Bones' cursing caught Sarah's attention from across the clearing as she was cutting up roots to go into the cooking pot. He had a bucket of water and a misshapen lump of what she could only assume was soap, although she was at a loss to explain where it had come from, and was attempting to shave the rough beard he had grown in the last couple of weeks. He seemed to be struggling, the cursing she assumed the result of the cut he had just inflicted on himself that was now leaking blood down his cheek. Despite the twinge of grim satisfaction she felt at being able to add shaving to the very short list she was mentally constructing of things that he didn't do with skill, she dried her hands on her skirts and wandered over. Bones gave her a wry look as she approached.

'What I wouldn't give for a mirror right now.'

'Do you want me to do it?' she found herself saying. He looked surprised, as well he might; she was surprised herself. 'I do it for my father, his hands shake and he says his manservant is clumsy,' she said by way of explanation.

He considered her for a minute and then held out the knife he was using hilt first. She took it gingerly, wondering what she thought she was doing but pride preventing her from withdrawing her offer. She waved him off the chest and pointed with the tip of the knife.

'Kneel there' she said and he obediently bent his knees and sank to the ground. She picked up the misshapen, grey lump and smoothed it across her palm. 'Is this soap?'

'Of sorts, I made it. Rendered fat and potash.'

'I wish you'd told me you had soap,' she said with a meaningful glance. She sniffed it, then wrinkled her nose. 'It doesn't smell very nice.'

'They were all out of rose scented ones' he said. She ignored his sarcasm and handed it to him.

'Put more on, I don't want the knife to catch. Is the knife sharp?'

He complied with her direction while responding, 'As sharp as it can be.'

'Good, I wouldn't want to accidentally cut your throat,' she said dryly, watching as his eyes widened a fraction and feeling a flare of satisfaction.

'You aren't making me feel very confident in the wisdom of letting you do this.'

'As long as the knife is sharp you'll probably be fine.'

'Probably?'

She disregarded his comment and put a finger under his chin to tip his head back, warning him as she did so not to move. She carefully scraped the knife up his neck and then rinsed off the bristles of his short beard in the bucket of water. His proximity was unnerving but the knife in her hand gave her a feeling of control and calmed her nerves. She went slowly and cautiously, she didn't think she was at risk but she didn't want an accidental cut at her hand to be misconstrued. She had tipped his head to one side to do his jaw when he suddenly spoke, fortunately the knife was nowhere near his face so the start she gave at the sound of his voice had no consequences.

'You don't have to look so anxious. You've nothing to be afraid of.'

She gave him a long look. 'Keep still,' she admonished. 'I'm not the one with a knife to my throat, what do I have to fear?'

'Nothing at all,' he said. 'I, however…'

'Actually you have nothing to fear. I very much doubt I would be eating half so well if you weren't here,' she said honestly.

'Is that enough to keep me alive?'

'For now.'

She tensed as he caught her wrist before she could continue shaving him. His gaze locked hers and her heart rate increased, although she noted absently that his grip was gentle.

'I know what I did before, but I'll not harm you.'

'Trust has to be earned,' she said quietly after a pause.

'And I've a long way to go?'

'Less than you did before, but these things can't be forced.'

'Then I'll not force it.'

'Thank you.' She gave him a look, silently questioning if he was finished talking. He indicated that she should proceed and she finished his shave. He rinsed his face in the bucket of water and ran his palm across his chin.

'Not bad, and considerably better than I was doing.'

'Is your name really Billy Bones?' she asked abruptly. He looked up from the rag that he was drying his face on, a gamut of conflicting emotions chasing themselves across his face. It was something she found reassuring, his inability to hide his emotions, if she ever pushed him too far she would have some warning at least.

'Yes, well no, it's a nickname of sorts,' he said eventually. 'My given name is William Manderly.'

'Manderly,' she said, considering the sound of it and squinting at him. 'I like that.' He looked surprised but she merely shrugged, 'It's nicer than 'Bones'.'

