This is dedicated to CosmicAdventurer. She asked me more than once to write a sequel to "The Pirate's Bride" to reveal how Damon became a pirate. If you want to read how Damon and Elena meet, their story is told in "The Pirate's Bride."
I did not put the past in italics. It's pretty easy to tell which is the past and which is the present.
Miles of blue water and Damon watches in satisfaction as the HSM Triton tacks ahead, leaving a long white wake. The Flying Dragon matches it and soon gains ground.
Seagulls screech, circling the blue sky overhead. There's usually something menacing in the sea vulture's presence.
"What's he doing?" Elena asks as she peers through the telescope. "Is he going to run her aground?"
The Flying Dragon is closing the distance and the ship appears to be headed for a small island. Damon's smirks at the audacity of his counterpart when suddenly, the stern of the ship pulls a release. Its forward momentum forces it to turn quickly and pivot around the anchor.
The ship's sails billow behind him and the wind breezes across his face. Damon gives a direct glance to him across the deck, letting Enzo know that he's ready.
As they near the vessel, he gives the signal and his crew goes into action. Anchors are thrown toward the vessel to latch on. A second row of men spot the rival crew with their weapons drawn and ready.
"Make ready the guns! And run out the sweeps," he roars, winking at Elena as they watch the huge ship bring its cannons to bear right in front of them.
"All hands! Prepare to come about!" Damon directs his crew which is soon followed by low, loud rumble of two dozen cannons firing as one.
A barrage of shots follows with most finding their mark. Clear overmatched, the sailors on the other ship dive for cover, leaving their cannons.
Damon laughs. "Strike your colors, you bloody cockroaches!"
The Flying Dragon fires again, a double-ball shot with a chain connecting the two. It hits the mast dead and a loud splinting and cracking sound follows as it breaks and falls onto the doomed ship's deck.
The doomed ship's crew dive into the water. Elena smiles as she watches them swim toward the island. "Rum runners will be around soon and you'll be rescued soon enough," she yells to the other captain when he steps onto the gang plank. The man glares at her before diving into the water with his men.
"Raise the colors." Damon calls aloud with a wave of his arm.
"Well done, Captain Salvatore," Elena remarks as he wraps his arm around her waist and drags her next to him.
Damon smirks in appreciation as the top masts of the H.M.S. Triton sink into the smooth crystal waters of the Caribbean.
"Ah, Tortuga," Damon remarks, looking at the lights as the approach the docks.
"Tortuga, a dank and dirty port, where the tides sweep together the sum of the Caribbean - pirates, privateers, prostitutes, thieves, and drunkards," Elena counters with an eyeroll.
"What's not to love?" Enzo interrupts, winking at her and Elena responds with a playful punch in his arm.
"Ow," he mocks as he rubs with his palm.
"Oh, please," Elena laughs. "Do I need to kiss it for you?"
"Now that you mention it," Enzo glances at Damon as he pushes his sleeve up and points to the spot.
"Lower the anchor," Damon yells aloud as they make berth.
Once the anchor is dropped, he orders some of the men to stay on board and guard the ship. His boots hit the deck loudly as he waits for Elena to disembark.
"You're in charge, Mason. Elena and I will return in a few hours to allow you and the others to have your fill at Bree's," Damon explains and Mason nods in understanding.
His boots hit the deck loudly as he lifts Elena onto the deck and they make their way to the town's square. With its cantered, rotting docks, weather beaten buildings, and odd assortment of livestock running free, it's far less civilized than Port Royal.
Damon and Elena move through the crowd toward The Faithful Bride Pub.
A blonde woman turns her head. Noticing Ric, she slaps him hard and with a satisfied grin, she strides off.
"Don't ask?" Ric comments as he rubs his jaw.
Damon holds the door open while they enter. Elena shakes her head as she takes in the place. It's populated with a slightly higher class of lowlives.
"I'll never know what you see in this place," Elena comments as Damon holds out a chair for her.
