"Port Ambrosia"

Port Ambrosia, at last, was his...

"Governor Stanton...?" a voice spoke from nearby, breaking his reverie. "A delegation from the town is here to speak with you, m'lord."

He nodded to his Aide, asking, "Each of them?"

"The French, the Dutch, and the Germans," the Aide answered. "The Portuguese are still conferring over who will represent them, and the Spanish refuse to acknowledge our sovereignty over the islands while--"

The man stopped ceased talking as Henry waved off his listing of the small port's nationalist factions. Over the two hundred years since its initial settling, Port Ambrosia has traded hands -- sometimes by treaty, sometimes by force -- more than a dozen times. Each time, a portion of the previous nationality's populace remained; today, there were a dozen and a half nations -- mostly European -- represented on the Port Ambrosia Governing Council ... the supervising body that he was about to disband.

He didn't blame the Spanish for not wanting to attend the little get-together at which he would end the last little bit of hope they had for ever controlling what had begun as their island. In fact, he was surprised that any of the island's representatives were coming; they all had to know that he was cutting them out of governance of the little Caribbean port.

But, as he stared out from behind the crenelations of Fortress Ambrosia at the small sailing vessel only now making its way into the harbor, he had a more important issue at hand. He looked to the Aide and asked, "What about the ... independents?"

The Aide's lips spread a bit as he asked, "The pirates, m'lord?"

Henry smiled as well, then looked out to the bay again. Pirates! It all seemed so unreal to him. His family had come from the inland areas of England; they had had no direct interaction with the people of the sea, let alone pirates. He hadn't even believed they existed as a younger man -- tall tales, he'd called them -- and he still had a hard time believing it now, despite the fact that his Aide had identified the boat entering the harbor as belonging to one of them.

And to make it even harder to fathom ... a woman pirate...? That just seemed ... so unlikely. He gestured toward the boat just beginning to drop some of its sails. "Is this her?"

The Aide stepped up to the crenelations and followed Henry's gesture. "Yes, m'lord."

"Name...?"

"I ... I'm sorry, Governor," the man said hesitantly, "The name ... that of the boat and her captain ... they escape me, m'lord. So sorry."

"I want you to meet her at the dock," Henry said, turning and heading for the long stone stairway that would take him down to where his guests were assembled, waiting to learn of their futures, or lack thereof. "Take a couple of squads with you--"

"Twenty men?" the Aide asked surprised. "You want me to take twenty men to--"

"Too many?" Henry asked, oblivious.

"Not enough!" the Aide answered with a concerned tone. "These are blood thirsty pirates, m'lord."

"Don't be silly," Henry said, waving a hand in dismissal. "They're just people trying to earn a living--"

"By raping and pillaging and murdering innocent civil--"

Henry laughed aloud, cutting short the man's panic. "Don't be silly. They're just businessmen ... business women ... trying to make a living and, when necessary, defending themselves against--"

"Please m'lord..."

Henry came to a stop at an open door. Beyond it, sitting up and down a long oak table, he could see the representatives of Port Ambrosia, waiting for their new Governor's entrance and introduction. He looked to his Aide; the panic in the man's eyes was more than evident. Henry was sending this quite, mild-mannered man to meet with pirates -- blood thirsty or not -- on his behalf; the most he could do was send him well protected.

"Fine, Lawrence. Take four squads ... and the sharp shooters." He held an extended finger up before the man's face, shaking it. "But ... be subtle. I want her to understand this is a diplomatic mission to her personally, not an armed seizure of her boat. She hasn't done anything illegal in the eyes of the British Government."

He turned and entered the room, abandoning one sticky situation for another.



Lawrence could feel his left foot twitching as he stood at the end of the dock watching the boat slowly entering the harbor, all but one of its sails tied away from the wind. This wasn't how his new life in paradise had been described to him. Pirates?

Behind him, in a neat, tight formation, was a squad of ten riflemen. Another squad was assembled at the far end of the dock, at the cobblestone road; and yet two more were out of sight behind a boat repair building. Lawrence turned and looked to the roof of the ship builder; the heads of six men, armed with the latest rifled long guns, were barely visible.

All he could do was wait and see what happened next...

It was a modest ship, but a great deal faster than her usual prey-able to slip alongside large Spanish ships before they could switch what side their cannons were on, blowing them full of holes and well into surrender before risking a single man.

And when they did risk themselves, their blades were sharp and the pirates skillful, led by a brave, swordworthy woman, her temper as red as her hair, well known for her swordplay, for her iron fist in running a ship.

Pirates straight up ignored the gathered welcoming party, shouting, cursing, laughing at bawdy jokes as they tossed anchors and ropes over the sides of the ship, men from below tossing up supplies and goods to men on deck, unloading right at the feet of the gathered assembly.

They were a rough lot, smelling rather ripe and dressed in an odd assortment of colorful clothing stolen off ships, bolts of cloth made into fanciful, rough clothing. Their cold disregard for the men with guns might seem disturbing-but as a final board slapped down on the deck and creaked beneath the massive weight of a towering, brutish male wearing a red bandana around his left bicep, his face a little shaggy but not quite bearded-a sleeveless blue linen shirt stretched taut over his rippling muscles.

He looked mean, his right hand resting menancingly on his curved saber as he looked at Lawrence's squad, then ahead to the second at the end of the dock. His lip curled, bearing surprisingly clean teeth-his free hand lifting, a signal to the man in the crows nest. "Cannons ready!"

And no less than twelve cannons were revealed as windows popped open along the side of the ship. The brute seemed kind of smug, striding towards the squad, pirates peeling from their tasks to back him up, all standing there as if impervious to any bullets, cannon balls, or otherwise. A stand off!

