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.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ugh, this chapter is even more delayed than the last, sorry guys! I had some serious issues with writers-block and dialog. I ended up writing, trashing and rewriting half the chapter at least three times before I ended up with something decent. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy. Thanks again to everyone who's been following this story & leaving comments/kudos, you guys are great :)
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Eleanor was only vaguely aware of the fact that she looked an unsightly mess. Her dress was still damp, dirty and full of snags and her hair remained wildly unrestrained, doubtlessly wrought with tangles and odd bits of debris. But honestly, she couldn't bring herself to give a damn. A little dirt and grime had never been something she'd worried herself over, and she wasn't about to start now.
Fluidly, she reclasped her remaining corset hooks before standing to smooth out her skirts and straighten her spine. It was an almost unconscious affectation that helped steady her nerves, more a habitual idiosyncrasy than anything else.
Charles moved away from the table to sprawl laggardly in the Spanish colonial armchair across the tent. He leaned back, producing a cigar from a small hinged box that rested upon an unmarked crate next to his chair. She watched him closely as he placed the butt between his teeth, struck a match, and languidly brought the flame up to kiss the smoke's tip.
His eyes lifted to meet hers over the smoldering cherry.
In general, she'd never considered the act of smoking to be terribly attractive. But Charles had a way of making even the mundane look somehow sensual. It was something that had always baffled her; how such a wildly unrefined individual could somehow still exude such grace and lasciviousness all at once.
It was a talent of which she was sometime secretly jealous.
It was also something she would never openly disclose. He didn't need to know how easily he could affect her. The last thing she needed was to inflate his ego any further. As far as she was concerned, he already had more than enough pride and arrogance.
She watched his cheeks sink inward with the pull of his breath, a steady stream of smoke slipping from his lips and curling up past his predatory eyes. It was irritating, and she tried to ignore it, but God help her if watching him didn't leave her just a little addled.
Somewhat weak kneed.
Just a tad capriciously inclined.
It was safer to avoid such thoughts, to pass off such feelings as the direct results of phenomenal sex.
Those very inclinations towards weakness were what always drove her to resist the pull of him. The desire and emotion he could conjure so easily within her was a dangerous thing, it was why she'd so often pushed him away. He made her feel uncontrolled, unable to govern her own unbridled heart, incomprehensibly inclined towards irrational cravings and the taking of foolish risks.
And if there was one thing Eleanor Guthrie truly hated, it was the lack of control.
She was a rational woman, governed by logic and efficiency. But there was nothing logical or efficient about the way she felt about Charles. Those feelings were complicated and messy, totally unfounded and senseless. She'd tried so hard to rule her heart with the same iron fist with which she'd ruled all other things, and it had blown up in her face, brought her nothing but pain and contrition.
But even knowing this, a lifelong pattern of emotional self-preservation was a difficult habit to curb.
He arched a brow and eyed her expectantly. Smoke twisted and curled up along behind the movement of his arm as he gestured for her to get on with what she'd come here to say. "Well?" He questioned promptly.
She licked her lips. He was right. She'd come here with a purpose, and it was not to dwell upon her own weaknesses and trivial fixations.
She stepped forward, lifting her chin and resisting the puerile urge to wring her hangs. "They're coming." Her voice was regal and admonishing. "The English, they're going to storm the shores of Maroon Island."
He frowned. This wasn't anything he didn't already know. Flint and Silver had intentionally baited Hornigold into finding that island and the dissonant men who inhabited it; an invasion was exactly what they'd been trying to encourage. He studied her quizzically as he took another slow drag. "Yes, I'm aware." He exhaled lazily, his eyes never leaving her face.
She huffed and shook her head, his easy nonchalance creeping under her skin to vex her as it often did. "No, you're not. He has an entire fleet, Charles. You have, what, a hundred men?"
His eyes narrowed. He had a hell of a lot more than that, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He still didn't trust her as far as he could throw her. "More or less..." He grunted, shrugging lackadaisically.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid that isn't going to cut it."
He sighed and glanced down to flick ash into an empty rum bottle resting atop the crate. "Rogers isn't going to send an entire fleet after a hundred slaves and a handful of pirates. He'll send one gunship, two at best. And when he does, we'll be waiting."
She crossed her arms over her chest and sent him a biting look. "Four." She corrected hotly.
He frowned, his gaze sliding back to hers with inclining interest. "What?"