"Now that I have you, my love, it doesn't really have the same pull. But a single man, a pirate. We're at sea for a long time and many of them have to..." Damon makes a sexual gesture.
"And you know all about that..." The words die on Elena's lips when a barmaid appears and slides a tankard full of ale in front of them.
"Yeah, but I have you now so you're much more pleasurable my love." Damon takes her hand and presses a kiss to the base of her thumb and each fingertip.
Elena squeezes her legs together under the table as her blood begins to burn hot.
Damon stares into her eyes as the candle's flicker glimmers in them. Her brown eyes are a million hues, and many times he's wondered what the word brown even means. They are the forest and the autumnal leaves, the soil in summer and after the rains. He can never reduce something so spellbinding to one word.
"Let's finish this and head back to the boat," Damon snakes his hand under the table and runs his fingers up her thigh.
Elena bobs her head, picks up her tankard, and empties it with one long swill.
Damon laughs and does the same. Rising to his feet, he grabs Elena's hand and drags her out of the bar.
Damon's thumb is brushing back and forth against the pulse point in her wrist and Elena feels desire stir to life. He pulls her hair to one side, exposing the curve of her neck. His fingers trace the slender column and he feels the shiver that runs through her.
Lowering his head, Damon replaces his fingers with his lips and is gratified to hear the low moan that escapes her.
"Damon," Elena breathes as she turns to face him. Their eyes lock and it's like fire and gasoline coming together. She wraps her arms around Damon's neck and he settles possessively around her hips. Seconds later, their mouths are fusing together as they kiss frantically, furiously, and insatiably.
Their tongues battle for dominance. Elena's fingers tangle themselves in Damon's hair, holding him tight and pulling him closer. He reaches behind her and sweeps the table clear and lifts her onto it.
Elena's head falls back and she locks her legs around Damon's waist, pushing her hips against his. He trails kisses down her neck and across her collarbone, nipping her skin at intermittent intervals with his teeth. White-hot desire spreads through every inch of her body.
A low growl escapes her as Damon tears at her buttons to free her breasts and tongues one nipple. He lifts his eyes to look up at her. With her hair mussed and her lips parted and her eyes burning almost black with lust she looks magnificent, wild, and free.
In the blink of an eye, Damon has their positions reversed so that he's lying on top of the table and Elena is straddling him. He has a firm grip on her upper thighs, holding her so that his erection is pressed tightly between her legs.
Elena hisses at the friction that is only a fraction as intense as what she's really craving. She reaches for his shirt and yanks it off. She drags her nails over his chest and lowers her mouth to circle his nipples with her tongue. Her hair cascades over his torso like a wave of mahogany silk and he lets his fingers sift through and get lost in it.
Elena continues to lick her way down his body, pausing only to unfasten his breeches. Damon lifts his hips so that she can pull them off. Seconds later, she has her hand wrapped around the base of his cock and Damon groans as she slowly strokes him.
"Do you like this?" Elena asks, unaware of the inherently seductive note in her voice. "Does it feel good?"
"You know it does," Damon bites out as he tries to maintain control.
"What about this?" Elena asks as she lowers her head and takes him into her mouth. Damon's answering hiss is all the response she needs. Determined to drive him truly over the edge, she alternates between stroking, sucking, and licking. She feels the tension coiling itself tighter and tighter in his body as she continues her sensual ministrations.
When she feels him getting close, she pulls her mouth away, releasing him with an audible pop.
"Ah, hell," Damon gasps. And since he isn't anywhere near ready for this to be over, he flips them over and pins her under him.
Damon ran his hands up the outside of Elena's legs, pushing her dress up around her waist. He tears her undergarments off and positions himself at her entrance.
Elena squirms against him.
"Damon," she murmurs. "I want…"
Whatever else she wants to say is cut off as Damon seats himself completely inside of her. The tidal wave of ecstasy that slams into them both is almost brutal in its intensity. Elena digs her nails into the firm cheeks of Damon's ass, wordlessly asking him to move faster and harder.
