Author's Note: And we've returned! Hope this makes up for the long time in between updates, this is the longest chapter so far. Be sure to review, like, fav or whatever strikes you fancy. And if you haven't already, follow Hook and his Sorceresses on Tumblr at the blog Hook Enchanted.
It took but a moment for Rose and James to follow Abigail as she ran from their room. Rose had barely flung her nightgown over her head, James donning his bannon as they chased her down the hall. She did not get far, losing her strength to run as she cried, falling to her knees in the blue drawing room she had claimed as her own. They knelt on either side of her, careful not to reach out for her until she made it clear that she was comfortable with touch. Over and over again she wept her apology, and over and over again they accepted it. Neither spoke of her altered appearance, but in both their minds they felt inexplicably drawn to her new, alien beauty. She was a snow queen, or a midnight goddess, cold yet devastating in her allure. Abigail cried tears that froze on her cheeks, admitting that she felt terror when she saw her lovers frozen into living statues. They reassured her as best they could, telling her that it must be her powers unlocking just as Rose's had in the garden.
"Two sides of a coin, my love, " James told her softly. "Winter and summer, you are. Had we been present as Rose was commanding the flora on the grounds, we might have been trapped in the earth or stung with thorny vines. Twas an accident, fair one."
"We are safe, sweetheart," Rose continued. "And we are not angry at you." She turned to look through the open door to their bedroom. "And the frost is gone now, as though it was never there." Abigail hesitantly looked as well, sighing with relief at the sight of a warm and iceless space. "Let us bring you back to bed where you're safe and warm?" The blue in her hair began to seep away, the glow to her skin returned to her mortal complexion. And the sparks faded away to reveal her soft, baby blue eyes still filled with tears.
"Please," her voice was small and unsure. Rose took one arm, James the other and they gently lifted her to her feet. They put her in the center of the large bed, curling around her protectively. In her ears, now round and small again, they whispered words of love and comfort until she drifted off to a fitful mid-morning sleep.
Breakfast was taken in the informal dining room on the second floor. More private, for use by the manor's family, it was simpler than the state dining room downstairs. Simpler in the case of Black Barony though did not mean humble. Heavy wooden panelling covered every wall. Neoclassical pediments capped the doors and panels upon which portraits of esteemed ancestors and monarchs hung. Carven patterns of acanthus leaves and vases spilling flowers wound around the lower half of the wall, equal to the height of the buffet tables. A great bronze chandelier hung above the dining space itself, though it was not lit in lieu of the tall windows being thrown open to let in the morning breeze. The dining table was round, circled by wooden chairs which were carven from head to foot with decoration.
Had they not already had a full tour of the house, Rose and Abigail might have been left breathless upon first sight. The room was still nearly larger than their whole house back on the Mainland, but it was nowhere near as opulent as the other chambers. At the moment though they were concentrating more on their meal than comparing architecture. Rose had helped herself to a silver sauceboat of blackberry preserves which she liberally spread on a steaming hot roll. Abigail was sipping tea and trying to choose between which of the many tropical fruits from the centerpiece to take for her own. Everything about her demeanor making it clear that she was not going to talk about the events of the morning and that she was just fine and very normal, thank-you-very-much. James was simply happy to have a steady supply of what called "decent English fare" at his fingertips again, his inner carnivore was showing. From the day they arrived he had not so much as looked at seafood and had ordered beef or lamb for every meal. Off to the side, though still close to the table, King James II happily feasted on cream and mackerel from feline-sized porcelain dishes.
A servant came in bearing a polished tray. He bowed to the master of the house who took the envelope from said tray, then dismissed the man. The wax seal was sliced off, both the women had the thought that it must be quite efficient to have a letter opener attached to one's arm but neither said it aloud.
"Who is sending letters so early?" Abigail asked.
"A reminder from Captain O'Malley," he answered, his eyes swiftly breezing across the paper. "The whole island has gotten word of my arrival, and so everyone is clamoring to meet you. She's especially excited." He set the letter aside.
"Is she the one who is holding the party you mentioned?" Rose looked over the discarded paper and read it over for herself. She knew well who Grace O'Malley was, the excitement was evident on her fact.
"The very same," Hook took a bite of beef wrapped in puff pastry and washed it down with claret. "We all take turns hosting, when it happens that we all are in town at the same time."
"Have you ever done so?" the younger witch took an avocado and began to slice it open with a few deft strokes of her knife. She hadn't looked either of her loves in the eye since she had woken up again for breakfast.
"It has been a very long time since I have hosted any social event," he appeared to think back. "Not often are all of my compatriots at home at the same time, so such frivolities are few and far between. Though depending on how long we stay I may have no choice but to throw an affair. But with you two here, that shouldn't be an issue at all." Rose looked up at him.
"What does that mean?" the elder questioned, clearly confused.
"You are my ladies are you not?"
"That's fairly obvious," the younger said, her words lacking her usual bite.
"Then it would mean that you both must rise to the occasion if I should choose to host a party. Running of the house and playing the role of hostess does fall under the duties of a Baron's lady," he paused. "Or ladies, in this circumstance."
"James," Rose began sweetly, "we don't know anything about running a mansion. And even less about hosting a formal dinner for pirates."
"We're not exactly housewife material," Abigail added.
"Well do I know," was his response.
"Clearly, this means that he doesn't see any value to keeping us around, then," Rose sniffed. "Since we aren't domestic little goddesses to run his house and play pretty hostess."
"Damn it, woman, that isn't what I meant," Hook growled. "All I meant was that the two of you will be unfamiliar with the expectations and delicacy required to keep a house."
"And now we're indelicate!" Abigail shrieked, lobbing a strawberry at his head petulantly.
"Stop twisting my words, vixen," James exclaimed, wiping strawberry juice from his cheek.
"Stop using words that are so easily twistable!"
"Children, it is too early for such noise," Rose complained.
"As my women, you will learn to keep a house, so help me!" James thundered.
Abigail's eyes narrowed, a waft of chilled air breezed against his neck, "James, are you familiar with the story of Queen Boudicca?"
"I may have heard the name once."
"Read the legends about her and then try and tell an Irishwoman what to do again."
His face was slowly turning red. A vein was beginning to pulse.
"Rose, be sensible and help me," he pleaded.
"No," Rose said over her teacup. He spluttered. She shrugged, "I admit that we should probably learn how to deal with the house. But you should know better than to try to command us by now. You could have simply asked."
"Maybe throw in a please or two," Abigail hissed, popping a sugar lump between her teeth.
"Now, we should know better than to ask that of him," Rose cautioned, "Pirates don't say please."