It was a physical effort not to look too satisfied by the sudden pique in the level of his attention. "Four gunships," She clarified with only the slightest of smug undertones. "maybe more once Woodes realizes I've defected with what I know."
He shifted, leaning forward in the chair to rest his elbows on his knees and regard her with apprehensive scrutiny. "That's a lot of artillery."
She nodded. "It is...One Man-O-War, two Brigs and a Brigantine; one-hundred and seventy-six guns between them..."
And that was partly her fault. During the time she'd spent seeking vengeance for her father's death, she'd made a point of painting Charles as the one true obstacle to English sovereignty. She'd succeeded in convincing Woodes that this man was more than just another pirate. He was was the heart of the rebellion, the key to everything. It was unlikely Woodes had forgotten this, especially not now that she'd fled into enemy arms. As a result, it was more than likely that the English force approaching Maroon would be substantially heavier than was originally planned.
"They'll launch an attack in two days time." She stated with gravity. It was a time frame that gave them very little opportunity to prepare. But she knew one thing for certain, she needed to discourage any notion of a sea to land battle. To attempt an offensive position from the beach was suicide, English cannon fire would lay waste to their little army in a matter of hours.
She uncrossed her arms and took another step towards him, her expression fierce and imploring reason. "You cannot allow them to wage this battle from the sea, they must be forced inland. Without their ships they are only men; no more resistant to lead and steel, than you or I." There was a harshness in her tone, an unrepentant demand for a calculated approach towards ruthless bloodshed.
Something in his gut pulled harshly with the fire in her eyes, with the conviction in which she spoke. Her strong willed ferocity and fearless nature had always appealed to him far more than it should have. She possessed an uncanny ability to evoke in him a multitude of conflicting emotions at once. He should not have been impressed by the acuity of her understanding of battle strategy, or by the perfervid manner in which she advised such merciless initiative.
But a part of him still was.
Which of course, was less than helpful and equally irritating.
She was a passionate and brilliant woman, highly perceptive and extremely resourceful. It was unfortunate that the very same traits he so admired in her, were also the ones that had assisted in her betrayal. "And how would you propose we convince them to abandon the safety of their ships?" He questioned cynically.
"Let them think they're winning. Let them decimate a portion of your forces on the beach..." Her voice was resolved but somewhat wary. She wasn't entirely sure he'd take kindly to the suggestion of sacrificing his men, but it was the only outcome she could think of that held any real chance of success. "Convince them they've got your men cornered, and they'll follow a retreat into the jungle. Within the cover of trees, we've a far better chance of standing against them."
He watched her with fastidious scrutiny, his expression guarded and indiscernible. It wasn't a bad plan, better with the inclusion of the additional forces he'd yet to tell her existed. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of sacrificing free men, but their losses would be heavier if they stuck to the plans already in place.
If he ignored his natural inclination to disoblige her, he could see the potential in her stratagem.
However, convincing Flint and the others of this would be a whole other challenge of its own. They'd all sooner kill her than agree to any scheme of her making. He wasn't even sure he didn't still want to kill her himself. The whole thing was a mess, a cluster-fuck of astronomical proportions. It would have been simpler to just gut her and be done with it. It wasn't as if she didn't deserve it.
But he understood her knowledge could be a considerable asset if handled judiciously. If she held even half the information she claimed to possess, she was a resource they could not afford to overlook. That understanding was both disheartening and encouraging, a combination that only served to annoy him.
Why couldn't anything with this woman ever just be simple?
His silence unnerved her, left her feeling uncertain and anxious. "Have you a better plan, then? Some superior method of dealing with this situation?" She challenged, needing to fill the silence with something other than her own discomfort.
His eyes narrowed. He certainly didn't like the way she presented as though he had no other choice but to comply, but more so, he didn't like that she was right. He didn't have any better ideas.
"Watch yourself, Eleanor." He growled.
She ignored his warning, stomping towards him to tower over the chair in which he sat. "Stop it." She hissed. "We don't have time for this, Flint and the others need to know what they're up against. We need to move now, and it needs to be quickly."
Her tone sounded a little too commanding for his liking, but her words held merit. He still didn't trust her, but he believed she sought to be rid of the English. For now, that would have to be enough.
But he wanted his position in this agreement to be made very clear.