He complies and Elena matches him thrust for thrust. The smell of sex, the sounds of two bodies straining against each other and the mind-numbing pleasure combines to push them both to the brink. Damon slips a hand between them seeking her tiny bundle of nerves. A few deft strokes and he has her tumbling off the edge and into sexual nirvana of the purest kind.
Elena screams as the orgasmic spasms hold her in their grip.
Damon grits his teeth as Elena's body clamps down around him; the shudders racing through her echoing through him.
Elena runs her hands slowly up and down Damon's back and has the thought that even an eternity of this will never be enough.
"Ah, Enzo!" The voluptuous woman's squeal is stifled when he spins her and pulls her tightly against his chest. She pushes away from him angrily, muttering in rapid Spanish. "Madre de Dios! Is this how you repay? When I allow you to come into my establishment after nothing from you for months?"
Enzo lowers his face to the crook of her neck, taking a sharp bite before soothing it with his tongue. He trails his lips up the side of her neck to croon in her ear. "How will I ever make this up to you?"
Where they had been flat against Enzo's shoulders before, Bree's hands now clutch at his shirt as her head drooped to the side to allow him better access. "Ahh, Enzo," she moans. "I have missed your touch." She slides her hands into his hair, running her fingers through his dark hair. "It has been too long..."
Enzo pulls back to give her a lewd smile as he grinds his hips against hers. "Now, Bree, I thought you told me that you liked it long..."
Brees glares at him and starts cursing in Spanish, much to Enzo's amusement. "Be a love and get me a bottle of your best rum." He pinches her well-endowed ass as she turns and scurries away. Turning back to the bar, he looks to the man who slides onto the bench beside him. He stares at him for a few moments while he waits for Bree to return.
When the man bumps into him, Enzo steps back slightly. "What's your story?"
"My story. Same as your story, just one chapter behind. I became obsessed with capturing a notorious pirate... chased him across the seven seas. I lost all perspective. I was consumed. The pursuit cost me my crew, my commission... my life."
Enzo considers him for a moment before the dawn of recognition appears on his face. "Captain Whitmore?"
"Not anymore, weren't you listening? Nearly had you all off Cape Horn. Great black clouds were rolling across the heavens, and squalls of rain, with hail, swept by us with such extreme violence...Would have, if not for the hurricane. My crew said to sail around. I should have listened," Whitmore says winsomely.
"You didn't try to sail through it?" Enzo asks incredulously.
He takes a long drink of the bottle and leans in toward Enzo. "If you're here that means he's not far behind." He sweeps the bar, sending glass flying where they shatter on the wooden floor below. "Where is he?"
"Damon's not here." Enzo shakes his head.
Whitmore draws his pistol from his holster and aims it at Enzo's chest. "If that's the case, I should just kill you now?"
Ric steps up and grabs him by the arm. "Easy there."
Whitmore turns and swings; a wild shot goes off. A pirate ducks backward, slips, and falls onto a table, smashing it to pieces.
Enzo and Ric glance at each other. "Time to go."
They slip off, toward a back flight of stairs, dancing through the melee. Enzo stoops over a man who's been knocked out to move him out of the way. When he stands, Whitmore is in front of him and brandishing a sword.
Enzo steps back and tries to inch backward and out of his reach.
"Don't you want some of this fine British steel?" Whitmore glances at the blade briefly and then locks on Enzo.
Enzo shakes his head and is about to lunge for the door when he feels a sharp stabbing pain. Too stunned to speak, his face contorts in pain. Lowering his eyes, Enzo's now bloody hands are clutching his middle.
Ric pulls out his pistol and shoots Whitmore, dropping him where he stands. Scooping Enzo up, he screams for Bree to come quickly.
"What is...?" Bree's eyes grow wide with fear when she sees Enzo.
"I need some towels to make a bandage and your carriage. I have to get him back to The Dragon. Only Damon can save him now."
"What the hell?" Damon calls out at the loud pounding on the door of his quarters.
