gives me a good view of what I have to look forward to in the coming months," as he said it, he winked and started stripping off his clothes. Brianna looked away quickly, exasperated. She felt a slight blush crawling up onto her cheeks and she willed it away, breathing slowly and with purpose to calm her nerves.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" it came out as a whisper, but a stern one at that. If he thought she was getting into that bed with him, he was sorely mistaken. He climbed onto the mattress and looked at her expectantly.

"If ye don't get into this bed this instant, sweetheart, I'll drag ye in myself."

She chanced a look at him and his wry grin. The chiseled muscles of his chest and arms were just visible atop the cover he had pulled up past his abdomen. His green eyes dashed with lust, Brianna backed up against the nearest wall.

"I'm… I'm not sleeping here," she stuttered.

Bonnet groaned. Being with whores certainly had its benefits. He had a lot less shake down work to do when he was paying someone. But, he was amused, and after nearly a day and a half without a wink of sleep, he was too tired to do anything with her. And it was still too soon. He certainly didn't want to hold her or really be close to her, he just wanted to scare her a bit. He lived for striking terror into people's hearts and she was no exception, she was just a bit more work for him to get to that point. He thought for a moment. Being in the middle of the ocean, there was really nowhere for her to go, and Alston was still about a day out from their projected meeting time. It was imperative that he slept before then—he would need all of his wits about him to board and pillage what Alston had stored. None of the men would touch her, if they knew what was good for them. Also, it wasn't a particularly cool night. He had a plan that would have her begging to stay in the bed with him in the nights to come.

He got up suddenly, stark naked, and descended upon her, like an owl to a rabbit. Gripping her shoulders in both hands he held her still and forced her to look at him. Her eyes glanced down for half a second, but it was half a second too long. She cursed herself as she saw him take note.

He clucked at her softly, playing up his Irish charm. "Come now, darlin', don't kid yourself, ye know ye'd like to have a taste. Why not make it easy for yerself and hop up on that bed. I can't promise ye I'll be gentle, but I can promise to make ye scream," her eyes locked on his and she could see he was enjoying himself. Sick fuck, she thought to herself.

Bringing a knee up swiftly, she tried to hit him where it counted, right in the jewels. It would have worked, had she been just a bit quicker. But his reflexes were much better than she had anticipated, and instead of hitting him, he swiped her supporting leg out from under her and she toppled to the ground in a heap, her hip hitting the floor with a smack. He laughed, a genuine hearty laugh, as she scrambled up from the ground, rubbing her side.

"Nasty wee thing. If ye'll not get into bed with me, ye can see sleep on the deck," he shrugged, took her by the arm sharply, walked her swiftly to the door, and thrust her out of it. "Oíche mhaith," he said bitterly, as he closed the door hard in her very surprised face.

Brianna jumped at the sound of the door slamming, and looked around nervously. She had no idea how to navigate the ship, and after Dugan's comments about the men on board, she was afraid. Certainly less afraid of them than Bonnet, but sometimes the evil you know is better than the evil you don't. She covered her chest with her arms and began to make her way down the darkened hallway, seeing it for the very first time since she hadn't walked herself in.

As she rounded the edge of the hallway, a short ladder led up through a square-shaped opening in the floor. It was deathly quiet aside from the sea lapping at the edges of the ship, and Bree wasn't sure if she should be thankful for the silence, or scared of it. She climbed the ladder carefully, her cut fingers burning as they touched the salted wood. With no blanket, and just the thin gown, she wasn't sure what she was expected to sleep on, but she was determined not to go knocking on the captain's door and admit defeat—or even just ask for a blanket. I'd rather throw myself overboard then spend a single moment in that bed next to him, she thought and rolled her eyes. As she made it to the top of the ladder, she poked her head out of the hold cautiously and wearily took in the open expanse of the ship's deck.

Setting her eyes on the deck for the first time, Brianna lost herself for a moment. The moon shone brightly overhead, casting a glow on the ship's oak surface that looked almost film-like. She had gotten her wish to feel the sea air on her skin, and oh how marvelous it felt. Making her way up the rest of the stairs, she felt relieved she was finally free from the stuffy belly of the ship. She walked across the deck slowly, taking it all in.