His hand snaked out to grip her wrist, yanking it downward and causing her to bend forward to avoid further damage. He didn't move to stand, but leaned upward so that his face was inches from hers. "You have no authority here. Not over me, and not over my men." He growled. "If you're lying, if anything you tell me proves even remotely untrue, you won't live long enough to regret it."
The words bore a striking similarity to the ones Woodes had issued her upon release from the tower. That uncanny parallel left her feeling guilty and unsettled, tormented by the seemingly endless collection of lies and betrayals that had come to define her life. She'd never wanted to become this person, never intended for things to veer so drastically off course.
Staring into the pained and angry image of his countenance, she was inclined to believe he meant what he said. In all honesty, she was a little surprised her actions hadn't already driven him to move against her.
She studied the glowering contours of his face; the furrowed set of his brow and tight curve of jaw, the firm line of his mouth and bow of his upper lip. His face was one she knew almost as well as her own. It had haunted her nights and harassed her days for almost half the entirety of her life. Though now, as she scanned over the familiar plains of his features, there were fragments she did not recognize. There was a new weariness, a tired senescence to his eyes. It didn't match his years and it had not been present in the months prior to all of this.
She didn't need to wonder what had caused it. She already knew. She'd taken from him far more than she could restore.
She wanted to wipe that look from his face, cleanse her betrayals from his mind and have him understand. She wanted him to look at her and see more than just the traitor she'd made herself. She understood that there was nothing she could say that would erase the damage she'd already inflicted, but there was one thing she wanted him to grasp with unwavering certainty; her fealty was now immovable, rooted firmly with him and his.
There was no cost she would not pay to make him see it.
But she was not so foolish as to push him. She would not hope for anything more than what he'd already given her. She was still alive, he'd agreed to hear her out. She'd confessed her desire to stand at his side and see the English brought to heel. They'd fucked. All this was already more than she could have hoped for, certainly far more than she deserved. She would not press for more.
This would have to be enough, no matter how much it pained.
"Understood." She whispered softly, and it was all she could do to keep the dejection from her voice.
He examined her with a somewhat incredulous expression, puzzled by the indiscernible look that now rode her features. He watched her eyes dance across his face and wondered what sort of disquiet had entered her mind to give her such an odd affectation.
The seconds passed between them, and neither of them moved. She continued to wear an expression that conveyed something between overt distress and assented resignation. He continued to look somewhat perplexed and annoyed.
He recognized her worth and the insight she could grant their rebellion, that much wasn't the problem. The problem was that he didn't have any idea what the hell to do with her. He was caught in an infinite loop, never quite sure of exactly what he wanted from her. His heart, mind and dick were perpetually at odds when it came to this damnable woman. It was an abhorrent aberration of reason and good sense, one he'd never quite managed to rectify but longed to be free of.
Her mouth opened, and she looked as though she might say something further. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.
But then a rustling sounded behind her and Charles dropped her wrist, flinging it away from him with more force than was actually necessary. She straightened abruptly, frowning at the excessive velocity of his action. Whatever she'd been about to say was prudently stifled as she stepped away from him and turned to face the source of their interruption.
Jack Rackham now stood just inside the tent, his eyes wide and darting back and forth between Charles and Eleanor. Disbelief and dismay contorted his features as his head tilted to the side and his gaze finally settled with Charles.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Jack exclaimed incredulously.
Eleanor sent Charles a wary glace but he ignored her. He didn't need her to inform him of the situation's potential for volatility, he was already acutely aware of it. As such, his gaze remained carefully fixed upon his disgruntled cohort. But Charles said nothing, made no move to explain his actions or motives. He simply eyed Jack with a quiet stillness and an expression that held both challenge and warning.
Tread carefully.
Had Jack been anyone else, perhaps such a look might have been enough to discourage any further pressing of the subject. But Jack was Jack, and he didn't even consider being heedful of the threat. "What happened to killing her?" He queried aporetically.
"Jack..." Charles growled admonishingly. He had no desire to discuss this at all, let alone in front of Eleanor.
"No." Jack contested, holding up a hand in protest. He knew damn well why Eleanor wasn't dead, Charles had allowed her yet another foothold. Eleanor triggered in Charles some hopeless vulnerability, an incurable affliction. Jack knew what that was like, he himself experienced a similar affectation in regard to Anne. He understood how just one person could turn your life upside down and inside out, this understanding was the only thing that kept Jack from demanding Eleanor's death right then and there. "I don't want to hear it. Whatever it is, I don't care. She leaves now, before the men or Anne discover she's here."