But- "Will you put those away before you blow us all skyhigh?!" The voice was feminine, irritated-and clearly expecting no argument. The smugness on the brute's face had disappeared, the men behind him parting as a woman strode into their midst, the back of her slender hand slapping into the brute's chest. "If your pissing contest is over, Brian-"

She was a surprising sight, in person. Rumors aplenty about a cruel, clawed witch, or a brutish, manly woman hardly fit to grace the female sex-but here before them was an attractive, dignified female with an air authority. Hazel, green flecked eyes shifted to Lawrence, neither a bullying demeanor nor a cowering one. Her hair was a dark, lusterious shade of red, her skin a slight, healthy tan from days working in the sun. She was tall for a woman, five six or seven, sporting thigh high hiding boots that sharply defined her legs, dressed in a man's black pants, a red fencing shirt with a leather cincher around her narrow waist, a red sash tied around her curved hips, a rapier sheathed on her left. She wore a Spanish captain's hat, the brim pinned up, a red feather sticking out of it fashionably. Her red hair was tied low at the nape of her neck, slightly off to the side so that it fell over her shoulder.

"What is this?" A brow lifted, her red painted lips pursing a moment, displeased. She didn't know the official looking man, and what was more-she didn't like the look of the two squads. Since when did the port meet them armed? Her eyes returned to Lawrence, a grim curve to her lips as she took her hand from the glaring pirate's chest, somewhat like releasing a rabid, calmed dog's collar. "Need I remind your governor of our arrangement? It's -my- name that keeps the raiders and pillagers away from your pretty port-and I'm sure the gold's not hurting his coffers either."

(Since he doesn't know her name, this might get amusing! : ) )

Lawrence was uncertain how to feel about the pirates' reaction to being met by a new face ... backed by a force of well armed troops. He'd expected to see the ships crew at attention as its Captain descended the gang plank for the expected diplomacy. But then, Lawrence had never before dealt with pirates. He could neither have known their relationship with the previous Governor nor how they would treat the new one, or -- in Lawrence's case -- his envoy.

When the cannons extended, pointing all about the dock area, Lawrence could feel his face going white with shock. A moment later ... he felt his right leg warm as his bladder emptied, its discharge eventually pooling inside his boot.

"Will you put those away," a female voice called out, "before you blow us all skyhigh?!"

Lawrence quickly forgot about the urine staining his undergarments as the beautiful, fiery redhead descended the gangplank and closed on him. He couldn't remember ever having seen such a beautiful woman, and ... She can't be... can she be the Captain we've heard...

"What is this?" she asked. "Need I remind your governor of our arrangement? It's -my- name that keeps the raiders and pillagers away from your pretty port-and I'm sure the gold's not hurting his coffers either."

He hesitated, not because he didn't have a response for her but because he was simply overwhelmed with her. A woman of her beauty should have been in the courts of kings, not stealing from their coffers. IS she...? he wondered. Is she stealing from the crown? And ... who's crown? Ours ... theirs ... both?

They knew nothing about about her; Governor Stanton's informants had only spoken of her existence but had never given any significant details; it was part of the reason that his noble lord hadn't believed of her existence until he arrived to take control and heard the stories first hand.

Lawrence cleared his throat softly, gave the pirate a polite, chivalrous bow, and said in his most diplomatic voice, "Port Ambrosia, as well as the surrounding islands, are now part of the British Empire and, by extension, under the protection of the Royal Navy. Governor Santiago has been--"

He hesitated. Lawrence couldn't know of the woman's relationship with the former governor and was unsure about whether to discuss his quiet, private execution earlier that week. He continued, "--removed from office and detained. Any agreement with Lord Santiago, whether financial, political, or diplomatic, is now null and void."

Lawrence looked up to the pirate ship. Each and every man aboard it, as well as the big man standing behind the beauty, seemed to be hanging upon his every word. He had an opportunity here to make friends ... or enemies.

"My master, Governor Stanton," he continued with an overly polite tone, "Has requested your attendance at a dinner ... to discuss the future."

Lawrence half turned and gestured a hand toward the coach in which he'd descended from the Fortress. He hadn't intended to return to the Fortress sitting side by side with the pirate in Santiago's coach, now flying the British banner; but Stanton had stressed that this was to be a diplomatic meet and greet, not a fire fight.

The pirates snickered as he bowed, mocking the fragile seeming man-but Leah silenced them with a look, her gaze returning to him, seeing him for what he was-a messenger. One who didn't seem to want to be here, and if that scent of ammonia meant anything...

Instead, Leah crossed her ankles and offered a slight, ladylike bow of her own, never taking her eyes off him and his gathered company, watchful-but at least not mocking him, disrespecting him before his assembled protectors. She straightened, taking in this information thoughtfully.

"Is that so?" She mused, not seeming terribly upset at -all- that Santiago had been dispatched. Corrupt son of a bitch-at least she and her crew had the courage to openly admit to being pirates, criminals. Hands propped on her curved hips, her interesting eyes shifted to the second squad down the way. She could hear Brian's teeth grinding from here, and wondered if she'd have to sock him to keep him in line. Over to the British he said? Well. An interesting changeover.

"Null and void? Yer port remains unmolested thanks to our interest 'n it-" Brian interrupted angrily, silenced by another frown from his captain, deferring to her grumpily.

"We have no qualms with the Empire. My mother was a Brit." Unlike her first mate, Leah had remained thoughtful, relatively calm. It was easy to see her as a leader, but yet...she seemed dangerous. If a man as large as Brian cowtowed to her, if she was strong enough to lead a crew as rough as these men seemed to be...