"It's Enzo, he's hurt bad, Damon. I took him to a room."
Looking back at Elena, he quickly follows Ric to Enzo.
"What happened to him?" Damon asks as he peels his shirt back, Damon studies the wound. "Get some boiling water. I need to cauterize and pack the wound. I need my medical bag."
Elena quickly runs out of the room, returning with his kit and some material for bandage while Ric puts water on the fire.
"Who did this to him?" Damon looks up at Ric.
"I didn't catch much of the conversation. Enzo called him Captain Whitmore."
Damon pales as if he's seen a ghost.
"What is it?" Elena asks as she stares at him.
"I haven't heard that name in years."
Horses' hooves pound and are followed shortly by a hard pounding of the door.
"Coming, I'm coming! Who is it?" Damon asks as he opens his door.
"I have an injured man here. His leg is broken. Can you mend it?"
"Come in, come in. You'll have to get him up the stairs. The second room on the left. Get him on the bed, I'll be up in a minute."
Damon rummages around for a bottle of bourbon and his medical bag before going upstairs to examine the man.
"Well, this may hurt a bit. I have to get the boot off," Damon cautions.
"He fell off his horse while running. The bone cracked like a walnut. It's broke bad, isn't it?"
"Well, your friend is lucky, Mr..."
"Tyson, my name is Tyson."
"This is Mr. Tyler."
"Seems to be a straight break. There's no compound fracture, I should be able to set it," Damon looks at his patient.
"We can pay you and then we'll be up and on our way."
"If you don't mind my asking, how'd you know I was a doctor?"
"Well, sir, when his horse threw him. There was this farmhouse. I asked if they knew a doctor around and the man told us where to find you. Is it going to take long to fix it?"
"Setting it's not going to take long but your friend's going to have to rest. Afraid you're going to have to spend the night here," Damon explains. "I'm going to set the bone in your leg, Mr. Tyler and it's going to hurt." he reaches for the bottle of whiskey and hands it to him. Turning to look at Mr. Tyson, he adds, "You're going to have to hold your friend."
As soon as he's swallowed a couple of mouthfuls of whiskey, Damon sticks the cork back in the bottle.
"Alright, hold on." Damon manipulates the bone.
Mr. Tyler's sharp, high-pitched, excruciatingly pain-filled wail pierces the air like a knife. It echoes through the room and bounces of the walls. He mercifully loses consciousness by the time Damon finishes and splits his leg.
"We'll be on our way as soon as he wakes up," Mr. Tyson says as he sits down in the rocker beside the bed.
"I don't think your friend should be riding a horse just yet."
"Don't fret about him, he's a tough one."
"Well, suit yourself. That leg could get nasty. You're free to stay and rest as long as you like," Damon states as he opens the bedroom door to leave.
"We're much obliged, sir."
Damon nods as he steps over the threshold and snaps the door closed behind him.
Damon wakes up to the sound of a furious pounding on his door. After throwing on some pants, he hurries to see who it is. He barely has it open when a man barges inside.
"I'm Capt. Whitmore. What rebels do you harbor?"
"No rebels. Just an injured man resting upstairs." Damon looks at the men who have barged into his home.
"How did he come by his wounds?" Captain Whitmore asks as he looks at Damon disdainfully.
"He broke his leg."
"Out with the rebel," Captain Whitmore orders his men up the stairs who return summarily with both men.
"This man can't be moved without peril to his life," Damon protests, glaring at the rude man.
"Who the devil may you be?"
"Damon Salvatore, Medicinae Baccalaureus."
"Don't fling your French at me."
"Latin, my dull friend. lt means I'm a doctor."
"Or a liar," Captain Whitmore returns as he stares at Damon.
"I'm not a liar, my dull friend," Damon fumes as he defends himself.
"You may find me dull enough to hang you!"
"Yes, I don't doubt it. You have the looks and manners of a hangman," Damon scoffs at him.
"Take him away, and the others, too!" Captain Whitmore yells and watches with a sinister smile as his men shackle Damon.