James slouched in his chair, staring down at his plate. Rose had been right. It was too early. His lips barely moved. "Will you…..please…...try to learn to keep a house in order. It would be….greatly appreciated….on my part."
Abigail pretended to swoon in shock.
"Of course, darling," Rose said simply, sipping her tea. "Problem solved."
"Fetch the smelling salts!" Abigail squawked, fanning herself and pretending to reel in her chair, "I have the vapours! He said please!"
James glowered at her. She blew him a cheeky kiss.
"Of course…" she got a glint in her eye that he wasn't sure he liked. "If we are to be your women, as you so claim, why then, we must look the part."
"Oh, of course," Rose said, smirking over her fruit tart, "We'll have to have special dresses made for the occasion. We never ordered any ball gowns."
"Yes, yes," James waved the hook tiredly, "Whatever you need. You know there is no shortage of coin where the two of you are concerned."
"Yes, we know, darling," Abigail cooed. Both women leaned over to press kisses to his cheeks. He muttered something roughly and poured a shot of whisky into his tea.
"Ahhh," Rose sighed with a smile, "domestic bliss."
Breakfast continued in peace, smiles quickly returning in genuine. The women had just started tucking into oats drenched in honey when a servant politely knocked before entering. A young woman in the blue and white uniform dress worn by all the female servants bobbed a quick curtsy. The poor girl looked about as white as her starched apron.
"A visitor to see you, my lord and ladies," she announced.
"First letters, now callers," Rose muttered, not looking forward to having her morning interrupted any more.
"Who is insane enough to be fully awake and traveling this early?" Abigail almost wished she drank coffee. Surely so much caffeine would be helpful right about now.
"Well?" James drawled the question and the maid looked terrified.
"Captain O'Malley, my lord," she stuttered in reply. The trio at the table all looked to one another in confusion.
"Escort her in," Hook dabbed his lips with a napkin and stood, maroon bannon billowing behind him. Rose and Abigail did not rise, instead they continued to nibble at their food and pass scraps to their pet who now occupied James' vacant seat. A short woman entered, kicking the door shut behind her. Her long, wild hair was the same steel gray as her eyes. Her tanned face was lined and weathered from a life time at sea. And she wore what appeared to be some kind of Elizabethan garb, a mesh of men's and women's clothing bonded together with belts and bandoliers.
"James Hook, the great peacock comes home tae roost at last!"
They should have been surprised a little more than they were, but the witches were starting to become used to women sassing their lover.
"Grace, what a pleasant surprise so early," his voice was only a little strained. But still he smiled and kissed the woman's hand.
"Ye never were all that good at lying, Jaime," she winked. "And who do I spy eating at your table? Does the peacock have hens now?"
"Hens?" Abigail gasped as her spoon clattered to the floor. King James hopped after it and started to bat at it like a hunter chasing prey. Rose choked not in offense but in laughter and tried to hide her smile behind her napkin. Cool blue eyes glared at her but still a few titters escaped her.
"Fine squawk on that one," Grace O'Malley nudged her head in the witch's direction.
"You should hear her in bed," James said smoothly.
"Do you take turns with them or is the Barony turned into a den of debauchery?"
"That, dear Grace, I shall leave to your imagination. Can I offer you a drink?" He lead his fellow captain to the table where he pulled a chair out for her.
"Tea, something strong and black with a splash of whiskey," she shooed James off as though he were a butler. He did not seemed at all phased by this, rather he seemed rather used to the order and made his way to the buffet to prepare the cup.
"Make that two," Abigail said, finally looking up at the Irish Captain, a small smile on her face.
"Of course, darling," he smirked over his shoulder. "Would you care for something too, dear heart?" Rose looked up, smiled, shook her head and held up her full cup.
"So, Jamie has brought home two fine birds," the thick Irish brogue contained an accent that neither of Hook's ladies had ever heard. "Pretty plumage to decorate his ego? A soft spot in his black heart? I'm all for a good tale, start talking."
"Grace," James chided her as he set the tea cups down. "Should we not attend to business first?"
"Ye English are so prim and proper," she grumbled. "Is he always this stuffy?"
"Only in the mornings," Rose nuzzled James' arm as he passed by her.
Abigail nodded and took the first sip of her spiked tea. "Let him kill something and he's right as rain."
"Aye, that sounds like him," Grace tasted her drink. The look on her face spoke of an experienced appraiser, it was almost as though she were testing Hook's skill at mixing tea and alcohol. "Not bad."
"High praise, coming from you," he pulled up a chair from along the wall and sat between his women. "So, what brings you to my house so early?"
"It's my turn to host the annual gathering," she stated.
"So your letter said. Why not let your pen do the talking, why come here personally?"
"And miss the opportunity to see an old friend? Jamie, you wound me heart with such talk!"
"Grace, we both know that nothing can wound that shriveled old muscle."
All the while, the witches looked back and forth as the two spoke. Left and right, over and over like a game of tennis. The old woman laughed, or cackled rather, and uttered something in old Gaelic.
"I missed that well intentioned rancor," she downed half her cup. "Well, business then. The gathering is two weeks from today. I wish there could be more time tae plan but who knows when all the council will be together again. So dust off yer ballgowns, hens, you'll have a court of criminals tae impress." Striking gray eyes looked over them both, looking over them like they really were hens at market. "Pretty, maybe too pretty. Ye'll have a hell of a time keeping the council menfolk and their ilk away from your mates. Well? Introduce me else that good form you prize so much will be in danger of being spoiled." Hook bristled at the mention of his fellow pirates leering at his ladies. But he pulled himself into a semblance of fine decorum and gestured to the women on either side of him.
"My Rose, Miss Belchiere."
"French Hen," Grace smirked. "You better be careful, dearie, the folks around these parts would just love to get their claws into an innocent thing like you." But the russet haired woman did not look put off in the slightest.
"Oh I hope so, it would give me something to sharpen my own claws on."
One thin, white brow raised at that but the Irish captain said nothing in reply.
"My Abigail, Miss Ó Rinn-Sheehy."
"Sláinte," Abigail said, raising her teacup to the grey-haired Irishwoman.
Grace's eyebrows lifted and she leaned forward, "An bhfuil Gaeilge agat?"
Abigail shrugged, an elegant and careless gesture, "Beagáinín. Ní leor teanga amháin."
Grace laughed, a rough, warm sound, "I like you, Irish Hen! Aye, we'll be fast friends, won't we?"
James reached for the whiskey bottle and took a long drink as the Irishwomen clinked their glasses together in a toast. Rose patted his hook, as if it were his hand, and tapped her lap with the other. King James hopped up, purring and curling up happily.