Closing her eyes, she imagined herself in a much different situation, one where she wasn't a hostage, but was sailing towards her parents. To save them. The thought gave her warmth, and as the adrenaline of her third meeting with Bonnet wore off, she realized she was exhausted. She peered around, the moon giving her a stable and solid light. There were a few men milling about, checking the sails and monitoring location via the stars, but they hadn't noticed her yet. She crept softly and silently, exploring her new surroundings.

She looked around at the ship itself, and was utterly shocked. It was a much larger vessel than she had imagined, and estimated it to be about 100 feet long, and at least 50 feet wide. About as long as some of the planes she had traveled on when she went to visit family in England with her father and mother. It was remarkably beautiful, and well kept up, she noted, as she touched the glossed gunwale.

Stopping near base of the ship's bowsprit, she peered over to watch the vessel gracefully glide through the sea, slicing a path through the stillness. It was uncharacteristically quiet today, the water throwing scarcely a wave that could be felt as a passenger onboard. Sleeping outside beneath the bright stars would be a welcome change, she thought, especially on a calm and cool night such as this. She smirked. Bonnet was probably lying in bed, chuckling to himself thinking her weak and incapable of sleeping without all of the amenities in his cabin. She would certainly show him.

Staying up at the forecastle of the ship so as not to be in the way of any of the crew, she settled herself down in her silk gown. She laid on her back, arms behind her head, her face to the sky. Looking around once again, she noted that she no longer saw any of the crew, and seemingly hadn't been approached at all. It was quite alright with her, she was really starting to prefer being ignored above all, it seemed like less of a risk.

Finding comfort in being in the fresh air, she turned her attention to the ship's flags, which were mostly an off-white, although one stood out. A black sail, with a skull. It had a long bone beneath it, and a dagger on one side of the skull, a heart on the other. It was unique, and she wondered why Bonnet had picked it, especially the heart—he certainly did not strike her as a man in touch with his emotions, or full of any sort of capacity to love. Perhaps when she got home she could find some notion of the distinctive flag in one of her history books. The thought soothed her, and, looking up once again to the speckled universe above her, she noticed Andromeda—the constellation of the chained lady. She recalled the story of Andromeda, the daughter of Cassiopeia who was meant to be given as a sacrifice to a sea monster Zeus had unleashed before she was faithfully rescued. Noticing the irony in her own situation, she suddenly wished for her own Perseus to come and save her from the beast, who was clearly Bonnet. She thought back to the slim figure who pulled her from the water in her dream, and her eyes began to grow heavy. With the touch of his hand pulling her into his strong arms, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

-O-O-

Brianna was awoken suddenly and forcefully, being wrenched from where she laid on the forecastle. Her eyes still fuzzy with sleep, she looked around, panicked. Realizing someone had hold of her arm, she reflexively struggled—against whom she had no idea.

"A witch! A harlot! A stowaway!" an older man shrieked as he shook her by the arm like a ragdoll.

Brianna had been soundly sleeping before the rude objection, and was more annoyed than afraid. Her neck had certainly felt the repercussion of sleeping on nothing but the hard wood. Taking a moment to get her bearings, she noticed it was barely dawn, the pink blushing of the sky just beginning on the horizon.

"I am NOT!" she yelled back, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she yanked again wildly on her arm. The man had the grip of a vice and hardly seemed to take notice of her protests, despite him being just a hair taller than she. By now, a crowd of men had started to amass around the pair, clearly taking a distinct interest in the new development.

"Ye'll feckin' be quiet, before I slit yer throat right here!" lifting a cutlass from his belt, he placed it against her throat, as if to show just how serious he was. Suddenly, Brianna's annoyance was replaced with unadulterated fear, and a small yelp escaped her lips. The sensation of tiredness leaving her body, she fumbled at her chest for the glass shard, receiving whistles of approval from the men who clearly thought they were about to get a show. Grabbing her groping hand and twisting it firmly to the small of her back so that it was immobilized, she squealed again, the men around her groaning in response. It was apparent there would be no peep show.

