CHAPTER 4

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Black Sails. It is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

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She had not been wrong about the probability of receiving punishment. Upon learning of Eleanor's solitary excursion from a none too happy Mrs. Hudson, Woodes had seen fit to up her security detail. It had been decided that a guard was now to be posted outside her chambers whenever she was not in the company of Woodes or Mrs. Hudson.

Eleanor had attempted to argue against this development but had been rebuffed. While Woodes did seem to believe the segregation from her entourage to have been unintentional, he was not so stupid as to ignore the possibility that he may be wrong. He had not gotten as far as he had in life with imprudence or blind trust, he was a cautious man. Hence the increase in her surveillance.

She wasn't completely demoralized by the security increase, but it certainly did put a damper on her plans. It would complicate matters far more than she would like, forcing her to come up with some kind of work around.

But it would not dissuade her from her goals. Few things ever did.

She spent the next few weeks never far from Woodes' side. Whatever decisions he made, she wanted input. Whatever intel he received, she wanted to hear about it. Whatever doubts he still had about her allegiance, she wanted them squelched.

If he so much as sneezed, she would be capable of ascertaining exactly what had caused it. She would not be excluded from any procedure, proposal or strategic planning. Everything Woodes knew, Eleanor would know just as well or better.

This was how she'd prove her value. This was how she'd levy the tides in her favor.

Information was currency. And of that, she'd amassed a hefty sum.

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In a room full of squabbling men, Eleanor stood calm and collected.

This was it, this was the moment. In this moment, she had the will and ability to deal the occupation a potentially devastating blow.

Approximately three weeks prior, Hornigold had informed Woodes of his discovery of the escaped slaves amassed on Maroon Island with the Walrus' crew and stolen cache. They needed to retrieve that cache to avoid a war with Spain. Ignoring such a force, especially one led by Flint, was a mistake the occupation could not afford to make. So now, after much negotiation and debate, Woodes and his associates had finally decided to put an end to their little islet rebellion.

Eleanor had managed to inject her fair share of opinions and concerns into the planing of this matter. She believed that Flint had likely shown Hornigold the Maroon's force as a means of provoking the English into an attempted siege. As such, she had encouraged the attack. She did so with the hope that she'd manage to goad the English into falling prey to whatever trap she was sure had been set.

If Flint wanted the English to press onto the shores of Maroon Island, she trusted he had good reason. He was one of the most devious and clever men she'd ever known.

With this in mind, she had set about involving herself in every plan associated with the taking of Maroon Island. She had learned of each and every ship that would be involved. Every supply, weapon, and skilled man aboard, was mentally cataloged. There was no part of this plan that had escaped her attention.

Now, with all of the details finally settled, there was only one question left to ask.

"When?" Eleanor demanded. "When does all of this take place?"

"Three days time." Woodes answered, looking to Hornigold for confirmation of the achievability of such a time frame.

Hornigold nodded. "It can be done."

And there it was. The final bit of knowledge, the missing puzzle piece in the interlocking of her plans.

The tracks had been lain, she'd done all she could from here. The next step was to abscond from this place, endeavor to share her knowledge and insight of the occupation, with rebels and felons. And pray none of them would see fit to dispatch her before she could disclose all the information she'd learned.

If she succeeded, by dawn tomorrow she'd be preparing for a slaughter for which she both longed and dreaded. She'd once again stand among pirates and thieves.

If she failed, she'd simply be dead.

If she fell tonight, it would be by either her own hand or Charles'. For if Charles refused her, he would surely kill her. And if she was captured by Woodes' men before departing, she would end it herself. She would not give them the chance to return her to England and that godforsaken tower.

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Some time later, Eleanor began stuffing supplies into a small satchel within her chambers. She hadn't entirely worked out how she would get past the guards or avoid detection long enough to withdraw from the fort and find a skiff. But it was a work in progress, she was making it up as she went along. Shoving a pair of apples into the bag, her mind began running through her limited options.

A voice sounded behind her.

Eleanor whirled around with panic in her chest. She stood frozen in place, her mind screaming through possible excuses and escape routes.