"You have no right!" Damon seethes but the words die on his lips when the butt of a rifle slams into the back of his head and he collapses like a puppet without it's strings.
"You were a doctor?" Elena asks as she stares at her husband.
"Yes, in another life," Damon admits with a sigh. Taking the glowing hot blade from Ric, he carefully begins to cauterize the vessels. "I need you to boil some linens. I'm going to have to pack the wound."
"Is he going to make it, Damon?" Ric asks anxiously.
"I'll do everything within my power to save him. It'll be up to him."
"You were arrested for helping a man with a broken leg?" Elena asks incredulously.
Damon nods absently, a far-off look on his face.
''ln the name of His Majesty, Our Sovereign Lord...prisoners of the Crown, you stand indicted for having maliciously and traitorously conspired to change, alter, and wholly to subvert the ancient government of this Kingdom of England."
Damon stands among many other men with his arms and ankles shackled. He's still waiting to wake up from this nightmare.
''Therefore, you are charged with high treason against the most illustrious and most excellent Prince James II by the grace of God of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, King. Having no fear of God in your hearts and being moved and seduced by the devil you have failed in the love of due obedience toward the King and have moved to disturb the tranquility of the nation and to stir up war to depose said king from title honor and the regal name of the imperial crown. Therefore, you are here to be tried before His Majesty's Commissioner, the Lord Chief Justice, Baron Peter Maxwell, and by a jury of 12 good men and true.''
He pauses to take the scroll.
"Enzo St. John, hold up your hand. Guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty," Enzo says softly, keeping his head bowed.
"Jackson Kenner, guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty."
"Kaleb Westphal, guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty, sir."
"Will Kinney, guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty."
"Damon Salvatore. Guilty or not guilty?"
"I'm entirely innocent."
"Take the stand and face His Lordship," the man directs Damon.
"Are you guilty or not guilty?" Lord Maxwell asks sternly. "You must use the right words." He demands an answer.
"Not guilty. And speaking of words, I'd like to say a few about the injustice of keeping an innocent man locked up for three months in such filth and heat and ill-feeding that my chief regret is I didn't try to pull down the filthy fellow that sits on the throne," Damon replies indignantly.
"Silence!" Lord Maxwell commands. "Are you entirely ignorant of the proper procedure of the court?"
"Most happily ignorant up to now. I could gladly have done without this acquaintance," Damon spits out.
"Enough of this. There is nothing more to be said, except the passing of sentence," he retorts as he glowers at Damon.
"May it please Your Lordship, but there's a deal more to be said!" Damon counters as he grimaces against the shackles that have made his skin raw.
"Silence."
"I am guilty of nothing, my Lord. I was arrested while engaging in my profession as a physician."
"What's this? You tell us you're a doctor, you rogue?"
"Two men showed up at my home. One came with a broken leg so I helped him."
"Enough. Those men committed heinous crimes. You are a co-conspirator and a traitor to your King. You are hereby sentenced to servitude in His Majesty's colonies in the West Indies for the treason you have committed."
"You have not seen the last of me," Damon shoots daggers at Lord Maxwell as he's dragged away.
Port Royal prison. One of the worst hellholes on earth. Every low-life form of scumbag can be found here.
Damon watches as the warden escorts people into the holding pen.
The interior cell door bursts open. Damon is in chains, dragged by four guards who shove him up to the cell bars.
His face is half hidden by long hair, a scraggly beard, and many new bruises.
A woman looks at him disgusted by his appearance. "He's just a filthy criminal?"
Damon gives her the once over. "Who are you?"
"I'm Lady Katherine Pierce and you are?"
"I'll be back in a moment," the warden tells her as he walks away.
"I tremble with anticipation, Miss Pierce," Damon quips as he locks eyes with hers.
A guard clubs Damon across the head causing his face to bounce off the metal bars. He won't give the brute the satisfaction of showing pain so he glares at him.