"Ye can't hide yer ladies for long now, I heard tell of them before I ever set foot on the road today. Best they are kept under watch, lest one of those nasty ones try to steal them out from under yer nose."
"Oh make no mistake, none of those unscrupulous characters will be any trouble here," James set aside his drink in favor of actual food. "Do you require any assistance in preparing for your party?"
"Are ye offering to to plan the menu and decorate me house with boughs of garland?" Grace giggled.
"Not myself, my good tastes are fine tis true, but perhaps my ladies might enjoy some time out of the house." Abigail and Rose looked to one another, slightly shocked but excited none the less. "Would you enjoy that, my dears?" They both nodded. "Far better than my request to learn to keep house?"
"You asked this time," Abigail congratulated him.
"Send your lovely hens over tomorrow then. With only Anne for company a woman gets bored. Now, just one more thing 'fore I go." James nodded and took another bite of pigeon pie. "There's a choice tae be made, as to the last seat on the council."
"I was informed that Laffite had met his Maker whilst I was away. Care to shed any light on that?"
"Not today, too much tae do. But after the gathering, that empty seat will needs voting on. Already there's hopeful captains setting up shop all around Saint Erasmus, some folk are even desperate enough tae look to the ruins tae the west of the isle. Best we convene and sort the matter quickly before they start rioting in the streets."
"Ní neart go cur le chéile," Abigail said, her eyes sparking with lightning.
"There is no strength without unity," Grace O'Malley translated with a nod of agreement. "You have it aright, pretty hen. The Council is little better than squabbling women. We have tae be strong in this, ye hear, James Hook?"
"I hear," he said, his voice rough.
"But," Grace turned her flinty eyes to the dark-haired Abigail, "An té nach bhfuil láidir ní folair dó a bheith glic."
"Whoever is not strong must be clever," Abigail translated, "Yes. Those gathering will be trying to wile and seduce their way into our ranks. We must be strong but also careful."
"Our ranks" O'Malley raised a brow. "You are not one of the Council, hen. Do not overstep yourself."
"Overstep?" Rose set her cup down firmly.
"My Rose and I are Ladies of Black Barony, Mistresses of James Hook, and witches of no common rate," Abigail's eyes flashed with ice, "We are one of you. And you would be a fool to deny it."
"A dead fool," Rose said, hazel eyes also fixing the Irish Captain with a stern gaze.
Silence fell between the women that stretched on, thick enough to cut with a knife.
It was broken by Grace's rough laughter, "Aye, lass, ye've got fire in ya! I would luv tae see that Irish warrior spirit in action!"
Hook breathed a sigh of relief as the tension ebbed and the women fell to a bloody conversation. A discreet cough at his elbow brought his attention to the blond Chase Strand offering him a refill of his cup.
"Is folamh fuar é teach gan bean," the tall, blond man said with a smirk.
"What the bloody hell does that mean," James said sourly.
"A house without a woman is empty and cold," Chase supplied helpfully. "As would be your bed, Captain."
"Do you Irish bastards have a way of saying 'mind your own business'?" James sneered as he took his drink back in one swallow.
"An rud nach mbaineann duit ná bain dó," Chase tossed back over his shoulder as he sashayed away.
They were drowning in fabric. Wanting to impress Hook's ladies, their tailor had sent them a treasure trove of formal gowns from which to choose. At the moment, their bedchamber was filled with a rainbow of colors, each gown more elaborate than the last. A streak of black and white darted over and under the many piles. King James seemed even more excited over the delivery than his owners. Abigail and Rose giggled, catching their kitten and leading him along with stray ribbons.
Though the offerings were fabulous and great in number, the witches had chosen their finery almost from the first moments of opening the parcels. The remaining dresses could be returned in the morning. For Abigail, a satin gown of deep indigo. Full sleeves that hung to her forearm and a wide, low, square neckline contrasted her pale skin to the dark fabric. Both the cuffs and the collar were trimmed with indigo lace. For Rose, a silk creation of crimson. Tight sleeves clung just below her elbow with little bows at the edge. Her neckline was deep, scooped and cut in a deep vee between her breasts. Neither had tried their gowns on yet, simply admiring them laid out on their bed. As they played with their feline friend, the door to the study opened and in walked their lover. A weary looking valet scurried behind him, arms laden with ribbons, stockings, shirts, and all other masculine accessories.
"Darlings, I am in need of your opinion," he said while adjusting a lacy cuff about his claw.
"Do tell," Abigail said from half underneath a petticoat of chartreuse and cream. Rose finally caught King James and flopped him over to pet his round, white belly.
"I cannot decide whether a waistcoat of black with gold embroidery or one of gold with black embroidery would look better with my best onyx coat." The witches looked behind their captain to look at the exhausted valet. Clearly this was not the first dilemma the poor man had to assist his master with today. Both women wondered how many colors James had gone through already, his wardrobe was even more extensive than theirs. Claiming an element of surprise as to his choice of suit, he had vanished some time ago to view his choices.
"I'm sure you would be equally as handsome in either," Rose said with a smile.
"We all know this, dear heart, but there must be a decision none the less," Hook replied in a very serious voice.
"A most serious matter, this is," Abigail nodded.
"Quite right. Show the ladies my choices," he commanded the valet. The man attempted to juggle the mountain of clothing and somehow found the two articles in question. With one index finger he held out a black waistcoat, on the other a gold one. Rose and Abigail tried not to giggle. Truly their lover was more of a fashionista than they were. "As this event is partly in honour of my return, and so also your debut into society, nothing less than perfection is necessary." Though they still found humor in the situation, there was merit to what he said. This world, this magnificent, magical place was a home without compare. They could be free to be themselves, to love who they wished and practice their magic without fear of retribution. Well, the latter might be due to how greatly their magic had grown but the feeling was still the same. And this party would be the first impression they made upon those of Hook's world, they wanted to make it a good one.
"I like the gold one," Rose said.
"I'm for the black one," Abigail added.
James did not appear in the least bit surprised.
"Shall I have to flip a coin?"
His ladies looked drolly at him.
"Surprise us," they chorused.
He shook his head with a barely suppressed grin, spun on his heel and returned to his study, the valet hurrying behind him.
A carriage arrived later that day to take the witches to the home of Captain O'Malley. With it came a burly, red headed man with one eye and an accent so strong even Abigail had some issue deciphering his words. But James revealed him to be Grace's first mate, Liam, whom the Hook dubbed trustworthy enough for his ladies to travel alone with. There had been no time to learn all the complexities of those ruling pirates who they were to be rubbing shoulder with, but it was clear that their lover was on excellent terms with the Irish woman. So the women kissed James goodbye and strolled out to meet their hostess.