No viable options sprung to mind.

"I tried knocking but there was no answer, so I -" Max's voice trailed off as she stepped into the room uninvited. Her eyes drifted from Eleanor's face to the satchel still gripped in her hand. Some of the bag's intended contents were still strewn over the bed. She studied Eleanor's face for a moment longer before closing the door behind her and taking a few cautious steps into the room.

Max wasn't stupid. The scene before her indicted Eleanor's clear desire to depart. But what Max didn't understand, was why she would want such a thing. Nassau was so close to achieving the legitimacy Eleanor had so fiercely fought toward. Yet now she wished to abandon the only means she had of seeing that dream come to fruition?

It didn't make any sense.

The look Eleanor cast in Max's direction was pleading, a desperate appeal for silence and feigned ignorance. It was a look that urged Max to simply turn around and pretend this scene had never unfolded.

Max would do no such thing. Not without an explanation.

"Eleanor... What are you doing?" Max asked gently.

Eleanor swallowed hard and returned to filling the satchel. There was no point in denying what was already painfully apparent. When she spoke, her tone was firm and determined but not without agitation or distress. "I'm leaving..." She stated obviously.

While Max was empathetic to her friend's evident upset, she could not ignore the ramifications such a decision might bring."Why? What is there left out there for you?" Max demanded. Her tone was not harsh, but there was still a clear implication that she believed such a course of action to be foolish.

Eleanor met her gaze, wild emotion swimming in the depths of her eyes. "I can't stay here, Max... I can't breathe. This is not how things were supposed to happen. I wanted Nassau's legitimacy to free her, to make her strong. But I didn't understand what that would cost, what both she and I would loose in the process."

Eleanor came forward, reaching out to grasp Max's hands in her own. "What they want from me, who they expect me to become... I'm not capable of conforming to it."

Max's face was wrought with sympathy, concern and uncertainty.

Eleanor had long believed that she would always do whatever it took to survive. That as long as she still lived, there would be ample opportunity to rise above whatever circumstances had impeded her progress. But what she'd realized all too late, what she'd never truly understood, was that death was sometimes kinder than survival. Some things were not worth enduring.

She would not spend the rest of her life exemplifying docility and submission.

Eleanor continued, her voice desperate and pleading. "It isn't enough, it never could have been enough. I need more than this..."

She always had.

Max understood this. She understood it better than than she would have liked. She'd once begged Eleanor to flee by her side and abandon Nassau, and she'd been denied. A simplistic life had never been something Eleanor had been interested in. She'd always striven for greatness, been drawn towards power and fire. Her ambition had always been her greatest weakness.

Perhaps it was why she'd been so hopelessly enamored with Vane. He was so much like her, so fiercely devoted and relentlessly zealous, never willing to relinquish his freedoms or control. Even before she'd fallen in love Eleanor, Max had known of the pair's past and of Eleanor's continued affection for the man. But Max had hoped that Eleanor's knowledge of the futility of such affection would deter her from indulging in it. She had also hoped that the love she and Eleanor had shared would be enough to outweigh both Eleanor's ties to Vane and her own ambitions.

It had not been.

And Max had paid dearly for harboring such hopes.

But that was a long time ago. And while she was no longer in love with Eleanor, she did still care for her. She wished her no ill will. Which was why she was against the idea of allowing her to abandon her commitments at the fort. For such a breach of contract, Eleanor would be returned to the tower. Perhaps even put to death. She would spare Eleanor that fate if she could.

"There is no future for you beyond these walls, Eleanor." Max persuaded softly. "If you leave here now you'll be killed or captured and returned to England. Does that sound like an outcome worthwhile? Is ruling from behind the throne, rather than atop it, truly so unappealing that you would risk such a fate?"

"Yes..." Eleanor whispered. "Here I'll never be anything more than a powerless woman with questionable morals. At best, I'd be mistress and crony to a governor intent on remodeling everything I've spent my life building."

Max knew Eleanor well enough to know that that was probably true. With what this place would become, it was unlikely Eleanor would ever rise much higher than she already had; not without conforming to the roles that civilized society demanded of the fairer sex.