Charles gave an exasperated sigh. "She breathes because she has information, information we can't afford to ignore."
Jack shook his head and sent Charles a skeptical and chiding look. "Oh really? Is that why this room smells of smoke and sex?"
Eleanor had the decency to look somewhat startled by the audacity of the comment, but Charles only sneered and narrowed his eyes. His frustration and impatience with the situation outweighed any discomfort the discovery of his weakness might have incited.
"That woman has been nothing but trouble from the very beginning." Jack roused. "For Christ sake, Charles, she's been trying to kill you for months! She's a backstabbing, tyrannical harpy!"
Insulted and tired of having them speak as though she wasn't standing in the same room with them, Eleanor chose that moment to interject. "I'll have you know –"
"You," Jack growled, stabbing a finger in her direction. "you'll have me know nothing. I know all I need to know with regard to you."
"You don't understand." Eleanor hissed, her own anger rising up to combat the shame and regret that Jack's words roused within her. This man had once been someone she might have hesitantly called friend. They'd never been close, but she'd always harbored a certain fondness for him. They'd each shared a mutual respect and appreciation for the other's keen intellect. But that was before she'd sent men to have Jack and his associates murdered, before she'd tried to sabotage his plans and his very way of life. It was before she'd tried to have his closest friend hanged. Now, she was quite certain he hated her at least half as much as she hated herself. Perhaps more, given his unwavering devotion to Charles.
Jack gave a dry snap of laughter. "Oh, I understand perfectly."
"Enough!" Charles barked, stamping out his cigar and rising from his chair to stand between them and address Jack. "She's not going anywhere, and you're going to shut up and listen." He didn't relish the notion of placing any trust in her. He still loathed the idea of being forced to cooperate with her at all. But he could see the bigger picture, the possibilities that rose with the insights she could offer them.
Now he needed to make Jack see it too.
This was about more than just he and Eleanor, this was about holding off the rise of civilization.
Jack turned his attention from Eleanor towards Charles. "You can't possibly trust her." He exclaimed with frustration.
Charles shook his head. "No, I don't. She's a duplicitous bitch. But in this instance, I believe she's telling the truth."
The name calling ruffled her feathers a little, had her frowning and crossing her arms. Charles' anger and mistrust was not unexpected nor undeserved, but it still gnawed at her. The urge to retaliate and defend herself was immediate, but his claim of belief kept her from acting upon it.
Jack eyed Charles dubiously. "Why?" Jack questioned.
"Because she's lost everything." Charles stated with calm and serious sincerity.
Eleanor shot a startled look at the back of Charles' head. That was more true than he could possibly know. It was unsettling to hear him voice such an accurate understanding of her circumstance when all she'd told him was that she feared for Nassau's future in the hands of the English.
"Desperation makes people less trustworthy, not more." Jack countered.
"Her desperation is irrelevant." Charles explained. "She is without power or position, all that was hers was forfeited when she sided with the English. I believe she's come to realize the restrictions of that particular alliance." He resisted the urge to turn around and look at her as he discerned the cause of her departure from the English. When she remained silent and made no move to dispute his reasoning, he took her reticence as a confirmation of truth. He continued tensely. "Conformity is no longer a viable option, and she's no other means of standing against what's coming. We're the only choice she has left."
She shifted uncomfortably. Was she truly so easily read, or did he simply possess an uncanny insight into the depths of her soul? Neither option sat well with her, both left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. He hadn't discerned the entire truth of why she'd come here, but he'd come damn close. He'd touched on her ambition and desire for autonomy but left out the possibility that her heart had had anything to do with it, likely because he didn't believe it did. She understood why he would assume as much, she hadn't given him much reason not to, but it still left a sick feeling in her gut.
It suddenly occurred to her that Charles might well doubt that she'd ever loved him at all. The thought bothered her, added to her feelings of unease. She prayed that it wasn't the case, that even if he doubted her current feelings, he would not doubt what they'd shared in the past. The past was all that was left of them, she didn't want it tainted.
It was an odd thing to consider, an odd thing to have matter to her at all. What good would it do her to agonize over whether or not he placed any stock in her past or present feelings for him? It was a waste of time, unimportant in the grad scheme of things. But that didn't stop her from hoping he understood her as well as he often seemed to.