Katherine and her companion step closer. "You're for sale and I'm wondering if you're worth the price."
"Um, well, you see... Damon's fist comes flying through the bars, hitting the man squarely in the jaw. He hits the floor, out cold.
The guard clubs Damon again and Katherine looks down at her companion.
"I just knocked out your friend."
"He's not my friend, he's one of my uncle's men."
Damon almost smiles. There's a bit of spark to this girl.
The warden enters and Katherine leans her face right up to the bars, nervous and excited. "I'm going to try to get you out of here, you'll do hard work on my uncle's plantation."
"I'm nothing more than a slave, is that what you're here for?"
Katherine looks at him stunned.
The guard clubs Damon yet again and before he can react, two more guards grab him, yank him away from the bars and drag him out of the viewing cell.
"Where are they taking him?" Katherine asks.
"If no one wants him, he'll be hanged for treason against the crown."
"I'm here for my uncle, Lord Pierce. I will give you ten pounds."
"Why didn't you say it was for Lord Pierce," the warden signals one of the guards who releases Damon from his cell and delivers him to Katherine.
"At your service, mam?" Damon mocks her with a dramatic bow.
She smiles broadly at him. "Come on, let's go. You're in dire need of a bath."
"For the crime of helping an injured man, you were sold into slavery? My God, Damon, you never told me."
"It was a long time ago, Elena...it's not something I like to remember." He looks at her as he watches over Enzo.
"Tell me." She takes his hand in hers and links their fingers.
Damon kisses her hand as his eyes drift to the fireplace...
"lt was fortunate for you that I was here to save you," Lady Katherine remarks as she circles Damon.
"I hardly consider it fortunate to be bought by anyone by the name of Pierce."
"You could learn a lesson in gratitude," she counters, arching an eyebrow.
"I could thank you for not interfering," Damon rebuffs, his blue eyes calm as the sky before the storm, but as wild as the sea during one.
"As it happens, you are hardly in a position to have anything to say about it. You may join the others belonging to my uncle and henceforth you may take your orders from him."
"Your very humble slave, Miss Pierce." Damon mocks with a bow and stares at her as she walks away.
"Come on. Move on, there. Last night, this dog attempted to escape. Today you'll see what happens to those who forget that my friend King James did you all a favor in saving you from your just fate on the gallows... Show them the iron, Shane," Captain Whitmore gloats, smiling at the other man.
Shane nods and raises the branding iron from the fire. The initials F-T are blowing orange.
"Whoever wears that brand is known as a fugitive traitor and will be treated as such. Burn those letters in your brain lest they be burned on your hides, too."
"Go ahead," Captain Whitmore watches with smug satisfaction as Mr. Shane presses the glowing hot iron into the slave's back...
An anguished, blood-curling wail fills the courtyard.
Damon stares at the barbarity with clutched hands. He will find a way to escape this hell hole, of that he's certain.
TBC...
Thank you for reading. I'm excited to know what you think of it.
Thank you, CosmicAdventurer for planting the idea. And thank you Eva for reading it over for me.
Damon's story is inspired by Dr. Samuel A. Mudd. He was a surgeon and tobacco farmer in southern Maryland, a hotbed of Confederate sympathy. Thirty-one years old, with reddish hair, Mudd and his wife Sarah had four young children and a brand-new house when John Wilkes Booth, on the run after assassinating Abraham Lincoln, came to his farm needing medical help in the early morning hours of April 15, 1865. Though Mudd proclaimed his innocence in the assassination plot, testimony during his trial for conspiracy revealed that he had met Booth at least once prior to the murder, and setting Booth's broken leg did him no favors. His fate sealed, Mudd received a life sentence in federal prison.
On February 8, 1869, less than a month before he would leave office, President Andrew Johnson summoned Mrs. Mudd to the White House and gave her a copy of the pardon. His life sentence dismissed, Mudd departed Fort Jefferson forever on March 11 of that year aboard the aptly named steamer Liberty.
F&G 17 will post next. Have a wonderful day.