But still, Max was inclined to strive to convince Eleanor otherwise. To Max's thinking, being the clandestine voice behind the throne was far better than being caged or dead. As such, Max made a last ditch attempt to convince her friend of the folly of her plans. "Mon cher, that is not a completely ineffectual role in which to be cast. It's a position that could wield considerable power if handled correctly..." Max argued with empathy. "Do not risk all you have achieved simply to pursue a position this world will never allow you keep. "

Eleanor shook her head. Both she and Max were women who had garnered considerable power in a world that had offered them little opportunity to do so. But where Max was content to operate from the shadows, ensuring those around her saw her as less than threatening, Eleanor craved that sense of recognition and authority.

Max sought power as a means of securing safety and security in life, it was a means to an end.

Eleanor sought power because it was in her very nature to do so.

Eleanor released Max's hands and stepped back from her. Frustrated, Eleanor raked her fingers through her loosened hair. "I did this, I brought this down upon all of us. I did it because I thought it would ensure Nassau's survival, safeguard my position and expand my agency. But it didn't."

Max shook her head. "You always knew civilization would seek to claim this place, you said it yourself. If England hadn't come, Spain or another nation would have. A place like this was never meant to last. What you did saved many who otherwise would have been massacred in the instance of a raid."

She didn't have time for this. She wanted to make Max understand, needed to ensure Max would not take steps to hinder her progress. Eleanor knew how invested in this new world Max had become and she feared what would happen if Max chose to stand against her.

"What I did was selfish." Eleanor spat, growing impatient with the conversations lack of progression.

Max sighed, saddened and somewhat irritated by Eleanor's stubborn determination. "D'accord. But where will you go? What do you expect to achieve once you leave here?"

Eleanor shifted uncomfortably, uncertain of whether to disclose her true motives. She wanted Max to understand the importance this held for her. To grasp the concept that simple survival was not enough to live on.

She wanted Max to let her go.

"Charles..." Eleanor said softly, deciding Max deserved to know the truth. "Through him, I've a means of offsetting at least some of the destruction I've caused..."

Understanding finally shone in Max's face. "So it was you, then?" She paused, inclining her head thoughtfully. "You freed him?" Peering into the eyes of the woman she'd once loved with everything she'd had, Max knew the answer to that question even before Eleanor voiced it.

Eleanor looked away. She didn't relish admitting yet another betrayal of trust, but she saw no other way around it. "Yes..." She said quietly. "And I think he was right... It might have been better to stand against them, fight to keep our freedom and Nassau's. Even if it couldn't have lasted forever, we might have held on to this place a little longer, made it that much harder on them..." She lifted her eyes to meet Max's once again. "I would prefer such an outcome over the mockery of life they'd have me submit to..."

Max gave a sad smile. "Even if it gets you killed? Is it worth so much to you? Is he?"

Pained, anxious and uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken, Eleanor spoke quickly on an exhalation of breath. "I think so, yes."

Max nodded solemnly, toying with one of the rings on her right forefinger. When her eyes lifted to meet Eleanor's, her expression was earnest and firm."Bien, what do you need?"

Eleanor frowned. "What?"

"To leave this place, what do you need?" Max questioned honestly.

Eleanor's face softened. "Max... You don't have to-"

"Tell me and you'll have it." Max pressed. "This venture is a fool's errand. You cannot stop what is coming, no one can. You'll perish in this undertaking. The least I can do is ensure it's not sooner than later." By the time she finished, her eyes swam with emotion and the misting of unshed tears.

Eleanor's expression was forlorn. After everything she'd put Max through, Max was still trying to help her. She hadn't expected it, nor did she deserve it. With damp eyes of her own, Eleanor pushed forward wrapping her arms around Max. She was sorry for all the pain and suffering she'd caused this beautiful woman, sorry for having never been able to love her as well as she deserved. "Thank you..." Eleanor whispered hoarsely.

Rubbing soothing circles over Eleanor's back, Max whispered back. "De rien..."