She lifted her right hand, a slender index finger tipping her hat back a little, a glance exchanged with Brian before the political man spoke again, extending an invitation that finally pushed Brian over the edge. "A trap! It's a ploy to off ye and then they'll hang us all from the gallows!" The men exploded into a chaotic torrent of shouts and arguments, many laughing at the idea of this Stanton thinking he could brow beat THEM into anything, at their assuming they would go along with their insidious plans to-

"Well, that wouldn't be very wise, would it?" Leah spoke calmly, irritably casting glances back into her explosive crew. They hushed, back to hanging on her every word, on Lawrence's every word. "With me dead, Brian here becomes captain. He doesn't have the same reservations about attacking villages, do you Brian?"
Jaw tight, the brute of a man shook his head no, glaring daggers at Lawrence.

"I mean...we -are- pirates. Just because I'm content with knocking over Spanish ships doesn't mean my men wouldn't fancy ransacking a village every once in a while, or that others haven't been salivating at the idea of pillaging Ambrosia. And while this...Stanton may wish to renegotiate terms, I'm afraid I don't much feel like finding another port, another man to bribe, an ego to stroke."

Leah had taken to stepping forward, right into the squad, taking in the build of the men, the guns-the quivering messenger. She was circling the front few members as she spoke, not threatening, not quite-but not bowing to these requests either. She smelled faintly of some exotic flower, the scent pleasing, alluring in it's own way-more so than the fancy perfumes of ladies at court. She returned to her place before her men, seeming to size up her own crew in comparison.

"Hm. Discussing the future seems a moot point, mister...?" A dismissive wave. "But fine, I'll parley."

Brian sputtered the beginning of a protest, but Leah muttered an order to him, a pat to his shoulder. "If I don't come back...blow the docks to hell, will you?" She said with a wink, heading straight through the squad to climb into the coach.

Lawrence would be wise to scurry after her-Brian looked like -murder-, and although she was a pirate-she certainly made for better smelling company.

"Hm. Discussing the future seems a moot point, mister...?" the pirate captain said. "But fine, I'll parley."

Lawrence was concerned with that statement. Did she mean that no matter what the Governor asked for or demanded from her, she would essentially do as she wished...? Or did she mean she had no faith in getting a fair deal from Stanton? Lawrence knew his boss to be a fair negotiator, so if he made an offer, he would stick to it. But of course, Lawrence had never been part of negotiations with pirates before, and to the best of his knowledge, neither had his noble lord. Would it make a difference that the pirate did not represent a nation...? Lawrence couldn't know.

"If I don't come back," she continued, talking to her first mate. "blow the docks to hell, will you?"

Compared to his concern about her feelings that negotiation was for naught, the threat of blowing the port to smithereens hardly affected him. He wouldn't have expected anything less from her crew should anything untoward happen to her. If someone were to kill Governor Stanton, Lawrence could be certain that his Royal Marines would rampage through anything and everything even remotely related to the perpetrator of the act.

He followed the pirate to the coach, stopping short to talk quietly to the Commander of the port's protection force. "Post your Marines about the town. Leave one squad here on the docks but do not ... I repeat do not prevent or limit the movement of the pirates. We don't need an incident while their captain is in our charge. Do you understand?"

The Marine Commander understood very well. In his last assignment, he'd often had to keep a watchful eye on the crews of ships from Spain or Portugal or other nations without allowing a bit of drunken behavior or other rough housing to lead to an international incident. He confirmed his orders and, as Lawrence mounted the coach, called his Lieutenants to him. As the coach departed, his very conspicuously sent his troops off into the city, leaving the one 10 man unit on guard here, but at the far end of the docks, away from the pirate ship.



In the coach, Lawrence smiled politely to the pirate captain, asking with an apologetic tone, "Forgive me, m'lady, but I am at a loss for your name." After she introduced herself, he asked, also with a polite tone, "And is there anything I should know before I introduce you to the Governor, miss? Anything that will help you in your negotiations?"

Leah's long, leather booted legs were crossed at the knee, her slender hands resting on them, a polite nod to the messenger. "Forgivable, I've never terrorized the British, as I said. It's Leah. Just Leah, Captain of the CrossWind." She never gave her last name. She would not want her aging, priestly father to have a stroke, wherever the man currently was.

Her red lips curved into an ironic smile at the question, a brow arching as she lifted her delicate left hand, curled those fingers into a fist. "I've got a mean left hook and a temper, if he cares to tempt either."

Her wicked smile faded as she leaned forward a fraction, studying the man before her. "What sort of man is this Stanton? War hero? Admiral? Rich son of a Lord? Tell me. I haven't heard of him. And he obviously had not heard of -me-." The offense was all on the current governor, it seemed, Leah leaning back in her seat, gazing out the small window. It seemed slightly ironic, that she should be traveling in the fanciful coach, heading up for tea with a politician.

"Governor Stanton is..." Lawrence hesitated, deciding upon what parts of his lord's history to disclose. "...a bit of each of those, m'lady. He holds titles, and the accompanying lands, in both England and the occupied regions of France. He owns lands in Canada, although he hasn't been to them personally. Port Ambrosia, though..."

He hesitated. The six island archipelago -- only two of which had ports into which a ship the size of the Crosswind could sail -- had been taken from the Stanton family more than a century earlier by the French, then surrendered in succession to the Dutch and most recently the Spanish. Henry Stanton had been to Port Ambrosia twice before, once as a pre-teen traveling with his Ambassador uncle; then later as a 15 year old, with his father, who had unsuccessfully attempted to negotiate a land trade with the Spanish occupiers.

For half of his 32 years, Governor Stanton had focused his energies, time, money, and diplomatic efforts on regaining control of the islands. In the end, it had taken nearly every gold coin he owned, a midnight assassination, the burning of a commercial fleet, and a promise of marriage to secure the islands for him.