"I was never much for all the pomp and pageantry of fancy dinner parties, back in the days of my youth." Grace was seated in an ornate chair, rather like a throne, at the end of a long table. Her manor, Cragside, was a an intimidating structure built directly into the cliff overlooking the town. Made of grey stone, it was modeled after a a castle more so than a mansion. The gothic home sported armed guards walking crenellated parapets and two towers from which hung crow infested gibbets.
"Too busy ambushing the English?" Rose asked cheekily.
"They never learned, little French Hen," Grace drank from her tankard. "Even after I snuck into the palace and had a little chat with their Queen. They're still sore about that, you know. Your Jamie is one of the few...what do the Scots call them? Sassenach! Aye, he's one of the few sassenachs that I can stand."
"You have good taste, then," Abigail grinned.
"Speaking of taste," Grace opened a leather satchel and pulled several sheets of paper out. "It's been a long time since I hosted one of these gatherings, so we can expect quite a long guest list."
"This isn't an invitation event?" Rose asked, leaning in to see what the papers were.
"You're a proper little thing, aren't you?" The smirk the Irishwoman sent her was both amusing and unsettling. "Each of the captains with a seat on the ruling council are expected to attend. That's six. Five now that Lafitte's gone and got himself killed. Now they usually bring at least their first mate and bosun, sometimes the lesser captains under their command too. But there's also competition over who has the prettiest paramour, so the menfolk are always bringing their women. What with Hook having two," Grace rolled her eyes, "those others will be scrambling to out do him, the idiots."
"So how many will that make in total?" Abigail sipped her wine.
"I would expect about twenty menfolk with at least one lady each. Give or take how many the captains bring in their entourage. Now my chef is all but leaping for joy at the chance to show off his skills. Here is what he's proposing for the menu." She slid the paper across the table and the witches eagerly began to read, their eyes grew larger and larger the longer the list went. For only three courses, there was enough to feed two armies. Soup, shellfish, puddings, fish, stuffed vegetables, seven dishes in total plus wines made up the first serving. Eight dishes comprising of meat pies, roasts, stews, roasted greens and game platters with claret filled the second. Desert, called the banquet course, was a tower of cream puffs surrounded by candied fruits, nuts, iced cream and finished with a sweet wine or port. Not used to such lavish spreads, Abigail and Rose were about to comment, a door hidden in the paneled wall opened.
A tall, slender woman with dark blond hair lightly streaked with silver, golden brown skin and dark eyes entered the room. All she wore was a thin chemise that nearly fell off one shoulder, the clinging fabric outlining her pert breasts and long legs. She noticed the witches instantly.
"And who are these pretty morsels?"
"Mistresses tae a certain James Hook," Grace smirked, "Down, Annie girl. They belong tae him."
"Belong?" Abigail's eyes flashed with the chill of her voice, "We belong to no one but ourselves."
"We've already had to make that that clear to him, we don't need to keep it up with everyone we meet." Rose took a long draught from her glass.
"Oh I like them, Gracie. Are you sure he won't mind if we keep them a little later than expected?"
"He'll be busy with his clothes and business all day, I bet he won't even notice," Rose nodded as she spoke. The witches shared a knowing look and burst into laughter. Their hostess introduced them to Anne Bonny, the blond who apparently wanted to keep them.
Planning resumed from there, albeit with Anne draped across Grace's lap the entire time. Historian that she was, Rose was fair near chomping at the bit to know the story behind that development. But business before pleasure, she impatiently waited until they had run through the timeline of the party twice before allowing her curiosity to get the best of her. Abigail was taking notes the whole meeting, determined to know who was to be announced in what order and which captains were allied with who. She had enough Stage Manager experience on the Mainland to know that these sorts of events had to be carefully orchestrated and organised. She especially wanted to familiarize herself with those known to be less than hospitable to her Hook. A few names were noted, both witches committing them to memory. And then their roles for the evening were explained.
They were new to the island, it was their lover's duty to introduce them, but they were expected to protect themselves within reason. Decorum here dictated that even the mistresses of captains were presumed to know the deadly arts as well as those of the bedroom. To this the witches were more than happy to hear, in fact they almost hoped some foolish pirate overstepped his bounds just so they might show off their talents. By the time they returned to Black Barony, they were more than excited to play hostesses to a formal party to a hoard of bucaneers.
The road leading up the Cragside was lined with iron torches on either side. Guards were hidden in the shadows, ready to pounce at the first notion of trouble. Footmen awaited at the gatehouse, ready to escort guests to the huge double doors of the main hall. A crier stood on the other side, shouting the names of each new arriving party. Not a single one of the Captain's Counsel came alone. True to the hostess's estimate, the room was soon filled with no fewer than thirty five elegantly dressed pirates, all from various times and places. Serving girls in Elizabethan dresses carried trays of ale, wine and sipping sherry, while young men in doublets and hose offered plates with fritters of currant jam and little mushroom pies. The iron sconces reflected their light on the many mirrors in the hall, filling the room with golden light. Enameled wood paneled walls inlaid with Celtic scroll work flanked grand paintings of the Irish coast above the two huge fireplaces. A musician's balcony held six men, each with a different instrument and merry songs filled the large, almost Medieval chamber. At the far end stood a dais where Grace held court, each of the guests coming up to give her thanks and greet their hostess. Below her were three long tables, one parallel to her chair, the other two flanking it. They were set with fine cloths, crystal and pewter goblets, real silver utensils and plates that gleamed in the fire light.
Hook had insisted upon arriving last, else the impact of his return would not be felt by all. Their carriage was black, with the Jolly Roger skull painted on one door and a blood stained hook on the other. Inside was covered in scarlet velvet, plush seats and a coal burning brasier for the chilly winter. He offered his hand, assisting each of his ladies into the coach before shutting the door behind him.
"Drive on," he called out the window and the carriage instantly began to move. His cool blue eyes raked over the women who sat across from him. "Did you choose your gowns simply to tempt me all evening?" The witches giggled and innocently traced the very low cut bodices.
"Would you ever think us capable of such a thing?" Abigail gasped prettily.
"What a notion," Rose nodded. "That we would display ourselves so when all your allies and enemies were looking on."
"Indeed, one might think they could be jealous of you for it."
"I do not know whether to be frustrated with you or proud."