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Eleanor didn't know how Max had done it, but she'd managed to arrange Eleanor's departure. With her position as Madam at the whorehouse, Max had a wide variety of connections and intricate relations. Eleanor assumed that Max had somehow employed those ties to procure both a skiff and a suitable setting from which Eleanor could disappear.

Max hadn't elaborated on the details of the plan, she'd only promised to come though in a few hours time. And boy had she ever.

When Eleanor had stepped from her chambers, the posted guard was gone. When she'd crept through the halls toward the tunnels, there had been no one there to stop her. She'd slipped into the tunnels and through the corridors without incident. And having studied the routed patrols of the tunnels, she'd been able to avoid coming into contact with the guards down there. She ended up escaping through the very jungle exit she'd sent Vane through only six weeks prior.

Oh, the irony.

After trekking through quite a bit of unwelcoming jungle brush, Eleanor had managed to make her way down to the designated spot in which Max had promised there would be an unattended skiff.

Now with the moon and stars as her only light source, she sat with oar gripped in hand. Struggling to direct the little skiff through the rough open water, she pushed the paddles through the waves toward the North-Eastern side of the island. Max had informed Eleanor that she'd gained intel from one of the girls at the whorehouse. The whore had learned from one of the crewmen that the pirate camp was located only a few miles inland of a large and decrepit shipwreck. Without this information Eleanor would have wasted hours, if not days, scouring the North-Eastern side of the island for some sign of life.

She prayed Max's involvement in her escape would not be discovered and that Max would not disclose her plans to Woodes. Max was a clever and resourceful woman, surely she would take measures to ensure her own safety. But Eleanor's disappearance would raise a lot of unwanted questions, a lot of mistrust, anger and assumptions. She could only hope that Max would escape that scrutiny without having to disclose her entanglement in this matter.

After what felt like hours, her arms began to scream with the unfamiliar effort it took to maneuver the uncooperative skiff. Just when she'd begun to worry that she'd somehow missed the landmark and gone too far, she spotted it. There, shrouded in the darkness about a mile out, was the dim figure of a beached and broken brigantine ship.

She nearly wept with the joy of the discovery.

She directed the skiff inland towards the shore. As the skiff hit shallow waters, she finally set down the ores. The muscles in her arms quivered with relief as she stumbled out into the surf and began dragging the skiff up onto the beach. Panting and weighted down by her now waterlogged skirts, she towed the heavy little boat across the sand and up into the cover of the jungle. It would do her no good to have the skiff spotted on the beach before she ever found the camp.

After using a few large leaves and branches to camouflage the skiff, she sat down on a nearby rock to catch her breath. The wind and trek through the jungle had left her looking completely disheveled. What the wind and brush hadn't accomplished, the sea had. There were small pieces of debris tangled in the tousled hair that had partially escaped restraint. Her skirts and shawl were riddled with small tears and patches of dirt. And her shoes and skirts were soaked to the knee.

Sore and exhausted didn't begin to cover it.

But still she rose. She rung out her skirts and emptied her shoes as best she could before tugging the shawl tightly around her shoulders and securing its hood over her unruly locks. With a steadying breath, she began a precarious trek into unknown territory. She needed to hurry, the cover of darkness would only last so long. Walking into the camp in broad daylight would attract far more attention than she was looking to invite. She simply wanted to slip into camp, find out where Charles was, and convince him to hear her out before he decided to kill her.

Easier said than done.

Tramping through the brush in as straight a line as she could manage, she began contemplating the likelihood of her untimely demise. Charles had never been a particularly lenient or merciful man. He did want he wanted, when he wanted and rarely concerned himself with the inconvenience it might cause others. But there were a few favored individuals who's welfare he'd been known to place above his own. She had once been one of them, perhaps even his most coveted. But she'd turned on him, traded his love and fealty to hold on to rocks and sand.

Her transgressions were vast and many, a fact he was unlikely to forget. He'd spared her life because she'd freed him, but that benevolence only extended so far. He'd still promised to end her life and it was reasonable to assume he would not hesitate to follow through on that promise.

Charles Vane was a man of his word.

She could only hope that he'd listen long enough for her to share with him what she'd learned. If he still wanted to kill her after that, so be it. At least he'd have the information he need to give the English all manner of hell.

