Black Flag, Whyte Heart

It was only the first week in October, too early for a proper Halloween party. Nonetheless, I was in a ballroom surrounded by people in costumes. No, these weren't the cheap ones from the discount store or those made by children in pursuit of candy. Nor were they the expensive kind fashionable people liked to create for each other. Some of these were earned, military uniforms with lots of gold braid, ribbons, patches, and medals. Others were couture dresses, four-inch heels, and perfect makeup that took years off faces.

And there I was, leaning on a high-top table, bourbon in my hand, and my favorite guy on the other side. Yeah, I was pretty well put together myself. Dress, stockings underneath, shoes, all cost me a fortune and worth every penny for the fit and feel. My favorite guy wore a tuxedo worthy of a James Bond movie. He's no secret agent, but he is a handsome bastard.

"What're you thinking about?" he asked me.

Looking over my glass at the crowd, I had the strangest thought. Actually, it was a burst of thoughts that crowded out all the annoying social graces I was supposed to observe. You know, the, "Hey, good to see you," and "Wow, you look great." That and all the hand-shaking, cheek-kissing bullshit that goes with high finance wheeling and dealing and/or political soirees.

"Come on," he insisted. "Tell me."

"Pirates and wenches," I said.

He chuckled. "Damn, Jen. What brought that on?"

I made a vague gesture with my glass toward a man who was a real-life admiral. "Probably him."

My favorite guy raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know you liked men in uniform."

"Not my thing," I replied. "But Halloween's coming up and I was wondering what this kind of party would have looked like three hundred years ago."

"No shit."

I gulped my drink, set the empty glass on the table, and said, "Want to go upstairs and hear a story?"

= = =

"Look at you, Annabella Whyte. A proper lady doing the maid's job."

"Call me Nell."

"Hah! As if we'd ever be friends."

"Why not?"

Annabella Whyte understood her freedom would come only if she was a good prisoner. This necessity in mind, she tended her jailor with gentle care. After rinsing a sponge in the freshwater bucket, she dabbed at bruises and cuts.

"Soon enough, you'll be in worse shape than me."

"Shhh."

"Don't shush me."

Until yesterday, Nell had never met a whore, though Bess seemed determined to correct every notion Nell might have formed about the profession. She was perhaps thirty, maybe younger, with a split lip, one eye darkening toward purple, and the composed insolence of a woman who had long ago discovered that shame was more useful to other people than it was to her. She had been taken from a tavern in Charlestown, she said, and had been a favorite of Captain Rook for the better part of a year. Lately, he had grown bored with her. Last night they argued, leaving Bess with the evidence of who had won the debate. Now she sat barefoot on a stool while the ship rode easily at anchor, listening to the thud of water casks being rolled across the deck above them. Most of the crew were going ashore. The first mate, Mr. Ford, would be left with only a handful of men to mind the ship. Nell had noticed what Bess was too cranky to consider: fewer footsteps overhead meant fewer men between them and freedom.

"What kind of man is Mr. Ford?" Nell asked.

"Oh, he's a right gentleman sailor, Mr. Ford is."

Bess's laughter hinted at more sarcasm than fact.

"What does that mean?"

"It means he won't be putting his hands on you like the vile captain of this leaking tub."

Nell rinsed the sponge again, listened to the muffled voices and footsteps above, and then swabbed Bess's shoulder.

"His rope doesn't seem to draw tight," Bess said. "He might not be a man for women. Not that anyone would accuse him of that. Hulking brute that he is, they'd end up with a smashed head."

"Maybe he hasn't met the right woman," Whyte suggested.

Bess slapped away the sponge. "Thinking that's you?"

"Doesn't have to be me."

"Won't ever be you, Miss Annabella Whyte," Bess spat. "Silas Rook knows treasure when he sees it, and a well-born virgin in a fine dress will fetch him a sack of gold at Port Royal."

Nell retrieved the sponge, dropped it into the bucket, and said, "Assuming we get to Port Royal."

Bess laughed so hard she slipped off her stool, landed on the floor in a heap of rags, and kicked her feet in the air.

"What are you going to do?" she asked from the floor. "Fight a dozen men with your soft hands and run a dagger into Mr. Ford?"