The dark indigo satin only made Abigail's fair skin all the more like fine ivory, soft and begging to be touched. A few dark curls lying against her slender throat, the eye could not help but follow its path ever lower to where the dark lace barely offered any modesty at all and drew attention to her generous bosom. The crimson silk brought out the lush pink lips and flushed cheeks that made Rose's kisses a dream, giving her the effect of ever being ripe for the picking. Though her long hair was twisted elegantly atop her head, the tight and scandalous cut of her gown drew attention to her succulent figure.
"Why not both?" the younger smiled.
"Oh yes, it's far more fun that way," the elder nodded.
Hook shook his head, the feathers from his hat flopping down to his cheek.
"I wanted an entrance and you two will certainly make that wish come true. If someone does not lust for you instantly I would be very much surprised."
"He's so proud of us," Abigail looked quite happy about that. Rose leaned in and whispered something in her ear, even in such close quarters he could not hear what was said but it brought a devious smile to his dark haired lady's lips. "Oh yes, for when we get home."
"What are you conspiring now?"
"If we told you then it wouldn't be a surprise," Rose scolded him.
"Have pity on me then," he said in a false tone of dismay. "Give me some hint as to what my ladies have in store."
"We hope you didn't plan on sleeping tonight," Abigail winked. "We ordered...something special along with our gowns just for tonight."
Hook's hand clenched into a fist and his eyes shut as he counted to ten.
"You shall be the death of me."
"Oh never," Rose leaned over to pat his hand, his eyes were trained far below her lovely face. "We like you far too much for that."
"Do you wish for me to order this carriage back around?"
They laughed and turned the conversation to the utterly boring in comparison topic of what and who they might expect at the gathering. By the time they arrived Hook had composed himself once more, though thoughts of his ever lusty women were never far from his mind. Servants bowed and scraped before them, many hiding their fear behind well practiced masks of disinterest lest they offend the guest of honor. The doors opened and a man in a green doublet, trunk pants and two toned hose greeted them.
"Céad míle fáilte," the man said, bowing, "A hundred thousand welcomes."
Hook nodded only slightly to the servant.
"Are all the other captains arrived?" he asked cooley.
"Aye, sir. All present and accounted for."
"Excellent." He gave the man the names and titles of his lovers, the crier nodded and slipped back inside, leaving the door open ajar. They could hear the hum of a crowd on the other side, the cords of music and the smell the food awaiting them. Rose took Abigail's hand in her own, gave a tight squeeze. She was nervous but did not dare to utter it aloud, Abigail brought her hand to her lips and kissed it. For a moment they drew on one another's strength, preparing themselves together. And then they heard the loud, clear voice announce The Hook. James stole a kiss from them both before striding through the doors as they were suddenly flung open.
James strode through first, making his best leg, and glancing imperiously around the room as though to remind all of the gathered pirates and ladies that this was, in fact, a party for him. The crier boomed his titles and James sketched the most disrespectful of bows, the golden embroidery on his black coat glimmering under the candlelight. He was above each and every one of them and they would soon see why.
Rose was next. Her nerves reverted her to posture training and walking etiquette that her mother had taught her as a young girl. She glided across the floor, her steps silent under her scarlet skirts and miniscule to give the appearance of floating. Her head was high and her lips were pressed tight together as her eyes darted around the room, taking in all the people she needed to impress tonight. This was her chance to make a good first impression and she struggled to keep her breathing regular as she stood tall. She curtsied as she was announced - much more politely than James - and placed her fingers in James' offered hand, allowing him to kiss her knuckles with a tight smile.
Abigail was last. She was not nervous. She was an actor, trained for the stage. She knew how to captivate and ensnare an audience. She knew how to make an entrance. She sauntered out next to James, taking great care that every step sent her indigo skirts swishing invitingly and her breasts bouncing under her lasciviously low neckline. She eschewed the posture and decorum of the high society and dared to place her hand upon her waist as she strode forward, her shoulder lifting as she glanced across the room, daring all to look at her and take her in. She was announced and she gave a flouncing curtsy of her own regulations, tossing her head back as she rose to look through her lashes at the gathered pirates. James offered her his hook, she rested her fingers upon it and he bestowed a smirking kiss upon her skin.
They faced the crowd once again and, having made their entrance, descended the straight staircase before them to join their party. Said crowd parted before them like the Red Sea. Curious ladies eyed the once eligible bachelor with steely or simpering gazes. The men whose arms they graced either gave Hook the respect he had long deserved, bowing and scraping as they passed or looked at his stunning companions with barely concealed lust.
To this the captain held no interest, or at least his carefully guarded mask lent no hint as to what he might truly be feeling at the varied reception. But the women at his side noticed his keen eyes taking note of each and every man who looked a little too long and which women could not hide their jealousy. Not five minutes into the evening and already they had made at least a dozen potential enemies, the witches could not be more proud. They stopped before their hostess, this time Hook gave a respectable bow and his ladies curtsied gracefully as one.
"My compliments, Captain O'Malley, on a splendid affair indeed. You have outdone yourself."
Grace stood from her throne, the skirts of her forest green gown rustling about her. Rose and Abigail noticed that the gown was slit up the sides, that when the woman moved they swished to and fro and revealed her customary boots and hose.
"Thank ye, Captain Hook, though I did have the best of assistance in planning," she gave a slight nod to the witches with a small smile. "The island is glad tae have ye back, the council is complete for the first time in years and we have much business to attend to. But before then we can enjoy ourselves." Grace clapped and the doors along the wall opened to a parade of servants bearing platters of steaming hot food. "And speed that music up, some of us like something that doesnae sound like a funeral dirge!"
"Ever the elegant hostess," James smirked as Grace descended the dais with Anne appearing at her side. "Captain Bonny, it has been an age since last I saw you."
"Aye, that it has," the blond woman linked arms with her lover and looked over his women with an appraising eye. "God have mercy but you are a blessed man, James Hook. How did you let them out of the house dressed like that and not fall to your baser instincts?"
"I assure you it was no easy feat."
Abigail and Rose shared a knowing smile.
"I do believe I see a line forming tae greet ye, I do not envy ye all those introductions," Grace rolled her grey eyes at whatever sight was taking shape behind them. "Anne, let's go see which cask has been opened and refresh ourselves, we can take bets on who tries to steal the hens from under the cock's beaky nose first."
"Enjoy the party," Anne grinned as she was dragged off to taste the spirits.