While Eleanor battled her inner musings, Jack had begun to look somewhat contemplative. It was no secret that Eleanor had worked tirelessly to make something of Nassau. She'd lorded over that place like a sovereign queen would her promised kingdom. It had afforded her a freedom and authority that no one else on the island had possessed. It would make sense to conclude that once that position had been taken from her, she would strive to replace it. But nothing England was willing to offer her would ever come close to equaling what she'd had. A woman of Eleanor's avid initiative and unorthodox nature, would not be easily reconciled with that loss or the chastened and diluted existence that would have to replace it.
"And you think that's enough to keep her allegiant?" Jack queried with an arch of brow.
"I can assure you that it is." Eleanor interjected crisply. "They're destroying everything I've built down there. This occupation is... less amicable than I'd anticipated."
Jack sent her a weary look before turning back to Charles for confirmation. Charles nodded gently in the affirmative. "And what's to stop her from turning on us the moment something more profitable comes along?" Jack asked honestly.
Charles turned his head to meet Eleanor's eyes for a heavy moment. For a time, he said nothing. But then his attention shifted back towards Jack and his voice sounded with firm conviction and unyielding resolve. "If she moves against us, she dies."
Jack wasn't entirely sure Charles could follow though on such a threat, but he or Anne certainly could.
With a heavy and irritant sigh, Jack tried once more to make Charles see reason. "What information could possibly be worth making any more deals with the devil?"
"The English invade Maroon in two days time." Vane stated gravely.
Jack frowned and arched a brow. "That's hardly information worth selling your soul for." He chided Charles.
"No," Eleanor interrupted and ignored the vexed look she got from Charles. "but I'd wager that four gunships yielding one-hundred and seventy-six guns, probably is."
Jack's eyes widened only a fraction, but his interest had clearly been seized. With no small amount of skepticism, he inquired. "You're certain of this?"
Eleanor nodded. "Positive. But it's possible they'll send additional ships and men once they realize I've withdrawn my support."
Charles scoffed. "That's a delicate way of saying she fucked them." He quipped sardonically, as if her statement had required some kind of translation.
Eleanor fixed Charles with a scathing glare. "Yes, and I'd say thats benefited you rather well, has it not?"
The vividly prurient memory of her sprawled half naked across his table, flashed through Charles' mind. He doubted that particular benefit was what she'd been referring to, and he'd no desire to admit such a thought had sprung to mind ahead of all the other vital information. So he schooled his features into as blank a mask as he could manage, shrugged and moved to return to his chair. "Well enough." He rumbled flippantly as he reached over to produce another cigar.
Eleanor's frown deepened.
Those damn smokes...
Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. If what she was spewing held any truth, they didn't have time to waste squabbling. "Can we please try to concentrate?" Both of them sent him a withering look but Jack was determined to steer the conversation in a more informative direction. "What else are we dealing with here?"
"She says waging battle from the shore will be a massacre." Charles grunted.
Jack pursed his lips and gestured in the affirmative. "With that many guns, it would be."
Charles sighed. "I was inclined to agree." He took a long drag and blew out a steady stream of smoke on a slow exhale.
Eleanor tried to ignore the fact that they were talking around her. She ignored it about as well as she ignored the appeal his movements held for her. With a less than cordial expression, she watched the pull of his mouth as he expelled the cloud from his lungs.
Charles was aware of the hostile look Eleanor was giving him, but he didn't give her that satisfaction of acknowledging he'd noticed her inimical attention.
Jack frowned. "We'd have to get them to move inland, but that's unlikely. They won't be eager to leave the relative safety of their ships, they'll keep their distance if they can.".
No longer willing to hold her tongue, Eleanor moved to express her own assessment of the situation. "Yes, I've already stated that it can't be done without sacrifice." She declared boldly.
Jack gave her a critical and questioning look but Charles' expression was sober and considering. She suspected Charles could see the merit and necessity of her plan, even if he didn't actually like it. As if he'd read her mind, he glanced in her direction and gave her the slightest of reluctant nods.
She wasn't sure whether to be irritated that he thought himself entitled enough to offer her permission, or just grateful he'd agreed to her plan. As he watched her expectantly, she decided she could to be both.
She told Rackham of her plan to allow a portion of their forces to be massacred as a means of provoking the English into chasing their remaining forces into the jungle where the rebels would have the upper hand. Albeit a bit hesitant at first, Jack did seem fairly intrigued by the idea. After further deliberation, he finally seemed reasonably willing to consider the plan as a viable option.