Stomping through the darkness, Eleanor stumbled awkwardly over a protruding tree root. She let loose a stream of vehement curses as she inelegantly fumbled to regain her balance and avoid an outright fall. Her hand struck out to brace against a nearby tree but she missed the mark by inches and toppled forward into an undignified heap.

"Fuck!" She snarled angrily, clamoring up from her crumpled position on the jungle floor and giving the undergrowth a swift kick for her troubles. As she straightened to brush the hair from her face and readjust her satchel, she spotted something glimmering in the distance.

It looked like it could be a fire. Perhaps the kind that accompanied an encampment.

Encouraged, she began making her way toward the small flickering glow. This time her movements were slower and more cautious. If that really was the camp, it wouldn't do her any good to get caught lumbering around in the bush.

As she neared the light source it became apparent that the glimmer was indeed a campfire. Closer still, and makeshift tents came into view. She nearly whooped with the delight and relief of it. She hadn't truly believed she would find it. A part of her had feared she'd wander the island for days and achieve nothing. But here she was, right where she needed to be.

However, whatever joy she'd felt upon finding the encampment quickly faded with the reminder of why she'd come. She wasn't even sure what she expected to say to him. She knew the information she held was valuable, but she wasn't certain it would be enough to dissuade him from killing her. She wasn't even sure he'd trust the information was valid.

Eleanor's guilt and anguish regarding her decisions and Vane's consequent capture would need to be set aside. Ever the pragmatist, she attempted to stifle those regrets and focus on the task at hand. She needed to find a way into that camp and find Charles. She'd worry about what what to say to him later. It wasn't the most attractive course of action, but she couldn't afford to waste anymore time lurking around in the shadows waiting to get caught.

Trying to get a better understanding of the camp's layout and numbers, Eleanor began quietly creeping along the outskirts of the camp. As she moved along the camps edge, she overheard two men deliberating the recent erection of the infamous fuck tent. She spotted the owners of these crude articulations not twelve feet from where she was crouched in the brush.

"I thought the new Madame had all them whores dancing to an English tune? How'd we get her to agree to give us a whore for the tent? " The stouter of the two men confusedly queried.

The taller man shook his head. "She does and we didn't. She don't know we got one of her bawds, or even that we're here; probably figures she just up and ran off like Charlotte did."

The stout man frowned. "But how'd the broad get here? Who told her where to find us?"

"Featherstone's got relations with one of the Madame's girls, convinced her to defect and inform on English goings on."

Idelle.

Idelle was a turncoat. Eleanor hadn't seen that one coming. To Eleanor's knowledge, Idelle had always been fiercely loyal toward Max, they were friends. Though considering Idelle's marked feelings of enmity towards Mrs. Mapleton and Max's recent rehiring of the old battleaxe, Eleanor could appreciate how Idelle might have been swayed.

Eleanor hunkered down lower into the brush to listen more closely.

"She sent us Alice –" The taller man broke off and rolled his eyes at the look of confusion on the stout man's face. "– Alice, the tent whore's name is Alice." The tall man clarified.

His companion nodded and gestured for him to continue explaining. Slightly exasperated, the tall man complied. "Alice is a sort of go-between. Featherstone's gal paid her to come out here and deliver some information since Featherstone weren't around to do it for her."

Again, the stout man frowned. "Then why'd this Alice bother stick around? Won't she be expected back at the brothel?"

The tall man shrugged. "Apparently Alice ain't too fond of the Madame, weren't too keen on hurrying back. Besides, she's the only snatch for miles. I imagine she reckons that means there's fair coin to be earned out here, markedly so if she ain't gotta hand over half those earnings to the Madame."

The stout one grinned. "She ain't wrong about that."

The tall one nodded and laughed in agreement. "No, she sure ain't." He slapped a hand down on the stout one's shoulder in comradely affection. "What do ya say, mate? Should we go let the greedy little tart show us what we're paying for?"

Their barking laughter and salacious buffoonery continued as they wandered off in the direction of what Eleanor assumed was the fuck tent.