Looking around frantically for someone, anyone who may be able to help her, she locked eyes with Dugan, who looked equally afraid. Why, she could not be sure, it wasn't he who had a blade to his throat. He rushed forward towards her, pushing a few men out of the way in his wake.

"Gordon, let go of the lass. Ye don't know the mistake yer makin'," he urged the man, inching forward towards Brianna. The man dug his cutlass in, and Brianna felt a warm trail of blood begin to flow down her neck. Grimacing, she thought hard. At the sight of the blood, Dugan raised his hands in front of him, and backed up a foot.

"We can't be havin' a lass on board Dugan, not wi' Alston on th' way. It's back luck and ye know it," hearing some murmurs of encouragement from a few of the other crew members, he dragged Brianna backward towards the ship's bow and stopped dangerously close to the edge. Brianna only had a moment to think, and while it wasn't the best plan, it was the only one she had. She simply hoped it would go in her favor. If not, it would be disastrous for more than just Gordon.

Quickly she craned her neck forward as far as it would go, fighting against the heavy blade, and then sent her head slamming backwards hard onto the man's nose. Her old wound still burning, she staggered forward. The man grunted, but hardly seemed to move, though he did release her to clutch at his nose, which was now streaming blood from both nostrils. The men were cheering, positively ecstatic to watch such a thrilling scene unfold. Dugan seemed to be in utter shock.

Regaining her balance, Brianna reached nimbly for her shard, and as the man's dark eyes filled with rage and he stormed towards her, she retrieved it, turning away from him. As he wrapped his arms around her for a second time, she gripped the glass tight and sent it straight back into the man's upper thigh, causing him to drop the cutlass and send her reeling forward. He screamed, a bloodcurdling sound which made Bree's ears ring. The crowd of men became deathly silent, and then moved in on her slowly as Gordon recovered himself. Her hands shaking and her senses dulled, she stood stock-still. She felt a solid shove come from behind as she was pushed towards the man she had just stabbed, who was now standing up straight, blood bubbling from his wound around the glass which was embedded at least 6 inches. He grabbed a handful of her hair as she stumbled into him, and pulled her once again towards the edge of the ship. She screamed in pain, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. The man laughed, a strangled sound mingled with pain, and shook her again.

"Shall I throw her off then, the wench?" the man called. A massive uproar of "ayes" filled the air, and Brianna realized she could no longer see Dugan in the crowd. She closed her eyes, and prepared herself for her inevitable descent into the chilly froth below. She listened to the water, noting it was markedly rougher today, slapping the sides of the ship angrily. She could almost hear the sound the waves would make as they crashed around her and she waited expectantly for it. But it never came. Instead she heard a new sound, the sound of a very angry Captain Bonnet. Her eyes flew open, hearing his voice tower above the rest of the crew.

"What the feck is all this racket? Why are ye men not working?"

The gathered crew parted as if he was Moses himself, and Dugan trailed behind him like a frightened dog. He walked to the front of the crowd, seemingly annoyed, and locked eyes with Brianna. He halted. His entire face changed and his eyes immediately became a tumultuous storm of green and black. No longer annoyed, he seemed to grow another foot, overcome with a murderous and vilified rage—his mercurial temperament manifesting. Gordon seemed to realize he had made a very grave mistake, because he released Brianna immediately and shuffled a few feet away from her. Without the support of the man's grip, she fell to her knees, her breaths ragged and quick.

"What's the meaning of this, Gordon?" Bonnet asked, his voice a little too calm. His eyes turned down to Brianna still on the ship's deck, droplets of blood falling on the wood between her arms as she braced herself.

"Found a stowaway, cap'n'. I think one of the men snuck her on board. Was goin' ta throw her over, and help change our luck with Alston," Brianna could hear the pleading tone in his voice, yet she remained staring down at the deck underneath of her on her hands and knees.

"Actually, Mr. O'Cogden, that one's my entertainment."

Gordon's eyes nearly jumped from their sockets, the gravity of the situation finally hitting him.

"I'm sorry cap'n', I had no id—" Fumbling, he could barely get out the rest of his sentence. Bree looked up at the altercation curiously, having regained her faculties somewhat. She was shocked Bonnet had taken such stock in the situation, assuming he would be quite amused with her being smacked around as much as the rest of the crew. Clearly, that was not the case.