For a fleeting moment, Nell saw herself doing just that, but she wasn't stupid. Her skills were mostly academic: reading and writing in English, Spanish, and some French. Her uncle had studied medicine, and whenever he visited her father's estate on the island of Nevis, Nell assisted him. As for sword fighting or pistols, she only knew which end was meant to kill. What she understood better than weapons was how to make people tell her what they wanted.

"Tell me about Mr. Ford," Nell said.

Bess stopped smiling.

"I already did."

"No. You told me what he doesn't do."

For the first time since Nell had begun tending her wounds, Bess looked at her with something other than amusement.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why a man like him takes orders from Silas Rook."

Bess screwed up her face as she thought about the question. "I suppose for the gold."

"Does he get much of it?" Nell asked.

"If you live long enough among them, dearie, you'll find the pirates fair amongst themselves. A man's share is his share. Not a penny more or less."

Watching the water drip from the sponge, Nell said, "I don't think Mr. Ford cares much about gold or jewels or money."

"You don't know him any more than you know me."

"I've watched him."

Bess raised an eyebrow.

"When Rook's men emptied my father's house, every one of them grabbed something for himself. Silver cups, bottles of wine, my mother's candlesticks. One man took books he couldn't possibly have known how to read." Nell squeezed the sponge over the bucket. "Mr. Ford took nothing."

Bess chuckled. "Ford didn't have to. All that plunder will be sold in Port Royal along with your pretty face. Then Ford will get his share like everyone else."

"Maybe not."

Bess scrambled up from the floor, clutched Nell by the neck, and hissed, "Whatever danger you're conjuring under those golden tresses will get you a beating worse than mine."

When Bess released her grip, Nell swabbed the spot with the sponge.

"The best you can hope for is that Silas sells you to a friend who keeps you all to himself. If not, well, you'll end up like me."

Nell had no intention of remaining a prisoner until dawn. She'd rather drown herself in the bucket than suffer Bess's fate.

From the other side of the door came the raucous laughter of crewmen. A bottle struck wood, followed by a cheer and somebody attempting the first lines of a song before forgetting the words. There was a tremendous thud against the door followed by a husky voice.

"Feeling better, Bess?"

"Stay out there, Cobb," Bess shouted at the door. "Rook will have your head if I tell him you molested me."

"I wasn't thinking about you," Cobb retorted. "Open the door and let me have some fun with the pretty one."

"That'll get you keel hauled!"

"Only if you tell him, my darling."

"Bugger one of your mates, Cobb."

"When Rook's done with you," Cobb replied, "you'll earn that insult."

Another man laughed.

"Come away, Cobb. There's rum yet."

"More for me if you keep bothering the women," a third voice called.

Cobb struck the door once with the flat of his hand.

"Sleep well, pretty one."

Boots scraped across the deck outside, followed by several uneven sets of footsteps. Someone began the song again. This time two others joined him, none of them finding quite the same tune. Their voices faded toward the bow.

Bess waited until she could hear nothing but distant laughter and the creaking of the ship.

"Drunken swine."

"How many are there?" Nell asked.

Bess squinted through the lantern light. "Too many for both of us if we had a barrel of pistols and better aim than a Royal Marine."

"Enough to sail the ship?"

Bess stared at her a long moment, then stamped her bare foot against the planking, and growled, "You're mad!"

"I asked if there are enough men to sail the ship," Nell said, her voice calm and deliberate.

"Thomas Ford commands however many men are out there, and you're locked in here. So, forget whatever diabolical scheme you're conjuring before it ends with you spread on a table with Cobb going first and the rest taking their turn."

Nell blinked twice. "You speak too well for a tavern girl, Bess. Tell me who you really are."

"I'm not one to plot trouble when it will bring me pain."

"You may not know the glimmer of gold," Nell said, "but you've touched silver. Haven't you?"

Bess shook her head.

"I'm only locked in here because you won't turn the key in that lock," Nell said, pointing at the door. "Open it and you'll never feel another unwelcome hand."

Bess went still.

Outside someone roared, then came a slap, then the crash of a broken bottle.

"What makes you think I have the key?"

"Cobb asked you to open the door."

Bess wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. "You've been counting more than footsteps."

"Voices, too," Nell confirmed. "My guess is ten men."

"At least twenty," Bess countered. "The ones you can't hear are too drunk to speak or stand."

"Is that enough to sail the ship?" Nell repeated.

"What does it matter? They won't sail it for you."

"They will for Mr. Ford."