"Men." Eleanor muttered, shaking her head.

Just as she began moving again, she caught sight of a painfully familiar figure stalking across the open area in the distance.

Charles.

Her chest tightened. She stopped moving, almost didn't breathe. This was it. This was the flash in time that would decide both her fate and Nassau's. She didn't know what she was going to say or how she'd convince him to hear her out, but she knew she didn't want to turn back now. Not for anything.

She watched silently as Charles approached an unfamiliar crew member who was sitting on the ground against a large rock. Charles crouched down before the man and they began discussing something. She couldn't hear exactly what was being said from this distance, but she could tell the man was receiving some sort of instruction or reprimand. After another moment or two the crew man nodded vigorously, scrambled up and hurried away in the opposite direction. Charles stood, turned around and stomped off toward a nearby tent. He disappeared into the folds of that tent a few seconds later.

Eleanor swallowed back the sick feeling in her throat. Her mind kept flashing back to the anguish and anger she'd seen in his face when he'd promised to kill her. She didn't want to see that look again. That look had forced her to relive the destruction she'd wrought. It coerced her into acknowledging that he'd never once given her reason to doubt his feelings towards her, and yet still she had doubted them. Still she had cast him aside and left him for dead.

She mentally shook off that train of thought and scolded herself for getting lost in such a futile thought process. There was no changing what had already come to pass, she couldn't take back anything she'd said or done. There was no point in wishing that she could.

All she could do now was move forward. She wasn't looking for forgiveness or absolution, she knew she was far beyond such redemption. What she sought now was merely a salve, a balm to ease her own guilt and despair. Eleanor knew she could not save Nassau from civilization, that Max was right; eventually there would be no stopping Nassau's edification. But she could damn well prolong the transition, ensure Nassau's heart remained intact for just a little longer. She'd make sure the English were given something to fear, a reason to hesitate.

It was a doomed undertaking; but one she would willingly die for. She finally understood what Charles had meant. She understood now why he could not fathom the notion of accepting the subjugation of the crown. To live under the dictatorship of another was not to live at all. There was no freedom in it, no capacity for sovereignty or independence. It demanded absolute obedience and seamless assimilation.

Eleanor was neither obedient nor assimilative and she did not wish to be.

...I will be no slave again. And as I am free, I hereby claim the same for Nassau. She is free today, and so long as I draw breath, she shall remain free.

She closed her eyes against the unbidden memory of another of Charles' uncompromising declarations. His voice was a constant echo in her mind, coloring her daily decisions, compromising her every thought. The man had wedged himself so far under her skin that trying to remove him had done nothing but leave her scarred and bloody. She'd tried to cut him out more than once and each time it had left her feeling less than whole. He was as much a part of her as blood and bone. There was no fighting it, no denying the reality of the marks they'd left on each others lives.

But she was stubborn and she'd given it one hell of a shot.

Now whatever rapport they'd shared lay in ruins, so far beyond salvage or repair that the mere thought of trying left her feeling choked and overwhelmed. She knew he'd never trust her again, gone were the days in which he'd look at her with anything resembling warmth. Her actions had assured as much.

Despite the suffering this comprehension caused her, she told herself it was something she'd no choice but to come to terms with. It was the only way to get through this, to do what needed to be done. Steeling herself against the heartbreak she was sure this task would inevitably bring, she readied herself to ascend from the underbrush.

There were too many crew mulling about for her to have any chance of creeping into the middle of the camp unnoticed. So she stepped clear of the leaves and branches, straightened and began striding through the camp as though she belonged there.

She could only pray no one would recognize her, hope desperately that they would simply assume she had some sort of business here.

She hadn't gotten very far before a voice sounded behind her. "Hey, you!"

She tried to ignore it, pretend she hadn't heard whoever had spoken. But the voice persisted, determined to catch her attention. When she continued walking, a firm hand grasped her wrist and ceased her movement. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face her assailant with feigned confusion plastered across her features.

"Who the fuck are you?" The large and nearly toothless troglodyte barked.