Lawrence was unsure of how much of this Henry would want shared with a pirate, even one as beautiful as this one, so he said instead, "Port Ambrosia has, legally, been the property of the Stanton family for as long as there were Europeans on it. M'lord is very pleased to be here again."

The erratic sound of the coach's wheels upon cobblestone were replaced by the very consistent sound of them passing over the wooden beams of the draw bridge. A moment later, the coach came to a stop inside the Fortress, and the footman opened the door to help the passengers out.

"Ah." Was all Leah had to comment, her lips pursing again in thought, perhaps slightly in displeasure. Great. She might very well be heading for the gallows, or, in the very least, a lecture.

His comment about Stanton owning the islands legally brought another wry smile to her lips. "That's the problem with the "legalities" of any situation-ink on paper isn't much comfort when one is barred from what's theirs." Of course, as a pirate-Leah's respect for the law was the same as her respect for dirt.

She, unlike this Stanton character, was free. She needed no law to tell her the Crosswind was hers, and any "occupying" git would find himself at the business end of her rapier. Hmph.

Leah waved the helpful man off, hopping down from the coach decisively, her eyes lifted to the grand scene before her. She had never been up here-she and Santiago conducted business in taverns and dark alleys, the former govenor in disguise or, if he had rented a block of rooms-the finery of his class.

Come to think of it, she hadn't been anywhere fancier than a protestant church in her -entire- life.

Leah didn't let that make her self conscious, however-her unfailing confidence showed in her movements, a sort of...sprinters grace to her, a power to her step. "Well?" She inquired of Lawrence, waiting to be shown the way to this supposed Governor.

Lawrence half nodded, half bowed to Leah, saying, "Of course."

The Officer who'd come out to meet the coach eyed the rapier dangling from Leah's belt, then gave the Aide a knowing look. Lawrence understood the expression, and gave a dismissing wave. "It's fine, Lieutenant."

The soldier looked very uncomfortable with allowing an unfamiliar person into the Fortress armed, but he trusted Lawrence's judgement ... or, knew the blame wouldn't be put on him if the pirate killed the newly appointed Governor. He turned and headed into the Fortress, saying politely, "This way, Miss."

They headed for Stanton -- the Lieutenant, Lawrence, Leah, and a pair of soldiers behind -- through a complex of security and confusion that began in the town and didn't end until one was literally standing in the presence of the Governor. To reach the Fortress, one had to ascend a narrow road -- as Lawrence and Leah had -- that ran allow the cliff's edge. The road ended at a sudden drop, across which a draw bridge accessed the bluff upon which the Fortress had been built. Across the bridge, one gate, then another; inside there was a long passage guarded by soldiers both in the passage and above, looking down through murder holes.

The interior of the Fortress was bleak and unwelcoming during one's entrance: gray stone, only occasionally decorated with large paintings or tapestries, many damaged to one degree or another by years, decades, centuries of sea air. After a dozen turns this way and that and both ascending and descending several stair wells, the Lieutenant paused at a tall set of solid oak doors guarded by two lance and sword armed soldiers. He glanced again between Leah's rapier and the Aide's dismissing expression, then pushed the door open wide to reveal the drawing room, the first view of culture and civilization since beginning the long walk from the court yard.

Governor Stanton was standing in the mezzanine with a small leather bound book in his hands, looking down upon the group as the Lieutenant led them in. His eyes set upon the beautiful redhead, and the expression in his face more than revealed his surprise ... and appreciation.

"Greetings, Lady Leah," he said, revealing without concern that news -- overheard during the coach ride -- travels fast within the Stanton government. He gestured toward the chairs ahead of her, saying, "Please, make yourself comfortable. Lawrence, please get our guest anything she'd like to drink, and I will be down immediately."

Henry turned and, without hurry, disappeared through a door. He descended a set of private stairs, passed through a door guarded by yet another soldier, and stepped into what they called a Spying Room. After the soldier behind him had closed the door, Stanton was in absolute darkness. He stepped to the far wall and lifted a thick cloth; through a viewing hole, he could see the pirate just ten feet from him. He ogled her for a long moment, knowing that he could not be detected from her side of the wall.

She was unbelievable, strikingly beautiful ... and a pirate? He smiled, imagining a crew of rugged, loud, obnoxious, drunken men cowering at her every order; plying the seas, pillaging merchant ships, raiding coastal villages, and all the while keeping their twitching penises at bay in the presence of such untamed erotic beauty...? Is that even possible?

In Henry's world there were only two type of women: Nobles and fair game. This Leah was unlikely to be from the nobility, although he had heard of noble men who had taken to privateering or pirating for one reason or another. But, somehow -- particularly looking at the rapier and a wrinkle in her clothing that he was sure was caused by a concealed dagger -- Henry doubted that she was fair game either; he didn't see her dropping her clothing and parting her legs on his bed simply because he was from the nobility and, as such, could do just about anything he wanted with a woman living in the lands he governed.

No, this woman was ... unique. And he couldn't wait to get to know her ... in the biblical definition of the word.

(OOC -- I left the description of him for you!)

(If you insist~)

If she had been the raiding sort, Port Ambrosia's fortress would have been an impossible mark. Even now Leah grimly thought over the chance of escape should she be captured-and dismissed the thought. There would be no escape, just a fight to her death-and so she let the turns and twists be, not bothering to remember the way she had come. And to think, she thought the rich lived in fancy homes-below decks on her -ship- would be more comfortable than this cold place.

Still, with the entirity of her crew docked and the Crosswind's cannons directed towards port, she doubted they'd be so bold to detain or kill her. Doubted, but did not -know-.

Still, she walked the halls with the small company, appearing to all the world as if she were enjoying the stroll. She was even polite enough not to notice the glance to her rapier, though Leah wouldn't have parted with it regardless.

