There is nothing romantic about a mysterious man dragging you from your bed in the middle of the night. Countless novels would suggest otherwise but Maris knew the cold, hard truth.

The man had slipped into her room as she slept and knocked her out with what she could only presume was ether on a rag. She had regained consciousness to find her hands bound behind her back. There was a strip of cloth covering her eyes and in her panic, she hadn't been able to catch her breath. It was clear that she was in the back of some kind of carriage as it was bustling around as it traveled along bumpy roads. On one occasion she slipped from her seat and her knees collided with her kidnapper's legs. He'd grabbed her upper arm roughly to shove her back onto her seat. Maris had twisted away from him but, rather than letting her go, he simply took the back of his hand to her face in a harsh slap.

'Don't try anything daft, lass' he'd hissed before pushing her back into her seat.

She had remained quiet and still then. She knew enough about men who kidnapped women to not ignore his warning. She'd heard stories and she had a bad feeling she was about to become another one of them. Just another statistic. They'd ended up on a ship - it bobbed under foot as she stumbled, blindfolded, into the belly of it. Her captor had led her, his hand painfully gripping her upper arm, but Maris had taken so long to move that the man had taken to almost dragging her along behind him. They came to stop after a matter of minutes, he unlocked a door and she was roughly pushed inside a small room within which she remained for what seemed hours.

Maris didn't like ships. They brought back horrible memories. Nothing good had ever come of being on a ship for her. She couldn't help but tremble while waiting for whatever conclusion her ordeal might bring.

She didn't cry often. As a child, she was taught that it showed weakness, but her desperate situation was an exception to normality. She didn't know who had snatched her as she slept, or indeed why and she had no idea where she was, or if the others at home even knew she was missing. Her situation petrified her as she knew it was rare that situations like the one she was in ended well. That's why Lord Beckett found her slumped in the corner of the storage room with tears running down her face. They pooled together around her chin and dripped onto her nightdress. She was oblivious to his presence as he stood there looking down at her at his feet.

If his informant was correct about her identity it could be an enormous victory for him. He didn't want to get carried away, though. She didn't look like one of them as she sat there in her plain nightdress but there was only one way to find out for sure. He crouched until he was level with her, noticing that strands of her dark hair were sticking to her cheeks. He reached forwards and pulled the fabric away from her eyes, letting it hang loosely around her neck.

She flinched away from him. Her back collided with the wooden crates stacked in the corner behind her which caused them to wobble. Cutler threw his hand up behind her head to stop them from crashing down upon them both.

'Careful' he chided as she squinted up at him with fear written across her face, the harsh light from the lantern in his hand hurting her eyes. She blinked a few times before she was able to focus on him and they stared at one another in silence.

He was searching for some familiarity to jump out at him and he realised after a moment that it was her eyes. They were the colour of chocolate. It was in that instance that he knew.

"Hmm… well, you certainly have your brother's eyes."

The tense silence that had filled the room between them disappeared with his remark.

"My brother has his own eyes." Her curt response was whispered as she was unable to make her voice any louder. Cutler smirked, amused by her comment. It was clear that she was petrified and yet there was defiance in her words. He could admire that.

"You do not deny that you are Maris Sparrow?"

"Maris Teague" she corrected, a brief look of worry passing over her face.

"How delightful" he whispered, an unintended menacing tone to his voice. She was his now and Sparrow would be at his mercy. The battle would be won. Cutler realised he was eyeing her as though she were a new sword. It was unbecoming of a gentleman so he reached to place the material across her eyes but Maris dodged his hands.

"Where am I?" she demanded from him, her voice cracking as she tried to speak with some authority, "Who are you?"

Cutler opened his mouth to respond but the door to the room opened and Mercer interrupted him.

"Lord Beckett, they're ready for you, sir" he called, holding the door open behind him.

Maris's eyes widened as she recognised his voice, Cutler noted.

"Very good," he replied to his assistant. He turned to look back at Maris who was still looking past him at Mercer with fear and confusion evident on her face.

"Miss Teague, to answer your questions - you are aboard HMS Endeavour and I am Lord Beckett. We have brought you aboard to assist with our negotiations with the pirate lords."

"The... the pirate lords?" Her eyes snapped back to his face and there was real fear in her voice and it threw Cutler slightly. "Please don't take me to them" she pleaded, "You are making a mistake, they-"

He silenced her protest by placing the cloth in her mouth instead of over her eyes. It didn't stop her pleading at him with those dark eyes; you're making a mistake…

He banished from his head the nugget of doubt inspired by her words as he made his way across the room towards Mercer. He turned to look at his assistant whom he noticed was eyeing the girl with a mixture of disgust and amusement.

"Show Miss Teague to my office. There is much to discuss once I have finished addressing the officers."

Mercer nodded affirmation, not removing his eyes from the girl who was staring right back at him.

"Good man. Oh-" Beckett paused once more and turned to look at the other man who glanced back at his master, "be sure to do it without hitting her this time, yes?"