She recognized this man as one of the tavern's occasional patrons, but to her knowledge he had not been previously affiliated with Rackham, Charles, or Flint. Which meant that Billy's incitable speeches and Silver's growing infamy might actually be drawing recruits. That was relevant information, information she quickly filed away.

Taking on as meek and gentle a disposition as she could manage, Eleanor confusedly imparted. "Excuse me?" Panic rose uncomfortably in her chest, but her face remained impassive. The question was only intended to give her an extra moment to come up with an excuse for her presence here. Whatever she was going to say, she knew she needed to say it fast if she was to have any hope of diffusing this situation before someone noticed the commotion and recognized her.

The toothless wonder tightened his grip on her wrist and seethed. "I said, who the fuck are you?" After a closer look at her he added. "You look awfully familiar..."

She said the only thing she thought would make any sense. "Idelle sent me!"

The big oaf frowned and proceeded to look thoughtful. "Featherstone's girl?" He questioned.

Eleanor nodded.

He continued to frown and consider this possibility for a moment longer. But then he seemed to find something agreeable in her statement. He began leering down at her. "Then you're headed the wrong way, Lass, fuck tents that way." He said, pointing toward the dingy makeshift tent in the opposite direction from where she'd been headed.

Cretinous ape.

Eleanor shook her head. "I'm not here for that, Alice is here for that. I'm here for Captain Vane..." She chanced.

The man's eyes narrowed. "And what would you want with our good Captain, then eh?" He skeptically inquired.

Eleanor swallowed the dread that rose with his query. She responded as though the answer to the question was obvious. "Well, I'm to be a gift, of course."

God, how degrading.

"A gift?" He probed doubtfully.

She nodded and arched a brow at the meaty fist still clenched around her wrist. "Yes, a gift. The fuckable kind, you understand?" She quipped.

He chuckled and shook his head. "And what's wrong with our pretty little Alice? She ain't gift enough?"

Eleanor rolled eyes, her fear slowly being overridden by her loss of patience for the primate's interrogation. She elaborated on the lie. "Alice wasn't meant to be a gift, she was meant to be an informant. But she's outlasted her usefulness in that role as she was supposed to have returned days ago. Instead, she chose to linger and line her pockets with your crew's coin. Her prolonged absence has made it impossible for her to return without rising question as to where she's been. I'm to inform Captain Vane that Alice is no longer expected to return to the brothel and that the crew may keep her. I am to be gifted to the Captain as compensation for Alice's continued safety and upkeep."

She watched his brow furrow and hoped his brain capacity was further evolved than his primitive exterior. Surely such an explanation would lead him to at least consider the possibility that she was telling the truth.

After scrutinizing her for another moment, he finally huffed out a frustrated breath. "Ugh, alright, fine." He yanked on the wrist he was still holding and began dragging her off toward the tent in which Charles had previously entered.

This was hardly the reunion she'd imagined. This bumbling oaf was complicating everything. "I could do without the manhandling." She hissed. "It's completely unnecessary."

He only grunted and continued his bovine lumbering, towing her reluctant form along behind him.

Outstanding...

They came to an abrupt halt just outside of Charles's tent and the burly clod yanked her forward to readjust his grip on her wrist. "Captain?" He called out but made no move to enter the tent.

A shuffling was heard from behind the enclosure but there was no response.

Typical.

"Captain, I've a woman out here, says she's a friend of Idelle. Says she's got words and a ripe cunny for ya" He explained, glancing down blithely at the irritated woman in his grasp.

Eleanor couldn't help the scathing glare that marred her features with his words. "Bloody mongrel..." she muttered. There was a sharp and somewhat painful jerking of her arm in response to her insolence comment, but he said nothing.

An exacerbated curse was heard from within the confines of the tent. "Jesus!" Charles barked. "If she keeps sending whores out here, the whole damn island's going to know we're here." There was a moment of silence followed by a few more rustling sounds. Then his gruff voice sounded again with irritated acquiescence. "Send the bitch in."

The neanderthal sent Eleanor a deplorable grin.

She barely had time to brace herself before he released her wrist and gave her shoulders a solid shove, sending her stumbling right through the swaying tent flap.

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