And ah-now here were the comforts of the rich and pompous! Green flecked hazel eyes flicked to the man standing above them, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. News did travel fast.

And this...Stanton was the new governor? Interesting. He was easier on the eyes than the bulbous Santiago, blond hair and light eyes, English. He didn't appear terribly old, either-give or take five years on her own age of twenty four. If he was a man accustomed to luxury, at least he didn't appear so, a leaner build, understated muscle.

As she was bid, Leah took a seat, those long legs again crossing at the knees before she declined any refreshment. All she had now was to wait for this man to grant her audience.

Left alone, Leah remained seated for several seconds, lightly bouncing her crossed boot-before she seemingly lost patience, coming to her feet to remove the feathered Spanish hat, setting it on a side table before she moved to peer out the window, the soft sway of her hips as her heels tapped gently upon the floor before she came to a standstill, hands clasping behind her back as she took in whatever view there might have been, eyes on the sea if she could see it.

If and when he entered, she spoke without turning around, her tone businesslike. "So Santiago is no more, hm? Problem is, his coffers contained a fair share of my last bounty. Assuming -you- now possess his worldly goods, Governor-" Leah turned on her heel, her expression amicable enough. "I would have to argue the arrangement stands-a tribute paid for use of your port, and I continue to make it known Ambrosia is no place for pillaging pirates."

Her hands propped on her hips, giving him time to state his own piece.

"So Santiago is no more, hm?"

The pirate remained at the window, her back to Stanton. Many would have thought it rude -- socially inappropriate -- to address a noble, a Governor, in that way, but Henry didn't mind; his eyes were taking a walk over her shapely backside and imagining her bent over one of the cannons stationed behind the Fortress's crenelations as he availed her of his noble priveleges.

"Problem is," she continued, "his coffers contained a fair share of my last bounty. Assuming you now possess his worldly goods, Governor--"

Leah turned to face Henry, causing him to lift his gaze quickly. "I would have to argue the arrangement stands ... a tribute paid for use of your port, and I continue to make it known Ambrosia is no place for pillaging pirates."

He had, of course, given the issue of piracy a great deal of thought since first confirming that Port Ambrosia was, in fact, finally his. He'd been preparing his troops and ships to eliminate -- brutally, if necessary -- the pirate element in Port Ambrosia. He'd brought with him four ships, including a twenty four gun behemoth built for bombarding pirate coves; a Marine transport, specially armed and equipped for boarding enemy vessels; and two of the Royal Navy's quickest schooners, smaller craft with bow mounted guns and reinforced sniper's nests, made for chasing down pirate ships and striking them at their vulnerable sterns.
Now, however, Henry found himself in no hurry to see the pirates go. Or, at least ...this pirate. He gestured her back to her seat and took the one opposite it as he explained, "The Crown looks dimly on piracy, even when it isn't directed against their own ships. The King's view is that when you run out of Spanish craft to pillage, you may look in the direction of those flying the Union Jack instead."

Leah moved towards her abandoned chair, slowing as walked behind it, stopping to lean on the back of it instead, delicate hands gripping the cushioned back, her right knee bending slightly behind it, toe of her boot against wood floor.

'The Crown looks dimly on piracy,-' Here came the lecture. Leah's eyes left him in disinterest, a slight sigh as she rounded the chair and sat upon it once more, crossing her booted legs-her multicolored eyes returning as he spoke of the King's view.

"In the event I've run out of galleons to plunder, Governor Stanton, I should high think it time I retire to an honest life-" She began, pretending to look at her nails in a bored fashion-but even the -idea- of such a thing was laughable, a slight mischievous glint to her eyes as they shifted to him, an innocent, then wicked grin. "Plundering French ships."

She laughed. A pretty, belle like sound that hardly fit a pirate, even as she crassly joked like one.

"Ah, no. I'm sure you are a loyal subject-" Dog. "-but the King has little to fear from the likes of me. Should we ever be foolish enough to incite the wrath of the Royal Navy, I expect to be handled appropriately. That should be comfort enough." Leah leaned back in her seat, weighing the man before her.

"Much as he'd like me to carry a royal writ and privateer for him-I'm afraid that is just out of the question. I can no more serve the King of England than I could the boy who swabs my deck. You though-" She gestured with one of her delicate hands, the other resting on the chair's arm. "You I am at least willing to strike a deal with. Let us dock here. My men will bring a bit of coin to your taverns and market stalls, my ship will require repairs. It'll be good for your economy, the tribute good for your coffers." Leah was a hard nosed business woman, it seemed, unwilling to be driven off course for long.

"And then you needn't worry about other pirates sullying your sands or your women-I've always dealt fairly with that pig Santiago...there's no reason for you and I to be...enemies."

Henry listened to and considered her statements. She sounded sincere in her assurances that she would be no threat to the Crown. He was, of course, more concerned with her being a threat to him. There was a reason he'd traded away everything he had in England and France for this little island an ocean away from Britain. Henry Stanton had about as much interest in being a British citizen as he suspected Leah did.

When she turned to discussing the details -- which would likely involve the two of them meeting often -- he felt a bit of a twinge down below. Anything that brought this amazing woman near to him was acceptable. Having a pirate based out of Port Ambrosia...? In Leah's case ...very acceptable.

Henry stood and signalled Lawrence, standing quietly in the corner near the Lieutenant, who had insisted in remaining so long as the pirate was armed. "Inform the cook, two for dinner."

He looked to Leah and asked, "Shall we continue over a delicious meal...? I brought my personal chef, and between him and Santiago's cook, who has remained with us. Between the two of them ...you won't find a better table in the Caribbean."

(I like this man!)

Leah wondered if this were an attempt to stall. If so, she was already winning. Excellent. Much as the pirate towns off the coast of the new world thrilled her men, she had no place among the murderous, rapist rabble that so frequented them.

