Join me.
The allure held in those two words captured the American's heart, his breath hitching in his throat as the words were breathed out, filled with promise and seduction. Alfred's soul yearned for the sea, yearned for the freedom that could only be provided by mastering the rough waters that had claimed his father's life so many years ago; to stare into its mighty depths and learn its mysteries alongside the infamous Captain and his crew. It held so many ups and downs to the young American as he stared into the burning emerald orbs before him, contemplating his answer as the Captain's large eyebrows furrowed at his hesitation.
The waters called to him like a siren, begging him to venture out upon her azure waters and battle the storms and see the world each time he ventured out to visit the docks. It was a life of considerable freedom, limited by the bows of the ship and by the ports that they landed in; filled with bountiful treasure but also riddled with disease, boredom and bloodshed. Alfred knew the stories all too well of the bloody battles and ruthless killings that went on while on the water, his own father witnessing them when he was alive and sailed. And it was just that – to follow in his father's footsteps and to be able to stand on the boat's bow and go whichever way the wind took him.
He was practically starving in the port town as it was and with winter looming over his head, Alfred might actually starve this year as he almost did last year, had it not been for the tavern keeper and his wife. However, he knew that he could run the same risk at sea if supplies ran low and they were too far from a port. But in the young American's mind, the benefits began to outweigh his doubts, especially as he looked upon the beautifully pale face before him, illuminated by the dying firelight. Despite the Captain's growingly irritated expression, a gentle smile curved into Alfred's lips as he slowly nodded his head, a small gesture that alighted the fire in the pirate's eyes once more, pushing himself back onto the pillows with a smug expression on his face as he looked over the young man before him.
"Glad to hear it," he murmured as his eyes drifted to the figures by the fire that were stirring to life. "We set sail in two days." Two days? That should be long enough for the American to gather what he needed to live a life on the sea. Sunlight was starting to appear through the window and illuminating the room in a soft rosy glow, breaking apart the night's shadows. Sitting back into his chair, blue eyes drifted over to the table where his medical bag sat, images forming in his mind of the past.
His mother would stand over one side of the table as she chopped some sort of vegetable for a stew and his father would be cleaning the medical instruments on the other side. Little Matthew would be out in the garden, pulling up more vegetables for their dinner and Alfred would be watching his father with wide eyes as he explained what each of the tools were for. The scene would usually play out and then the man that Alfred resembled so much would gather and leave for the ports to sail away again on a ship bound for Africa to acquire more slaves for the wealthier colonists. When he was home however, he was one of the two doctors that serviced their town and was in the process of teaching his eldest son his trade.
Mrs. Jones' smile would warm his heart as she would glance up from her chopping and comment on various topics of their conversation and Matthew would dart in and out of the house, his hands covered in dirt and a stray smear on his fair cheek.
The memory served as the last time that Alfred had actually seen his father, for their ship was sunk by a Spanish pirate as they were bound for the Caribbean, leaving his family desolate and forcing the older son to begin practicing under the town's other physician. He was unsure at first with a clumsy hand, only allowed to do minor things until his confidence grew steadier as well as his hands. It was in 1762, while Alfred was traveling to a nearby town to help with a delivery that the attack happened. It was quick and when he had returned, the young American observed smoke in the distance and ran to his home in a panic.
Desperation, panic and fear swallowed him whole as he approached the town and witnessed the bodies lying stiff on the ground, surrounded in their own blood as the colonists attempted to clean up as well as mourning over their loved ones. His beautiful mother and young brother had been slaughtered and lay broken and bleeding in their garden, their innocent blood fertilizing the winter vegetables. An American's hands soiled with blood and dirt as he cried over the loss of such innocent life, screaming into the night until his voice was hoarse and then continuing until his body was so drained that he might as well have died along with his family.
Everything was gone and there was nothing for him to turn to other than the kind faces that looked upon him each day as he wandered through the town or each night as he worked behind the bar. Despite a bloody and broken past, he had managed to keep smiling, his soul pining to be free from the images of the town and the memories that went with it. And now his chance, his savior, had arrived in the form of a beautiful and dangerous pirate – offering him a life of freedom and death. There wasn't much more that Alfred could ask for, after all, what had the murmurs going through the patriots said? Give me liberty or give me death? Maybe he wasn't using it in the correct concept, but it certainly fit his mindset.
For a fleeting moment, time stood still. The sting of salt swirling through the heavy air as the breeze blew along the waters. The jaded waves lapped against the wood of the ship's hull as it calmly glided through the sea. With eyes closed, Alfred listed his tanned face skyward and inhaled the musky scent of the sea. His mistress and his home she had become in the few short months that he had sailed under the flag of Captain Kirkland. The warmth of the sun's rays shone upon his face and his mistresses' breath ruffled his wheat-colored hair, blowing the strands away from his wind-whipped cheeks.
The short time that he had sailed thus far with the crew of the dreaded Black Rose had been entirely uneventful. Not at all the life that he imagined he would be living. Every day involved some kind of chore to keep the ship in peak condition and there was an abundance of rules to abide by (the consequences for disobeying these rules proved to be severe as Alfred witnessed an unruly sailor be thrashed on the main deck). But the ship ran beautifully and crew worked harmoniously for a band of pirates, some of whom the young American had a chance to converse with as they completed their daily duties. Francis, the Captain's first mate as it turned out, was a former French naval officer who had been captured by the Royal Navy and turned pirate. Kiku (as Alfred found out his name to be), the mysterious Oriental man that had fought alongside the Captain and his mate was from Japan and not much was known about him except for his mastery of the sword and of combat. There were a few former whalemen who had joined – two from some far-away African nation and another from Nantucket; a few more former sailors – both British and American, and then the natural-born pirate varieties.