Bess sat down on her stool and leaned against the bulkhead. "Pirates kill each other for less than what you're thinking."

Nell thought about what she heard. Her plan hinged on Mr. Ford. If she judged him wrong, Rook would hear of it the next day, and whatever waited for her then would be worse than Port Royal. Perhaps Cobb would get his turn before she ever saw the docks. Perhaps Ford himself would put a pistol to her head for trying to turn him against his captain.

She looked at the bucket.

There were worse ways to die than drowning. There were also worse things than death.

Nell lifted her eyes to Bess.

"Do you want your share of the gold?" she asked.

"If it'll buy me out of here, I do. Not that you have any to spend."

Nell nodded toward the door.

"Open it, Bess, and you'll touch gold."

Bess shook her head. "And when Cobb finds us in the passage?"

"You won't be in the passage."

"What?"

"You open the door. I go to Mr. Ford alone."

"After he beats you senseless and drags you back here by the hair, what do I tell him?" Bess asked.

"That I stole the key while you were sleeping."

Bess almost smiled.

"And if Ford listens?"

"Then by morning Silas Rook will no longer command this ship, and the gold of my mother's necklace will hang around your neck."

Bess moved to the door, where she reached into the folds of her skirt for the key. She inserted it into the lock, turned it once, and looked back at Nell.

"When this goes wrong, I won't tend your wounds," she said, turned the key one more time, and pulled the door open.

"I assume Mr. Ford has a cabin toward the stern?" Nell asked.

"Last door on the right," Bess said.

Nell stepped into the passage and looked both ways. She heard the door creak shut and the lock click. The ship smelled of tar, sweat, wet rope, and spilled rum. Lantern light swung from a hook overhead, throwing the passage first into yellow light, then shadow. Somewhere above, men shouted over a game of chance.

She moved toward the stern.

At the foot of a ladder, a sailor lay asleep on his back with one boot missing and an empty bottle tucked beneath his arm. Nell stepped around him carefully.

"Look out below!" a voice hollered.

She froze.

Two men clambered down the ladder, one supporting the other. Nell crouched into the darkness beside a stack of casks and pressed herself against a tall coil of rope.

"Cobb's gone soft," one man slurred.

"Ah, shut up. I'd rather have my share of the silver when Rook sells the pretty one. Port Royal is full of women with more skills than a plantation daughter."

They laughed and lurched past Nell without looking sideways. When their footsteps faded toward the bow, she rose and continued in the opposite direction. The stern passage was quieter. The drunken singing seemed farther away here, muffled by timber and distance.

Three doors faced the narrow corridor. The last door on the right. She stopped before it.

For the first time since leaving Bess, Nell allowed herself to consider what waited on the other side. Thomas Ford might listen. He might laugh. He might drag her back by the hair exactly as Bess predicted.

Nell raised her hand and knocked.

No answer.

She waited, listening to the muted jumble of voices elsewhere in the ship. Upon hearing a shout, she quickly rapped her knuckles on the door.

Still nothing.

"Mr. Ford?" she whispered.

Silence.

Nell tried the latch.

The door opened.

She slipped inside and closed it behind her.

Thomas Ford lay stretched along a narrow bench beneath the stern windows. Each wrist had been bound separately, the ropes drawn down and made fast to deadeyes set into the deck on either side of him. More rope crossed his chest and legs, lashing his body firmly to the bench.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Ford lifted his head.

"Get out," he hissed.

"I have a proposal," Nell said, daring to move closer.

Ford surged against the ropes. The bench groaned beneath him, and the lines at his wrists snapped taut.

"Did you not hear me? Get out."

Nell stopped.

"You're afraid someone will find me here."

"I'm afraid you're too foolish to understand what happens if they do."

His breathing was heavy now, whether from anger or the effort against the ropes she could not tell.

Nell looked at the knots, then at the bruising around one of his wrists.

"Captain Rook did this."

Ford's expression hardened.

"He had you tied down before he went ashore."

"Leave it alone."

That was answer enough.

"I think I know why," she said, moving closer.

Again, Ford strained against the ropes.

"I've heard talk," Nell continued. "That you have a problem with... your rope."

Ford glared at her as she reached for the lantern and turned up the wick.

"I have the cure, Mr. Ford," Nell said next, moving into the light.

"Get. Out."