'Is Castle your maiden name?'

'No, my mother's. I couldn't use Whetstone or Rogers when I booked my passage, my father and Woodes were too well known; it would have been noticed.'

'Did you not tell your father where you were going?'

She shook her head. 'He would have tried to stop me, he was very angry with Woodes. I sent him a letter the day we sailed. I had assumed when I reached Nassau I would be able to reassure him that I was safe and reunited with Woodes.' She sighed, 'So, that went well.'

'It might be for the best, I can only imagine what the reaction would have been if you had waltzed into Nassau and announced that you were Rogers' wife. Fuck, they'd have eaten you alive!'

'And I'm so much better off here?'

'Well, I promise I won't eat you alive.'

'You'll kill me first? How very reassuring.'

'You know that's not what…'

She cut him off before he could finish his sentence. 'I know.'

'Do you love him?' he said after a lengthy silence.

'I hardly think that is any of your business,' she said stiffly.

'Probably not,' he shrugged. 'Do you?'

'I…he…he is my husband,' she said eventually. He had seated himself on the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees and his gaze intent on her. He tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

'That doesn't answer my question.'

'I know' she said in a voice no louder than a whisper.

'So do you?'

Involuntarily she shook her head and saw him lean back as if she had answered his question, which she supposed she had. Feeling the need to explain herself she began again.

'We made a marriage of convenience, my wealth and family name for him, a husband for me. I respect and esteem him and he is my husband,' she finished firmly.

He huffed a breath from between his teeth.

'I just don't understand why you are fighting for him.'

'I didn't know what else to do,' she admitted, her voice rising a little as she continued, 'He sent me a letter from Nassau, a letter! It said our marriage was over. I only found out later it was so he could marry that…woman, but everyone else seemed to know. Before I knew what I was about my father was already rearranging my life, moving me back into the family house and calling in Woodes' debts in revenge.'

She could feel the tears pricking at her eyes and she scrubbed them away defiantly, embarrassed to be losing her outward appearance of composure.

'He was already planning my next marriage, before I had even come to terms with the end of my first, and I just couldn't bear it, I couldn't go through it again. Chattel bought and sold. At least this was my decision, my choice.'

'And a fine choice it was,' he said dryly. 'Why are you bothering? He left you for another woman, he doesn't love you.'

She glared at him, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill. 'He might.'

'He won't.'

She could feel the frustration and anger building in her, partly due to the cruelty of his statement, and partly because she knew he was right, she had no illusions at her ability to seduce a man, least of all her husband, and if he was right then where did that leave her?

Still fighting the tears and failing she stood abruptly.

'I should get on with...' she gestured vaguely at the vegetables she had been cutting.

He was on his feet too, looking contrite. 'I'm sorry, that was a shitty thing to say.'

She gave a little shake of her head.

'It doesn't matter,' she said.

She turned her back on him, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and went back to her chopping, effectively ending the conversation. Bones appeared to take the hint and left the clearing but the words he had uttered lingered and as she worked she considered them. He wasn't wrong, that was the problem. She had been holding so tightly to her plan to be reunited with Woodes that she hadn't considered the possibility that once she had secured his release he wouldn't want her back, or worse, that he would and everything would return to exactly as it had been before.

She barely looked up when Bones eventually returned and went into the hut but when he emerged her sullen mood was suddenly forgotten, her attention riveted by the sight of a book in his hand.

'You have books?'

He stopped and looked down at the volume he was holding. 'Yes.'

'Many?'

'No, just a few, most of them were too badly damaged in the ship fire but I managed to salvage a small number.'

'Can I read one?' she asked hesitantly.

'You can, of course you can,' he said, his expression slightly perplexed.

'What were you going to do with that one?' Visions of him ripping out its precious pages to use as kindling sprang into her mind.

He looked at her like she was a simpleton, 'Read it, obviously.'