"If we were to honestly entertain the notion of a coalition between you and us, it would be with strict perimeters." Jack stated firmly, glancing cautiously between Eleanor and Charles.
"Go on..." Eleanor prompted hesitantly. She was fairly certain she would not be fond of whatever perimeters he was about to suggest, but she wasn't exactly flush with options. At the moment, cooperation was her most reasonable choice.
"Your presence here will remain undisclosed." Jack declared firmly.
Confusion and suspicion lit in Eleanor's face. She could hardly spend all her time hiding from the rest of the camp. How was she supposed to get anything done? She glanced toward Charles. He said nothing and made no move to object, which was irritating. It was clear that the wheels in his head were already spinning, but she wasn't sure in which direction. Uncertainty was uncomfortable, and quite frankly unacceptable. But at the moment there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it.
"The men won't tolerate the notion of your involvement. They want you dead." Jack clarified. "The moment they realize your here, they'll expect you to receive due punishment. If we were to deny them as much, there's a good chance they'd turn on us."
Eleanor scoffed. "Surely you've the ability to control your own men. Make them see reason." She necessitated.
"You underestimate the hatred you've earned here for yourself, Miss Guthrie." Jack chided. "At this point, I doubt there's much of anything that could be said to change their minds." He paused briefly before continuing with a firm and serious tone. "They remember your treacherous and tyrannical reign, and they'll not soon forget it"
Her jaw clenched. Intellectually, she could see his point. She hadn't exactly radiated benevolence in her time as de facto queen, she'd made her fair share if mistakes. But intellect aside, she'd never taken criticism well; it tended make make her defensive. Overwhelmingly, she was inclined to oppose his biting assessment with one of her own.
She was working on holding her tongue and formulating a more diplomatic response when Charles grumbled. "He's right."
Through narrowed eyes she watched Charles flick more ash into the rum bottle. "They'd sooner kill you than listen to anything have to say. Your involvement stays quiet." He grunted with finality.
"I hardly think that's wise" Eleanor argued.
"Well then it's a damn good thing I don't give a fuck what you think." Charles replied irritably.
"Good, then it's settled." Jack interrupted as he turned to address Charles. "She's stays with you."
Charles' head snapped up. The startled look he sent Jack was almost identical to the one that had marred his face when Flint had demanded a compensation of ten-thousand pounds for the death of Mosiah.
"Like fuck." Charles growled.
"Well, none of the men can be trusted not to fuck or kill her, and I'm sure as hell not going to be the one to watch her." Jack declared. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure Charles could be trusted not to fuck or kill her either, but he didn't see another alternative.
"I require no overseer" Eleanor hissed.
Jack spared her an irritated glace, but Charles ignored her comment entirely.
"Have her stay with Anne." Charles barked, waving his hand dismissively. Even as he said it, he knew it was an unreasonable demand. Anne was about as likely to chaperone Eleanor as she was to take up knitting and child rearing.
Jack snorted. "You know as well as I do, that that is a ridiculous proposition. Anne is more likely to kill her than the men are. This is your mess, Charles." Jack said, gesturing towards Eleanor. "Mind it."
Eleanor grit her teeth. To remain silent after that particular comment was challenging. She was not a child in need of supervision. The desire to have this matter resolved so they could move onto Maroon, was the only thing that kept her from saying as much.
Charles' jaw remained tight, his glower firmly fixed. This was a terrible idea, he knew it was. But Jack was right; given the circumstance, this was their most reasonable option. Shaking his head and cursing under his breath, he rose from his chair and began issuing orders in Jack's direction. "Ready the ships and prepare the men, we leave for Maroon before daybreak."
Jack nodded in sober agreement and moved toward the tent's exit.
Before pulling back the flap, Charles called Jack's name causing Jack to crane his neck round to look at his friend quizzically.
"Make sure Anne understands what's at stake." Charles demanded.
Both he and Jack knew what was meant by the statement. Anne was not one inclined towards forgiveness, she was inclined towards reprisal by the way of bloodshed. She would not take kindly to Eleanor's reappearance. Anne had never been fond of the Queen of Thieves, but after Jack's capture she'd discovered a new tier of hatred for the woman.
"Anne will be fine, she always is." Jack replied calmly and slipped from the tent. It was true, she would be fine. But he was not looking forward to initiating that particular conversation.
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