Impatiently, as if he had already heard enough, Bonnet stepped around Bree and stood calmly in front of Gordon, his eyes still stoking a fire within him. In what seemed like half a second, he had drawn his own dagger from his belt sheath, and ran it swiftly across Gordon's neck. A sickening gargling sound escaped the man's lips as a smattering of bright red blood hit the deck like a brief downpour of rain. Then, with a considerable pause while the man teetered back and forth unsteadily, Bonnet laid a hand on Gordon's chest just before he fell and pushed him backward over the edge of the ship. His body hit the water with an audible smack that made the crew collectively jump. Bonnet, however, looked about as relaxed as possible as he turned slightly to look at the crew, the man's blood painting his face with little droplets. He lifted a few fingers to his cheek and wiped, smearing the scarlet into a long streak that looked like war paint.

Turning to face the men fully, who were now looking down hiding the horror in their own eyes, Bonnet bellowed "Would anyone else like to try throwin' Miss Fraser to the fishes? Or will ye award me that honor when the time comes?"

The men shook, and replied with mumbled "no sirs" and "sorry, cap'n'". Shuffling their feet, not a single man dared to make eye contact with Bonnet. Not even Dugan, who clearly seemed to think his own punishment would be coming shortly.

"Back to work with ye then!" he yelled one last time, waving his hands to shoo them off. As if they had been electrocuted, the men jumped and scattered like light-stunned cockroaches.

Bonnet kneeled next to Brianna, and she opened her eyes, which she hadn't realized were closed until that very moment. He tilted her head up and to the side, looking at the cut from Gordon's cutlass and clicked his tongue in distaste.

"Ye seem to be a lot more trouble than ye're worth, Miss Fraser," he growled under his breath at her. It was the first time he had called her by anything aside from darlin' or sweetheart, or even acknowledged she had a name at all. In response, she looked up at him, and he had to admit she looked pitiful with her tear stained cheeks and bloodied neck.

"Dugan, c'mere," he called to his first mate who appeared to materialize by his side in seconds. His eyes hadn't left Brianna's face and her own eyes had taken to staring into his. It was a delicate balance neither wanted to break.

"Yes, cap'n'," Dugan replied obediently, "what can I do for ye?"

"Take Miss Fraser back down to my quarters. See to it that she has some sup and drink, and somethin' to wash with. I'll be down to deal with her later," her eyes finally broke from his as his face hardened. Deal with her? What was he planning to do, finish what Gordon had started? Perhaps he wasn't amused with the situation because he wanted to be the one doing it to her himself. She heard the threat in his voice, and knew there would be another confrontation come that evening.

Yet, while all the men on board seemed to be terrified of Bonnet in that moment, all Bree could think about was how he had changed when he had seen her held up with that knife. How he had looked angry, sure, but also something else she could not place. It was not a look she had seen on his face before, and while it wasn't exactly comforting, it had eased her in the moment. Looking at him then, she knew she wouldn't in fact be thrown overboard. She wasn't sure exactly how she knew she would be spared that day simply by a look in the captain's eye, but she didn't protest when Dugan helped her to her feet and back down to his cabin. Walking slowly, and hardly noticing she was walking at all, she followed beside him. He was speaking to her, but she couldn't make out his words. She could scarcely think of anything but Bonnet's blood-spattered face and haunting eyes staring into her own.

Her entire stay so far on the Gloriana had felt like an intricate and precarious dance with the devil. One misstep and she could find herself at the bottom of an abyss, cold and forgotten. But, if her procession with the pirate was timed and strategic, she could spare herself just a little bit longer.

Day by day, she was learning the dance, testing the steep edges of their partnership to see where she could thrive, and where she could fall from grace. She only hoped that the limits of their calculated ballet were not as confined as she suspected. As she reached the hold, she turned back to look at her captor with whom she was stuck in the entrancing choreography aboard the Gloriana. Their balance in the fast-paced jive aboard the ship had not yet been struck, but, looking at his unreadable face, she hoped they would reach it soon. Facing the ladder that led to his quarters once again, she made her way quietly into the darkness of the ship's belly, entering it with more questions than she had left with the night prior.