'Oh, I had assumed you couldn't read,' she said before she had fully considered what she was saying.

'Yes, I can read,' he said with some asperity.

'Sorry,' she said and then asked curiously, 'When did you learn?'

'My father taught me,' he said shortly before changing the subject. 'Do you want to see what I have? Some of them are in Spanish so I haven't read those. Can you read Spanish?'

She nodded.

He gestured to her to follow him to the hut where he bent down and fiddled with the rusted fastening of a heavy looking chest before flipping open the lid. In the dusty depths lay several books, the pages of some slightly crinkled as if water damaged, as well as a dried up bottle of ink, a bundle of silk scarves and a leather weapons belt. Bones placed the book he was still holding on top of the others and nodded towards them.

'Help yourself.'

She ran her hand over the leather cover, stroking the tooled inscription of the title. When she put it to one side he stopped her.

'Why not that one?' he asked.

'You're reading it, I can find a different one.' She shrugged, 'I was hoping for something a little lighter than stoic philosophy anyway.'

'Have you read it?'

'Some of it but only a small part. I prefer novels.' She was still perusing the other books, noting some Shakespeare and Milton, as well as a volume on botany, when her eyes alighted on one in Spanish. 'Ah, this one will do nicely.'

He squinted at the title. 'Don Quixote?' he said, his pronunciation was so atrocious she almost smiled but she refrained from commenting. Given the sharpness of his denial when she had suggested he might be illiterate she didn't think that now was the time to flaunt her superior education.

'I haven't read it before but I believe it's a farce. My governess didn't like me to read novels, apparently they are a bad influence on gently bred ladies.'

She stroked the cover wistfully and quoted, 'A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.'

'Is that from the book?'

She shook her head, 'I read it somewhere once, I forget where, but it struck a chord with me. Books were my solace when…when my husband was away.'

'In Nassau?'

'And before. He had a lot of important matters to take care of that took him away from home, mostly to London. Reading passed the time, took me out of my life for a while.'

'Did you not have friends to pass the time with?'

'Some, not many. My particular friend was married just before I was and her new husband had lands in the North of England, we wrote to each other but it wasn't the same. I don't find it easy to make friends, people think me shy,' she admitted with unexpected frankness, wondering why she kept divulging personal details of her life to a common sailor. Perhaps it was that she doubted he would judge her as her peers would for not conforming to the ideals set out for young ladies, but whatever it was she could sometimes feel her façade slipping.

'You don't strike me as shy, quiet perhaps, but not shy.'

It was true, she wasn't timid or retiring but her quiet manner was often drowned out by the gregariousness of her companions. She found after a while that she had gained a reputation for shyness and as she was content to observe she did not seek to modify society's opinion of her. Gossip and conjecture interested her little and conversations of trivialities bored her. Watching people was much more entertaining, though those she observed would have been surprised and horrified by how much she correctly surmised in the course of her scrutiny.

'I'm not shy, but neither am I expansive, and apparently in society there is no middle ground. You quickly learn that if you aren't naturally vivacious to keep quiet and say only what is expected. Anything else confounds your audience.'

'What is expected?'

'Can I interest you in a polite social commonplace, a comment on the terrible weather we have been experiencing? Perhaps a succinct statement on what a sad crush the last ball we attended was? There are any number of useful phrases to have ready in case someone decides to engage you in conversation, it prevents accidentally expressing a controversial opinion or getting bored and poking fun at your conversational partner, not that most of them had the wit to realise they were being mocked,' she said rather caustically.

'No, I imagine they didn't.'

As she had been speaking Sarah had found she was almost thankful that she did not have to endure any more interminable social discourse. It was an unsettling idea that there was something, even one small thing that was an advantage of her island incarceration.

A little nod (or blatant stealing of his line?) to George R.R. Martin in there, absolutely not canon but I just couldn't help myself, I love that quote.

Merry Christmas everyone!