Doing so left Hook at the dais, the grand chair just behind him and the gala playing out before him, a very deliberate move on O'Malley's part. But he showed no sign of flustering or frustration, in fact he fell into his role as naturally as though he were born to it. His ladies knew that actually, he had been. As he greeted the guests and answered whispered questions from the servants they realized that though the party might be for pirates, that this was the closest they might ever see of the nobleman he had once been. How he comported himself, the way in which he addressed each party goer, inquiring over matters of future ventures, how he presided over the head of the room, he was every inch the Baron Heathfield once more.
At least until a great, ruddy-faced man stumped through the crowd and toppled over the maid whispering to James. The tall, strong man walked with a crutch and was missing his left leg, but it did not slow him down. Rather he made waves in the queue as people leapt out of his way. His beard was large and red, his cheeks rosy from spirits and excitement as he bore down upon James.
"Hook!" He bellowed, his face splitting wide in a beaming grin, "James Hook!"
"Silver," James greeted him with a genuine smile.
The red-haired giant barrelled towards his friend, wrapping his arms around James, squeezing him tightly. The crutch clattered to the floor and the page that followed the red-haired pirate tiredly picked up the wooden crutch with an expression of professional neutrality. James steadied his friend with a grin and helped him get his balance again.
The other pirate slipped his crutch under his arm and clapped James' shoulder hard enough to knock him slightly off balance.
"It's been too long since you've graced us, brother!" The red haired pirate boomed in a warm, brassy voice. James smiled.
"It is good too see you too, John," he replied. He gestured to his women and said, "My darlings, allow me the genuine pleasure of introducing you to Captain John Silver."
Rose curtsied and Long John Silver swept his hat from his head to bow surprisingly gracefully considering his missing leg, and kissed her hand.
"Silver, this is my Lady Rose Belchiere."
Silver winked up at her before straightening and Rose smiled. This man was infectious.
"And my Lady Abigail Ó Rinn-Sheehy."
She swept a tiny curtsy and he kissed her hand warmly.
"Leave it to the great peacock James Hook to capture not only one beauty, but two exquisite creatures," Silver grinned. Rose and Abigail decided in that very instant that they liked him.
"Indeed."
The new voice came from behind Silver's bulky frame and James instantly stiffened.
"Look out," Silver hissed before stepping off to the side to reveal a new pirate lord.
His umber coat was heavy with gold embroidery, ivory lace dripping from his wrists. A powdered wig rested on his head and his green eyes were bright and cruel. On his arms were two women who eyed James hungrily. Rose thought she recognized the honey-haired woman from the Sword and Sheath, but couldn't be sure. The other woman hung back, her bright blond curls piled on her head, her fan fluttering before her face. James' blue eyes were focused hatefully on the pirate, his jaw tight.
"Vane," he growled.
"I must say, this island has seemed much too large without the illustrious company of James Hook," the pirate lord sneered. "And now, it might be too crowded with Hook and both of his women."
James' hand clenched into a fist.
"I can understand your eye for beauty, Captain," Vane said, his brow arching coolly, "You and I have never agreed on what beauty truly is. But I would have thought a proud and noble Englishman like yourself would be better than this."
"Better than what, pray tell," James snarled.
"Better than lowering yourself to consort with a French frog," Vane said, eyes passing dismissively over Rose. Rose gasped and Abigail took her arm, pulling her protectively behind her. Vane's thin lips twisted into a cruel smile.
"Much less a green Paddy whore."
Abigail's teeth clenched and she was halfway through the arc of a punch when Silver snatched her wrist from the air.
"No, lady," he growled to her, "This is not a place to start a duel."
Vane's tanned face bore an excessively smug smile as he took a step closer to Abigail, "You might have dressed her up like a lady, James, but she'll always be wild green hussy. No matter how pretty her face is."
He leaned closer as though to inspect her face and Abigail spat at him.
"Póg mo thóin!"
The glob of saliva struck his cheek and he recoiled, his hand rising in horror to wipe his face clean as a soft gasp rustled through the entire crowd. Rage sparked in his green eyes and he started to reach for Abigail's pale throat. A blade slapped across his knuckles and he glanced to the side where James had unsheathed his dirk and stepped closer to Vane.
"Touch her," James whispered, red beginning to glow in his eyes, "And you'll lose that hand."
Vane sneered and stepped away. His companions took his arms, fluttering around him.
"At least the French slut knows how to behave herself around her betters."
And he walked away, leaving Abigail seething, flushed with anger, and Rose stunned.
"I see ye had the pleasure of meetin a certain Captain Charles Vane."
Grace O'Malley seemed to appear out of nowhere on Rose's other side, grey eyes following Charles Vane as he crossed the hall.
"Right nasty piece of work he is," she muttered.
"I need a drink," Abigail hissed, her eyes narrowed into blue slits as she glared daggers at the back of Vane's smug head. Grace snapped her fingers and a server appeared with a cup of Irish whiskey. Abigail downed it in one swallow and hurled the glass against the stone wall where it shattered. The staff quickly cleared away the broken glass and Rose took Abigail's hand.
"Calm down," Rose whispered urgently, "We're still at the party, we need to keep calm and make a good impression."
"A good impression?" Abigail snarled furiously, "Rose, he insulted and humiliated us in front of everyone and you're worried about keeping a good impression?"
"Yes," Rose answered quietly.
Abigail scoffed, "To hell with good impressions, let me challenge him."
"You can't."
She glanced over as James who had finally spoken.
"Why the fuck not?"
"Only another pirate lord can challenge Captain Vane. That's the case of all of us lords."
"Then why don't you do it and avenge my honour," she snapped back at him.
"He baited us and you rose to it." Rose said soothingly, "Show them that we're better than him and they'll respect us more."
Her lip curled, "I hate politics."
Abigail's breast rose and fell with her angry breaths, the corset making her breathing shallower. Her eyes were still furious as she refocused on Rose.
"We're better than him," she said at last.
"We're better than him," Rose echoed with a smile and an encouraging nod. "Come dance with me. You love dancing. It'll calm you down."
Abigail allowed Rose to take her hand and lead her out to the dance floor. There had been a crowd already spinning and gracefully exchanging positions to the tune of the Duke of Kent's Waltz. Rose loved that dance, she had learned it by heart as a young girl after her Jane Austen enamored parents had joined a historic dancing club. She had taken Abigail to more than a few meets, as her girlfriend adored dancing and learned every new style possible. But though it was a beautiful dance, such a slow and sedate song was not what Abigail needed right now. To the shock of the crowd, she twirled her lady into place and strutted up to call to the musicians on the balcony.
"Gentlemen, do you take requests?" The half dozen men in their O'Malley clan colors looked to one another, unsure of how to answer her bold interruption. But she was the mistress of the guest of honor, and they were a little afraid they would offend their employer if they ignored her. Finally one of them mustered the courage to address her.