Nell turned toward the hull. A rack of sabres and daggers stood on the port side, their blades catching the lantern light whenever the ship rolled. She studied them for a moment, chose a narrow dagger with a plain horn handle, and drew it free. She returned to the bench with the blade held low at her side.

"When you and your filthy pirates raided my family's estate, you took nothing," she whispered then pressed the tip of the blade against his tunic. "You ignored my mother, her maid, the other women in the house."

Ford swallowed hard.

"It wasn't until you saw me on deck that your eyes so much as lingered for a moment."

Squinting, Ford said, "For a moment."

"And not because you think I'm pretty," Nell went on. "Beauty doesn't interest you. Beauty doesn't draw your rope tight."

"When Rook returns, he will knock some sense into you, girl."

Nell grinned. "Rook will die by the hangman's rope when the Royal Navy catches him. That is if I don't kill him myself."

"I could shout for Cobb," Ford said.

Nell moved the dagger point close to his neck. "You won't," she remarked, "and not because you fear me ending your life."

For the third time, Ford yanked against his restraints.

"We need each other," Nell said. "You need to know whether what you've lost is truly gone."

"And what need of me could you possibly have?"

"To command the men of this ship. To sail us out of here. Away from Rook."

His eyes bulging, Ford cackled at the ceiling.

Nell slammed a hand over his mouth. "Let's not alert the crew before it's time to weigh the anchor."

Settling on the bench, Ford whispered, "You mistake fancy for fact."

"I know the fact of your interest in me, Mr. Ford. Yesterday, Rook stood me at the rail and told every one of your filthy pirates that none shall touch me."

"That he did. And none has."

"And none has with their hands," Nell taunted him. "But your eyes told a different story after Rook's next revelation."

Ford held his breath.

"Tell me," Nell ordered. "Tell me what he said."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Ford worked his jaw.

"Tell me."

Ford's body began to tremble.

Nell moved the knife lower, sliced the cord holding his pants, then laid the blade aside. She yanked his pants down, exposing his limp member.

"Tell me," she demanded, pulling her dress off her shoulders and stepping out of it. Wearing only a thin, cotton shift, she straddled his legs, resting her buttocks atop his knees.

Ford groaned.

Nell wrapped her fingers around his soft manhood. Never before had she touched a man like this. And yet, some of the mysteries of men she knew thanks to overhearing her father's servants.

"Tell me," she cooed.

"You already know," he gasped.

It seemed completely natural to move her hand along the length of him. Doing this brought no change, which wasn't what she'd heard.

A fist hammered against the cabin door.

Nell froze.

"Ford!" Cobb shouted from the passage. "You still breathing in there?"

Ford looked at Nell, then toward the door.

"Unfortunately for you," he called back, his voice loud and steady.

Cobb laughed.

"You sound lively enough."

"I'll sound livelier when Rook returns and learns you've been drinking his rum on watch."

Silence followed.

Then Cobb muttered something Nell could not make out.

Ford raised his voice just enough to carry through the door.

"Go back to your post before I remember your name tomorrow."

A moment later, Cobb's boots shuffled away.

"It's time," Nell said, her hand moving slowly. "Tell me or I'll tell you."

"You'll get us killed."

"I'll set us free," Nell promised.

"The crew-"

"The crew will obey you," she snapped then squeezed her hand tight. "And you will obey me."

Ford shook his head.

"Rook announced to you all that I was untouched. A virgin," Nell said in a quiet, even tone. "You heard that and were stirred."

The flesh began to firm against her palm.

"Yes," Nell sighed. "Others will not do."

She changed hands and continued to stroke him.

"Only taking a virgin will restore your virility, the very thing that makes you a man."

To her amazement, he'd lengthened and thickened and grown stiffer than she could have expected.

"No man has ever been in me," Nell continued. "No man. Not even my own finger."

Hearing him pant, Nell felt her own body responding, which was a surprise. Not only was she anxious at the discomfort she expected when the act began for the first time, she was terrified at what might happen afterward. It was either this or drowning herself. While she would not survive the drowning, she was not terribly certain how long she would live after launching her scheme with Ford.

"You're fully prepared," Nell said, moving forward and tugging her shift out of the way with her free hand. Her hips hovered above his briefly, then lowered until the softest part of her brushed against the hardest part of him.

Grunting, Ford jerked his hips, which made her smile.