That, and you couldn't get a fair deal if your life depended on it.

Drumming her fingers against the arm of the chair in thought, Leah finally gave him a nod. "If you insist on dragging this out, Stanton." But she smiled pleasantly enough, rising to stand as well, expecting to be shown to a dining hall somewhere. In the very least, he was more welcoming than Santiago, and it seemed as if the previous governor's men were neither homeless nor unemployed.

"Though I have to wonder-will you really suffer a -pirate- at your table, Governor?"

Henry laughed, standing and gesturing her to join as he walked. He wasn't sure what her reaction would be to an obvious flirtation, so he waited until she was behind him before he said, "Suffer...? I don't think any man could call being in your presence suffering, Leah."

He half glanced over his shoulder as he asked, "May I call you Leah, or do you prefer ...what, Captain...? M'lady...?"

Her painted lips curved into a smile behind him, but she still felt the need to remind him just who she was all the same-even if his statement was flattering. "Oh, many men could, Stanton. They don't let just anyone captain a pirate vessel, after all."

She met his half glance with a thoughtful expression, as if...as if it wasn't asked often. "My men call me Captain. You, if you give me your name, may call me Leah." She glanced away. "I won't tell you what Santiago attempted to use, but I will mention he was scarred for it."

She considered the messenger's comment about the port being in Stanton's name legally, and thought to mention it. "I hope your taxes are fairer than his." Was what she said instead, an odd thing-because Leah should not be concerned with such a thing.

She gave the armed escort a thoughtful glance-then back to Stanton, curious.

He couldn't have known he would be dining with such an attractive guest, but he had been certain they would be dining together, so as they entered the dining hall, Henry and Leah found the table already set for two. It was his private dining room, so the settings --at opposite ends of the table -- were separated by less than ten feet; the grand dining room, which seated 80, would have been a bit to much for such a personal meal as this.

The steward met Leah at her chair, and once both of them were comfortable and their wines were poured, Henry said, "As with you, I am addressed by different names."

He listed his titles quickly, not knowing whether she would know any of the counties and cities he named. He spoke them in a matter-of-fact tone, intending her to understand that he wasn't bragging. But by the time he'd reached the eighth one, he realized that it was simply beginning to sound absurd; he slowed, then chuckled, and finished, "Here, in Port Ambrosia, they call me Governor, or m'lord ...but, if you didn't think it too presumptuous ...I would enjoy hearing you call me Henry."

He smiled and gave her a slight head nod, the best bow he could manage while sitting.

Cozier than a table full of cursing, shouting men, and more sociable than the map filled desk where she usually took her meals in the solitude of her cabin.

It was a little strange to have servants attending to her, however-the irony of it bringing a slight curve to her lips as the man poured her wine and disappeared behind her someplace. She had resolved to drink nothing, but as he began to rattle off a long list of titles-titles he wasn't boasting over, surprisingly, but no less uninteresting to her-she lifted her glass and took a long drink as if to steel herself for it. But he rattled off the last, and finally, at length, provided his name.

"Henry," She repeated with a nod as she raised her glass to him, her long fingers wrapped loosely around the sparkling cup, her pinkie lightly touching at the delicate stem. "May I introduce Captain Leah of the Crosswind-or, if you're out on the seas-that demon woman with the flashing blade." And she smiled a dazzling smile, another sip of the wine before she set the glass neatly down. It occurred to her she had left her hat in the previous room-but no matter, she knew better than to dine with it on anyway.

"And in case you were wondering-yes, I -am- aware of the lands and fiefdoms divided up in France and England-" And many of his titles were far inland, to her recollection-A mix of her map studies and having, herself, grown up in France- "but that only really makes me wonder-why here? Why Ambrosia? It's a pretty set of islands, that is true..."

"But there must be some comforts even you must do without, so far from home." It was a change in topic from her business dealings-and perhaps, rather than distracting him from what she would damn well have him agree to in the end-Leah really was curious, and wanted to know more about this English governor.

"Why Ambrosia...?" He lifted his wine glass to his lips, more for the delay in answering than for the taste of the thick, red liquid. He considered his answer carefully; he hadn't been expecting the question, although now he questioned why he hadn't.

Port Ambrosia -- as well as the five isles that filled out the Archipelago -- had, of course, been in his family until a century earlier, but they hadn't simply been British possessions. Unlike most of the island territories flying the Union Jack, Port Ambrosia had been personally owned by Henry's ancestor; it was Henry's great, great grandfather -- a loyal British privateer -- who had sailed two heavy cruisers into the harbor, bombarding it indiscriminately, while a division of crack troops -- landed the day before on the far side of the island -- flooded down into the city, massacring the German occupiers of the day.

In return for his stunning victory, Count Stanton became Earl Stanton and governor of Ambrosia. A financial and political deal had been struck with the Crown such that the Royal Navy and all British commercial ships were welcome in the port without question or need for permission. Resupply was offered at half cost to the British vessels, a financial loss more than made up by the high prices the individual sailors paid at the taverns, brothels, and other establishments that interested them.

The arrangement went well for the House of Stanton, until the political climate in Europe shifted. The British were seeking peace with the French after a series of costly defeats, and overnight the Royal Navy ships that frequented -- and supported -- Port Ambrosia simply disappeared. One dark, moonless night, a French fleet of six ships slipped into the harbor and shelled the town into submission, and the next morning the Union Jack had been replaced with the French Tricolour.

Five decades of Stanton rule came to an end in blood and tears. The Earl of the day, Henry's great grandfather, was executed as were his two eldest son's. Henry's grandfather -- the youngest of the Stanton men -- and the rest of the family were tossed aboard a French schooner to spend the next four months bouncing between ports until they -- those who survived, anyway -- finally reached England and restarted their lives on the estate of yet another branch of the Stanton family.