"What would you have of us, Madame?"
Rose smirked, her hands on her hips and considered her choice.
"Do you know Dieupart's Gigue in F minor?"
"But of course," they seemed impressed with her choice and smiled.
"You heard Mistress Hook," the leader took his seat and played out a tempo for his fellows. All the while, the dancers who had until then claimed the floor scattered as Rose walked through them to take her place at Abigail's side. The first few notes resounded in the hall, the sorceresses curtsied to one another. Around them ladies fluttered their fans and looked on with scandalized powdered faces. Two women dancing together? With nary a man in sight? Rumors and gossip were already circling as their dance began. It was a rather courtly routine, lots of hops and flourishes.
A natural dancer, Abigail's lines were crisp and elegant, her head turning swiftly and firmly as the dance required. A trained dancer, Rose's footwork was impeccable, hitting every step with practised ease, her fingers gracefully relaxed even as the flourishes taxed their muscles.
They moved back forth the length of the dance floor, side by side then back to back. When the steps permitted, they rounded one another scandalously close, shoulders brushing and breasts nearly pressed together, smiling indulgently at one another as the gasps of shock reached their ears. Their full skirts, scarlet and indigo, swirled around them in a whirlwind of vibrant color. When the dance called for changes of step, they lifted their petticoats far above the ankle and giggled when a nearby gentleman swore in half intoxicated French. As they skipped to the head of the room, they winked at their lover who seemed to be preening at their skill and carefree display.
When they danced side by side, arms raised in graceful arcs, they leaned in dangerously close and blew kisses to one another right before twirling away. The chords of the violin faltered and the crowd laughed at the red faced musician. They ended their dance in a vision of elegance, turning on their toes and resting at the final note with smiles on their faces. A round of applause, both over excited and blatantly made, echoed in the grand hall. Rose took Abigail's hand in her own and in imitation of a gentleman, brought it to her lips.
"As usual, you dance divinely," Rose flirted.
"Oh I know," Abigail pulled a fan from her bodice and fluttered it. "It is so hard to be so perfect but someone has to do the job." They laughed and noticed the curious looks being sent their way, once the applause died down. "Oh look, I do believe they are starting to figure us out."
"Would you look at that," Rose traced the low cut of her lover's bodice. Abigail's generous bosom was straining against her stays, and Rose was clearly enjoying the view. "Do we dare to justify their theories?" They looked as one to a preening Hook.
"Oh yes. Let's do."
They kissed, amid gasps of shock from the gathered pirates. It was chaste and quick, but they knew they had made an impression. As Abigail pulled away, Captain Vane caught the corner of her eye. Lounging against a pillar and dutifully ignoring his companions for the evening, he gave a very exaggerated, very fake yawn. Abigail's eyes narrowed.
"Rose," she said quietly, "Do you want to have some fun?"
"Aren't we already having fun?" Rose asked, eyebrow lifting.
Abigail refocused on Rose's slightly pink face and a devious smile curled her lips.
"Irish Washerwoman."
Rose's eyes widened and her own red lips spread into a broad grin, "Oh yes."
"Maestro!" Abigail called, snapping her fan shut.
"Mistress Hook!" the violinist called down to her, standing with his fiddle under his arm.
"Do you know The Irish Washerwoman?"
The Irish musician grinned, "As well as my own name, Madame!"
"That is my request!"
"I am glad to grant it!" The violinist raised his voice to fill the room, "My lords and ladies! Take your places for The Irish Washerwoman! In the true spirit of the Lady Hostess and the true Irish fashion, you dance until you cannot dance any more! Ready yourselves!"
An excited crowd hurried to find their places, clearly this was a favorite amongst the court of thieves. This time, Abigail twirled Rose into the ladies' line, taking their place of honour at the head of the set. Several women gave the couple pause, sending Abigail and Rose half lidded glances and licking their lush red lips. The dark haired witch mouthed the word 'later' to her beloved who nodded with a grin. Bows and curtsies were made and the women faced the head of the line, the men the rear. There were no introductory chords to this dance, no time to find one's feet, it rushed into gear to the happy cheers of the dancers. Both lines sashayed to one another, passing at their shoulders and kicking out their feet in a speedy four step. They passed again back into place and rushed to their partners to link arms and turn in four dizzying circles. Arms were switched and the couples turned counter clockwise, hands not linked thrown into the air as laughter filled the room.
Abigail and Rose clasped both hands and skipped down the center of the lines to the clapping of those resting out of set. Feet stomped from the audience and shouts joined the fast paced song. At the end of the set, they kicked out another complicated four changes of step before rushing back to to the top of the lines and swirled into place. Their skirts flared out around them as they skipped around the couple next to them to join hands in a circle with another duet and turned a full circle in either direction. And then they fell back to the start once more.
"Faster!" Abigail called out.
"Aye, Madame!" the leader of the band answered. And the music sped up to the excited cries of the crowd. Every time a round of steps was completed and the witches moved down the set, they would call out to speed it up. Couples began to disappear, some voluntarily, others by a twirling skirt to the legs which sent them dropping to the floor and causing a domino effect down the line. To this, the Mistresses Hook laughed and hopped over their fellow dancers and set the bar high to any who dared try to jump in.
The dance was finally declared finished when the musicians themselves could no longer play any faster. Abigail and Rose, the clear victors, laughed and hugged, quickly releasing each other at the heat their bodies were putting off from the exercise. Rose produced her fan to cool her brow and Abigail reached for a chilled glass of champagne that a maid was standing by to hand to her. Both of them were breathing heavily but Abigail was exhilarated. She loved dancing and even seeing Vane across the room could not dampen her excitement. The fast dance had burned away her anger and turned it to fun, and pride at the chance to show off her skill on the dance floor.
It was too warm and crowded in the ballroom and she politely excused herself, pleading to be allowed to take some fresh air on the arcade framing the back gardens. James took Rose's hand to ask for a dance and Abigail made her way through the press of pirates and people. She brushed past Vane with a surprisingly polite smile, her mood greatly increased by the dance. His green eyes followed her as she swept from the hall.
The arches of the arcade provided her a place to lean and rest, letting the air caress her skin. The sun had just sunk below the horizon as she slowly walked the arcade, the twilight giving her a chance to breathe. She kept walking the covered walkway until the whisper of her skirts against the stone was louder than the music and laughter from the great hall. There were statues of heroic Irish legends that lined the arcade; Cú Chulainn, Queen Medb, Brian Boru, Scáthach and the Children of Lir. Giant urns carved from granite held creeping vines and fragrant herbs. Higher still were the ramparts, she could see them silhouetted against the full moon. The gentle breeze blew through her hair as she sipped her champagne with a smile. Such a beautiful night.