"We can stop now," she said, "I'll go back to Bess and never say a word."

Angry, Ford snorted.

"Or we can continue," Nell went on, pressing down against his member, feeling the length of it separate her folds. Although frightened by the prospects of what might come, the heat between her legs suggested another emotion, a new one, one that felt reckless yet powerful.

"As if I have a choice," Ford said.

"You do," Nell replied. "We continue to where this act takes us. You fully a man, stronger than before, ready to take command of this ship, and order the men to set sail."

"To where?"

"To sea," Nell answered, slipping back and forth along his rigid manhood. "Then... to Nassau where we fill in the crew."

"And then?"

Nell raised her head, thought for a few seconds, then answered, "We hunt Silas Rook and any other pirate, taking what they first stole and making it ours."

"You must be possessed by the devil," Ford said.

Grasping him with one hand, bracing herself with the other, she held him against the part of her where he was meant to enter.

"I leave you less than a man," she said, "or we make sail tonight."

He sucked a deep breath.

"Decide or I will decide for you."

"You are the devil," he hissed.

His hips jerked up and Nell found herself stretched in a way like never before. Stunned, she held fast a moment then eased down an inch, and another inch. Her eyes flew open at a sudden pinching between her legs. She started to rise away from him only to stop at his order.

"Come to me," he snarled.

She eased lower, feeling him filling her secret place. An ache spread out from there, but so did more heat. She lifted slightly then went lower still. Again. Again. The ache continued but dulled. The heat increased as did the wetness. She committed the sin of touching herself many times, but the sensation of him filling her was completely different. This was a marvelous revelation not a mere release of built up tension.

"All of you," Ford ordered.

Moments later, her body completely engulfed his. She closed her eyes at the exquisite pleasure that flowed up through her body. She flushed hot under her nipples and chin. A long sigh left her lips.

Without realizing it, Nell had begun to ride slowly up and down. His hardness inside rubbed against parts of her she didn't know she had. She forgot all about Silas Rook, Bess, the crew, the dangerous life she'd just begun. She was present only atop this man, and he was inside her.

Instinct led her to a faster pace as if she were chasing something. Her pleasure built but not specifically. It was more a general euphoria divided between her body and mind. Glancing down, she saw that Ford was staring up at her with furious concentration on his face. Her mind told her to stop; her body urged her to go faster.

She went faster and fully up and down his length without letting him slip out. And slippery she was, inside and out. Hot, too. She'd begun to sweat and tasted salt from her lip. Within the sensations changed. She detected a subtle thickening or lengthening or hardening of him. Maybe it was all three. Whatever it was, she wanted more.

His chest began to heave as he took deeper and deeper breaths. His hips rose as much as they could against the ropes. She met him each time.

And then... he grunted and twisted and shook his head.

The pulse that came next was not hers. It was his. Within. A distinct throb that sent a wave of extra warmth flooding into her.

"Ohhhh," she sighed, stopping with him as deep as it would go.

More throbs followed, causing her to move just a little up and down, as if to coax more of them from his pulsing member. When they faded away, she stopped, leaned back, and brushed her hair away from her face. Nell smiled but didn't move. She relished him softening as much as when he had hardened.

At last, she eased off of him, immediately feeling a wet drip onto her thighs. For all she'd done in the past hour, this was not the time to blush, but she did. She also looked at him and his crotch where the remnants of their coupling was smeared everywhere.

Without a word, she took up the dagger, and one by one, cut the ropes. She stood back with no expectations that he would live up to their bargain. For all she knew, he might toss her overboard or something worse.

He sat up, rubbed his wrists, and said, "You took my seed."

"I did," she replied, noticing some of it sticking to her thighs.

"There might be a baby in you."

"Perhaps."

He stood and stepped across the cabin to where she stood. Placing his hand behind her head, he gently drew her face close to his.

"For doing this, I'll make you a queen," he swore and kissed her full on the mouth.

=

I rolled off my favorite guy and sprawled on the bed beside him.

"You came a like a banshee," he said.

It was a powerful orgasm that I'd just had, and so was his. "You didn't do too bad yourself," I remarked.

"You took my seed," he said, gently mocking the story I told him, the one that came to me in a flash at the social event in the hotel ballroom.

I reached down between my legs, felt his semen on my labia, and replied, "I did."

"There might be a baby in you."

"Perhaps."