For a century, all the family ever talked about was returning to Port Ambrosia. Henry got the chance finally, when he was 10, when his uncle -- supposedly a British Ambassador but little more than a spy -- took the boy on a year long adventure throughout the Caribbean and ports of America. Henry, filled with stories of Port Ambrosia, had fallen in love with the island and spent the next five years orchestrating his return. As his uncle had, he'd come to the island as something more than he seemed; officially, he was a Midshipmen aboard a Royal Navy schooner on a goodwill mission, but unofficially, Henry was a spy ... for Britain, but more than that, for the Stanton family.

He spent the fifteen days it took to perform resupply and repair of the schooner investigating every square inch of the island. His interest was seen as little more than that of a young man on adventure. This cover story was only strengthened by the fifteen nights he spent in the beds of young noble women, village girls, and whores; just more adventure, it was called.

In reality, though, Henry was mapping the island in his mind, memorizing its strengths and weaknesses, strategizing how troops and guns could best be used to take control. In the end, however, not a drop of blood would be spilled here, in Ambrosia, to bring the archipelago back into his family. No, the lives lost would be lost elsewhere, unlike the night the Stantons had lost the islands.

Henry lowered his wine to the table as he eyed Leah for a long moment. He wanted this woman; he'd wanted her from the moment he'd looked down upon her from the mezzanine. To answer her question fully would mean explaining a great many things: that Santiago had run afoul of the Spanish government and was too be replaced anyway; that the destruction of a Spanish merchant fleet -- Henry's doing -- off the coast of Africa made Port Ambrosia irrelevant to the Spanish; that the Spanish Crown had made a deal with a Dutch nobleman to trade the islands to him, upon the man's marriage to a Spanish Princess, in exchange for control over an Indian Ocean port; and that after Henry had had the Dutchman assassinated and made his own deal with the Spanish, he had paid a fortune to bribe the right people and that he himself was now slated to marry the Spanish noble woman.

Henry had no interest in telling Leah that he was betrothed. He didn't know what his chances were of ever parting this woman's thighs were, but he was certain that they would be worsened by telling her that he'd be laying with another woman when she arrived in just six months time.

"Port Ambrosia had been a Stanton family possession a century ago," he finally said, being truthful but concealing so much. "It has taken me most of my life to reclaim the islands--" He stared down at his food, poking at a piece of tender beef with a knife before looking back up at her with a feigned smile. "It has taken me ... well, just about everything I have, to reclaim the islands. I ... intend to make the most of my investment."

His eyes dropped for a brief moment to her plentiful bosom, and he looked up quickly to her eyes again. He hadn't consciously meant to ogle her at the same moment that he spoke of making the most of his islands and what -- or who -- were on them. Subconsciously, he had of course meant exactly that.

He chuckled quickly, looking down to his food again. He was a bit embarrassed as he said, "It's rather ironic that that archipelago originally came to my family through what most would call an act of piracy ... and here I am ... a century and a half later ... having dinner with a pirate."

He chuckled again, and returned to eating his food ... and he stared directly into Leah's mesmerizing eyes, asking, "And you...? What brings you to ... to my beautiful island?"

Perhaps to embarrass him most in retaliation for his oogling-Leah winked at him when his eyes came up-and laughed that pretty belle laugh when he turned his gaze to his plate once more. She was -crass- at times!

Then again, perhaps a threat and insult wouldn't have chastised him -enough-.

His talk of family piracy interested her, a raised brow. Perhaps this noblemen didn't come from a line of stuffy old codgers after all. She watched him a moment, her hazel eyes seeming green in the lighting as he asked his question-and Leah leaned back, considering.

"Like you, I've spent a lifetime working towards a goal. When I first set foot on a boat, I was disguised as a boy, and I swabbed decks until my hands were raw." Her own plate was mostly untouched, her wine glass nearly empty as her eyes shifted to her beautiful, delicate hands, her tapered fingers-remembering.

Leah, the bastard daughter of a priest, had been placed in a convent when her destitute mother had passed away. Unable to speak the language, alone and more than a little bitter about it, she had run off, cut her hair to disguise herself as a boy, and worked on various ships, learning from the pirates who worked them, promoted and, at times-changing ships and getting bigger and bigger jobs by lying-if a Captain asked for a navigator, Leah claimed she was one, and pumped her previous crew's navigator for all he knew, studying all hours of the night. Eventually, she could hardly conceal her femininity-but she still managed to serve as first mate to an aging, wily pirate who needed an heir, crazed enough to not care if she were male or female. His crew had feared him, and through that fear-Leah was safe from prying eyes and hands, if only a little while.

"I am not a stranger to politics, Henry. It takes charisma, cunning..." She still remembered the battle that had ensued on his death-three quarters of the men would not suffer a -woman- leading them, would rather have her under them than barking orders from the helm-and she and the few loyal men had cut them down in a bloody slaughter that had the survivors begging for mercy. Mercy, Leah thought grimly, she had not granted.

"...and no small amount of heartlessness to become a Captain. Purchase a vessel, amass a crew-and forever fear their mutiny. -Take- a vessel, write your name in blood-well. Those who fought with you never forget it, and those who fought against you become trivial."

She leaned forward in her seat again, eyes intent upon him. "You cannot understand how precarious my position -is-, a woman in charge of men. I've earned it, I'll die before I relinquish it-but every action I take, every decision is held up and inspected for -weakness-. As for Ambrosia..." Leah sighed. She did indeed find the port and surrounding islands beautiful.