Meanwhile, the festivities were still going strong in the main hall. After such a taxing jig, Rose felt pity for the other revelers and asked the band to take a short respite before playing something more sedate. They did not disappoint. A slower, more sensual take on the promenading pavane was struck up. Eyes blue as forget-me-nots flashed to his lady, who snapped her fan shut with a smile. Men and women formed two lines on either side of the dance floor, couples circling one another as they gracefully moved towards the center. Instead of taking her hand, as the other men did, James pulled his lover flush to his side, his bladed arm tight around her waist. Unafraid of the hook, Rose lovingly laid her hand over the weapon and cared not for the looks of shock and awe that followed them. When all in the parade were partnered on the floor, the gentlemen dropped to one knee before their ladies. With her pale hand still on the deadly hook, Rose gathered her skirts in the other and delicately circled her captain.
Those piercing eyes kept her gaze the whole time. Kneeling as he was, Hook might have had the perfect view of her immodest neckline, yet he did not take advantage of his luck. Instead they stared into one another's eyes, an unspoken conversation, until his hand took place of the weapon and he rose to his full height. Now it was he who prowled around her. Slowly, methodically, to the tempo of the romantic melody. His arm brushed her breasts, his fingers trailed across her arms, and she barely repressed a shiver. Then their hands were joined as a group of five couples formed a starburst, moving as one, every other graceful step a dip before turning once more. When the promenade formed once again to leave the floor, Rose felt his arm snake around her waist again, his hand this time rested high on her bodice, right below the vee in the center where her stays barely contained her breasts.
"When we return home," his deep voice whispered in her ear, "we three shall celebrate...properly."
"Promise?" she whispered cheekily back. Hook growled under his breath and pulled her aside, past the hordes of cavorting guests. Up in the balcony, the musicians began to play the galliard. If the Washer Woman was a feat of speed, and the pavane was sensual, then the galliard was something in between. Lively, with many steps and clapping but short of a full jig. James lead Rose away from the dance floor, his arm freeing her from its grip to take a glass of champagne from a passing server. He had been about to offer some to her when a snide voice cut into their happy bubble.
"Do be careful, Hook, letting your women wander freely." The pleasant mood turned sour as they both turned around to find Charles Vane approaching with one of his courtesans at his side. Unlike her escort, the honey haired woman did not appear to be having a good time. In vain she tried to turn his attention to her and her rather revealing gown but he batted her away like a troublesome gnat. But neither would he allow her to leave his side, Rose noted the harsh grip he had on the woman's delicate wrist. Hazel eyes narrowed and she seriously considered hexing him then and there.
"My women are no concern of yours," Hook said tightly. His hold on the glass threatened to shatter the fragile flute.
"I've always found that if you don't keep your bitches on a tight leash they tend to roam with any mutt they find. Best you don't let them forget who is master, James." Vane left with a cruel smirk and a sharp tug on the woman, tossing back over his shoulder, "T'would be a shame if one of them were to be harmed without you there to protect what's yours."
Hook started forward, his weapon drawing back as if to strike. Rose stepped before him, her hand gentle on his arm, a calm expression on her face.
"Not here, darling," she said softly. "He's not worth ruining our evening." He took several long, deep breaths before nodding.
"You are right, of course. Vermin such he are not worth slandering good form over."
"Exactly."
It seemed that all might go well from that point on, had it not been for one very obvious thing.
"Where precisely did Abigail go?"
Rose froze at his question. She looked around, their lover was not in the room. Though they knew she had plead a faintness from the heat of dancing, she had yet to return. Picking up her skirts, the sorceress hurried through the crowd, making her way to the open doors which lead to an arcade nestled in the center of the keep. The place was empty. James stood at her side, his sharp eyes scanning the windows, balconies and catwalks for any sign of life.
"She just went to explore," Rose told herself more so than her captain. "Abigail loves to explore old buildings, especially alone, she feels more at one with an ancient place when she has peace and quiet."
"She hasn't been gone overly long," Hook began striding across the lush green grass in the middle of the courtyard to the doors on the other side. Rose lifted her heavy petticoats and struggled to keep his swift pace in her gown and heeled slippers. But even in the galleries and sitting rooms, they did not find her. Higher and higher they went, deeper into the Cragside castle until they came at last to a parapet overlooking the sea.
"Dead gods, where could she be?" Rose bit her lip in worry. "You don't think….you don't think that someone might have taken her?"
"Under O'Malley's nose? With me looking on?" Hook cursed under his breath. "Who would dare? It's brazen, foolish and breaks one of the core codes amongst the captains." Rose leaned against the arched doorway, breathing hard through her tightly bound stays, tired already from the running. But for all her rushing, she felt eerily cold.
"Vane might."
Those blue eyes she adored began to burn red.
"He all but flaunted it," James growled. "Right in front of us. And we were none the wiser. Damn him!" The Hook crashed on the stone wall, sparks flying. In the dim light of the sparkle combined with the silvery moon, something caught the witch's gaze.
"James, wait," she took careful steps forward. Standing at his side, she gripped the low wall, careful not to slip on the slippery surface not a foot away from them. "It's ice!"
"In summer? Rose, this is no time to wonder about the….weather." His words trailed off as he recalled another balmy night that was marked with a sudden cover of frost at his lady witch's explosion of ecstasy. Abigail was a weather witch, she could call up storms, rain, sleet….and winter. He looked at the fine sheen of crystalline frost which covered a small square of path, creeping up to coat one of the crenellations. There was a line of pots along one wall, all holding some kind of creeping vegetation. The one nearest the ice was broken, its contents spilled on the ground. Footprints, delicate and heeled, stood out in the clumps of earth.
"There was a struggle here…" Hook carefully looked over the scene, his heart thumping painfully in his chest, his blood turning as frigid as the frost before him. This could not be happening. "Someone has taken her!"
"Look!" Rose pointed.
Silhouetted against the moon, a human shadow leaned over the parapet, looking down at the sea below.
"You!" Hook bellowed, "What happened here?"
The shadow recoiled in surprise and, before their very eyes, dissolved into wisps.
Hook's blue eyes turned red and he unsheathed his sword, "Vane...I'll tear him for this!"
Translations:
Cheers.
Do you speak Gaeilge (Irish)?
A little. One language is never enough.
There is no strength without unity.
Whoever is not strong must be clever.
A house without a woman is empty and cold.
Don't interfere with anything that doesn't concern you.