As the wind whipped Alfred's cheeks into a rosy pink, clamor arose from the deck below his perch within the sails. Their Captain was striding across the deck, his dark boots thundering across the planks as he walked slowly towards the helm, his covered head turning this way and that to what Alfred could only assume was inspect their work. A smile tugged at the corner of the American's lips as he watched the young Brit climb the stairs to the helm. Their Captain was quite a sight to behold. Alfred had been enraptured by him in the dying firelight of his home, but to see the man in his true element and form was agonizingly blissful if such a word could be used to describe it.
His first day, or night really, had been spent in his room as he gained his sea legs and got accustomed to the crew of the Black Rose. But the second and third days were spent laboring on the decks as their new-found home rose out onto the sea to greet the horizon. It was then that their Captain finally emerged from his quarters. Silence had risen among the men as the ship's veterans acknowledged their Captain and the newer ranks of men gawked in silent awe of the proud Brit that stood before them.
His gem-colored eyes roved over the men like a General eyed his soldiers, and his pink lips curved into a devious smirk. Light blonde hair fell disheveled from beneath the black tricorne on his head, and he wore a similar shirt to the one that Alfred had first seen him in – white and simple with the buttons undone at the top to let the breeze cool his skin. A blood red overcoat, adorned with black and gold trim hung on his shoulders and the bright gold buttons stood out along his waist. Tan breeches were held by a black belt to clung low to his hips, tucked into black boots that thundered as he walked. A leather cord held a golden coin about his throat that dipped along with his collarbone and rested just below his clavicle on the milky white skin.
The American had to force himself to breathe before their Captain barked orders at them in a rough accent that commanded their immediate respect and authority. He was not a man to be crossed though his youthful appearance seemed to beg for it from the elder sailors. The emerald colored orbs caught Alfred's gaze and with a smug expression he winked at the American before turning to converse with a few of the men.
Alfred enjoyed the rare moments such as these when he could gaze upon his Captain, unabashed and take in each and every detail of the man. The dampness from the sea that clung to his skin, making it glisten in the sunlight as the salt began to clump together on his exposed flesh. These musings had become common for the young American as he sat up in the crow's nest on his watch, especially whenever their Captain came into view. He had discussed these 'unnatural' feelings with his brother before his abrupt death and Matthew had much less to say on the matter than Alfred did. Despite being younger, Matthew had managed to obtain a maturity that was well beyond his years and it often drove Alfred to consult his younger brother, especially in matters of the heart. And in that instance, all that the younger blonde had to offer was to "follow his heart". Rolling his eyes at the internal memory of conversation, Alfred's gaze shifted back out to the vast expanse of water; perhaps he would see a whale today? Bright and billowing clouds stood on the horizon, oddly low for this time of day and moving quickly. Rubbing a broad hand over his face, Alfred blinked again at the horizon and shifted in his narrow perch, forcing his body to lean over his makeshift railing as he peered at the bizarre clouds ahead. The waves rolled with the breeze and glimpse of something darker rose from under the clouds before dipping back down in the dark water below.
"SHIP!" His voice rang clear as his body leapt up, hand grasping the main mast for support as his other hand cupped his mouth to call out to the bodies of men below, "SHIP ON THE HORIZON!"
Chaos ensued upon the deck as the men scattered, leaving their duties where they stood to peer over the railing on the sides to look towards the horizon. A few other keen eyes spotted the ship and the men's voices rang loud and clear as they hurried to their stations on the deck, making sure to pick up their neglected work and put it away before hauling to the ropes or below deck.
Captain Kirkland grew rigid at the helm, eyes darkening as he drew a spyglass from the storage chest at his feet. Crossing to the port side, he drew his spyglass upwards and trained it upon the horizon. The American had meanwhile, pulled himself from the crow's nest and using the strips of cloth that hung about his belt wrapped his hands tightly before gripping one of the taunt ropes that swayed about in the wind. With a calculated step, he lurched off of the small platform and allowed the rope to careen him down to the decks below – his feet landing with a thud before he quickly drew near to his Captain's side. The spyglass slowly lowered and the look on the former Naval Captain's face was almost murderous. His eyes were ablaze with a fiery passion and his face pale in the winter winds. A word ghosted from his lips and carried away with the wind, but it was a word that was recognized by all on the ship – a word that struck fear and anticipation in their hearts as well as a murderous spirit.
Carriedo.
A/N: It's been soooooo long!
Sorry guys, I'll try my best to update – but no guarantees. If I just completely disappear, well.. oh well, right? Heh. Cliffhangers! Sorry, I know everyone hates that but oh well. Probably only a chapter or two left on this. This was more a filler chapter and there's a big battle scene next chapter and possibly some lemons.
By the way, if you can't tell – I'm in looooooooooooove with pirate!England. And I have to admit that pirate!Spain is pretty damn hot too. And pirate!France and so on so forth…
To those who were wondering, Texas wasn't really 'around' at this time – that's why Alfred doesn't have glasses.
Also, virtual cookies to whoever catches my novel reference in here.