"There is no honor among thieves, Henry. My crew is loyal, my men obedient-but if I sail into a Pirate's port I paint a target on my back, on the backs of my men. I have...a strong distaste for my supposed comrades in those places. They raid innocent towns, they rape women, they slaughter simple merchants, farmers and villagers just trying to eek out a living. Were I not so good with my sword, I do not doubt their "respect" and their "loyalty" would wash away into nothing, and I'd find myself in chains or murdered by a smiling, toothless dog." She shook her head. "Better to come to a "civilized" port and bypass such problems altogether. I keep my men sated knocking over the rich vessals that brave the waters, and I keep my reputation alive by occasionally sending a ruthless pirate to a watery grave."

Leah finished her wine, an amused smile. "I've been a captain since I was seventeen. Some things get easier-others, so much harder. Ambrosia has become a place to rest for a few days. Should you reject my offer-I will find another port, perhaps with another pig like Santiago in charge."

The firelight reflected in her dark red hair, the green flecks in her hazel eyes highlighted, her gaze shifting to him, a flicker of excitement. "I relish my freedoms, the capacity for change my life entails."

Henry listened intently to Leah's story, and in his mind's eye -- remembering the way he had so very much controlled his own upbringing -- could envision her standing in the wheel house of a pirate ship barking out orders to a dozen or two rough men as their boat cut through the waters, pursuing their quarry.

When she finished, he simply stared at her in silence for a long moment, a smile spreading slowly upon his lips. She emptied her wine glass and the steward behind her began to move forward to refill it. The steward caught sight of Henry's gaze upon him and, at his lord's slight head shake, then waving gesture, bowed respectfully and left, directing the other servants to follow. Henry looked to the Lieutenant, telling him, "Give us the room, please."

The soldier hesitated, uncomfortable with the order. But, seeing the Governor's insistent expression, he complied and, as with the steward before him, took along his men as well.

When the door closed, Henry stood and, with his wine glass in hand, walked to the other end of the table and stood above Leah. He refilled her glass from the carafe, then filled his own. "I sent them out because ... simply put, I can't be seen giving aid or allowance to someone of your ilk. However..."

He held his glass out before him, saying, "To a fruitful future for all."

It was a vague toast, promising nothing but opening vast possibilities.

They were alone.

Leah watched Henry as the soldier filed out, the Governor moving to her end of the table and, to her surprise, filled her glass. He was a strange man, to serve a pirate himself.

Her fingers caught the cup, rising to stand slowly, a considering look as he made his toast. "The skies clear and our beds dry." She added softly, touching her glass to his before she took a sip, still watching him over the lip of it.

The fire crackled, and Leah set her glass down once more.

"I was sure I had this in hand, but now I begin to wonder." She said with a wry smile curving her red lips, those multicolored eyes settling on him.

"The skies clear and our beds dry."

The mention of bed made Henry's penis twitch and begin coming to life ... more than it occasionally already had been.

"I was sure I had this in hand," Leah said, "but now I begin to wonder."

Henry raised his glass to his lips ... stalling. He was trying to decide whether she referring to their discussion over the future professional relationship they knew they would have ... or the future personal relationship he hoped they would have.

"Perhaps..." he began, cautiously, knowing he couldn't allow the possibility of the latter to escape him, "...you would like to sleep in a bed that doesn't rock with the swells tonight."

He knew that sounded like a proposition, so he glanced about him and added, "Santiago's former home is a big place. I'm sure we can find a comfortable bed for you to curl up in ... assuming you can indeed sleep when the world about you isn't in constant motion."

Get her stay ... get her closer ... get her into your arms ... get her into your bed ... take it slow ... or risk either missing this chance ... or worse, getting your nuts cut off while you sleep.

He couldn't help but chuckle at his last thought, and quickly -- to cover his unspoken thoughts -- said, "It's the least I can offer ... considering the future we are embarking upon."

"Perhaps you'd like to sleep in one that does." If that was an innocent comment, he was the King of England-and all it took was a glance to Leah's mischievous eyes to tell him it wasn't.

Those red lips were curved into a wicked smile, one that flattered her face exceedingly well. "Thank you for dinner, Henry, but I'd best get back to my men. They were, after all, convinced I was wandering off towards my death."

She turned just slightly, still facing him, a nod towards the door they had entered through. "I've left my hat in your study." She mentioned, brows lifted in question. "Shall we retrieve it?" And she'd turn to go, down the hall and into the room, walking with that sensual grace she possessed.

The red feathered hat was retrieved and placed back upon her head, the pirate turning to him again. "I'll return in a month or two. If I'm not met with cannon fire, that is."

"Perhaps you'd like to sleep in one that does," she responded with a wicked smile.

Henry only returned her smile, remembering how horribly ill he'd been the first few days of each return to the sea as a young man ... and even on this recent trip as an adult. He wondered, If you make love in a hammock, do you notice the rock of the sea, or just the rock of bodies...?

"Thank you for dinner, Henry," she continued, "but I'd best get back to my men. They were, after all, convinced I was wandering off towards my death."

He couldn't help but wonder whether men from her boat had followed the coach up the hill, trying to see whether she exited it of her own free will or in shackles. He'd been told of her order to shell the town should she be a victim of foul play, and the fact that he hadn't heard cannon fire told him that her men at least assumed she was still healthy and breathing.

They headed back into drawing room, where Henry called Lawrence and the Lieutenant back, giving them instructions to escort her back to her ship. He added, "Should Captain Leah allow it, tell the owner of the Black Snort tavern that drinks are on me for the evening."

"I'll return in a month or two," Leah announced. "If I'm not met with cannon fire, that is."

"I assure you," Henry said, stepping up to her and, without even a by your leave, took her hand and kissed it on its back. "No harm shall come to the Crosswind, her crew, or her Captain until we have had an opportunity to discuss our future together."

(OOC -- If she is finished, she can go. But if there is more, go for it.)