Moonlight & Voodoo: a Pirate Love Story (closed)

[Maka]

Being a TREW HISTORY of the ACTIONS and ADVENTURES of the most Notorious Pyrate CALICO JACK RACKHAM and the Female Pyrates ANNE BONNY and MARY READ; of his most SHAMEFUL SEDUCTION and RAVISHING of the former and of the DISGRACEFUL, WANTON and UNWOMANLY CONDUCT of the latter.


The muffled oars of the ship's boat cut noiselessly through the moonlit waters of the bay. It was a fine, still night with a smuggler's moon riding up high above the jungle-clad hills of Barbados. A warm breeze blew down from those hills, carrying with it the heady, enticing aromas of the tropics; orchids, spices, musks -a smell to quicken the blood and stir the sinews.

Six men sat in the boat, dressed in outlandish fashions, all with a brace or more of pistols slung around their shoulders and sabres or long knives belted at their sides. Even had they not been bristling with weapons, they would have presented a fearsome sight to any observer, for they were scarred, fierce men, each presenting an aura of danger and ferocity as potent and menacing as any wild beast. As they rowed, they cursed at and joked with their companions, showing their teeth and growling in an instinctive, habitual display. They were used to a life where the meek and the humble did not prosper.

But one man, sitting in the prow and taking no turn at the oars, remained above this conflict. Indeed, for all their aggressive banter, whenever his eye fell on one of the others, they seemed to cringe and bow their heads subserviently, animals recognising one with greater strength, greater cunning, and greater will than any of them.

He was a tall, lean man with the lithe, powerful muscles of a great jungle cat. Years of hard labour under the blazing tropical sun had tanned his skin deeply while bleaching blond-white streaks in his hair and the stubble of his close-cut beard. His eyes were the deep, clear blue of the Caribbean, and like those waters they could turn stormily intense with shocking speed, as capable of passionate love as they were furious rage. An enigmatic half-smile was never far from his face, but it did not have the effect of softening it -rather, it only intensified the challenge represented by those high, well-defined cheekbones and brooding eyes. He was dressed in soft mariner's trousers and one of the calico shirts that give him his nickname; his head was wrapped in a bandanna.

One could understand at a glance the respect and even fear his men held him in. It went beyond the obvious strength and speed of his body, or the danger represented by the bandolier of pistols worn carelessly over one shoulder, the captain's sword at his side. Other men were strong; other men were fast; other men bore arms. But none of them were him. Men -even the hardy, strong-willed breed of the Caribbean, found themselves bowing in his presence, obeying his commands almost instinctively. And women would fan themselves and bite their lips under his blue-eyed scrutiny, conscious of buckling knees and a rush of liquid heat through their body as their gaze travelled up and down his sculpted form, as they met his coolly mocking, challenging gaze.

He could set a straight course for his ship through a tropical hurricane, fight like the Devil himself in a brawl, hit a gull on the wing from fifty paces with a pistol shot, and reduce the most hardened, jaded Nassau whore to a state of delirious, panting and devoted exhaustion with pleasure. He was Calico Jack Rackham and tonight he raided the mansion of James Bonny, the governor of Barbados.


"I've heard she's a beauty," said Varney, pulling at his oar. He was an ugly, redhaired man, his face marked with the pox. "The governor's daughter, I mean. That Anne Bonny. They say she's willful, mind, but the comeliest young wench from here to Port Royal, all the same. Wouldn't mind finding her while we're here. Bet she wouldn't be so willful after a taste of pirate cock."

"No."

Varney started. It was the captain who had spoken, from his seat in the prow.

"We're here for the governor's treasure, that's it. We take what we came for, we leave. The rules are the same here as when we take a ship: we kill no one we don't have to, we don't torture and we don't hurt womenfolk."

Varney knew better than to protest. There were captains who permitted more license in such matters: blackhearted Charlie Vane; Ned Low; the infamous Blackbeard. But Calico Jack enforced his own code with iron rigour.

The boat crept closer to its destination -the private governor's dock. Govenor James Bonny had built his manor some distance outside the town. It looked like an English country house with its high, black and white timber frames, its expansive wings and leaded pane windows. Only the jungle all around it disrupted the illusion. Jack was the first out of the boat, and helped tie it up at the jetty.

The governor and his household should be sleeping. Jack had left a crew of his most reliable men on his ship the Adventure, anchored outside the bay, among them Martin Read. If all went to plan, the whole operation would be over and done with within a couple of hours.

Jack's half-smile turned into a swashbuckling grin. Since when had pirate life ever gone to plan?

 

[BlindKitsune]

In which the plantation home of the Illustrious JAMES BONNY, the GOVERNOR of BARBADOS falls under the threat of a NOCTURNAL VISIT from a Notorious Pyrate and his misbegotten cohorts.

The home of James Bonny was a stately mansion built in a style better suited to the rolling downs of Cumbria than the sun-drenched Caribbean, but that was part and parcel of being His Britannic Majesty's Governor of Barbados; creating an island of Englishness here on the far side of the world. Gentlemen or nobility calling on His Excellency would be greeted by a bluff older man in his fifties wearing fashionable court dress, a powdered white wig and having a remarkable grasp of the latest London bon mots despite his apparent isolation.

If invited to dinner they would be treated to a slow roast with fine disregard for the sweltering climate. This mania for Englishness extended to the manicured lawns surrounding his manor, the liveried footmen and of course his daughter Anne. After his eldest daughter was wed to a landed lordly son, James' wife decided that she must immediately remove herself home to England for reasons of her health. She had intended to take Anne with her as well, but on that James had put his foot down and Elizabeth Bonny had yet to try to push the issue.

No one seeing Anne could seriously think her to be ailing from the tropical climate. Here was one English flower who had survived being the ocean journey only to thrive in her new home; her long silken hair fell all the way down her back when not put up, in a liquid flow of burnished copper. Each night her maid brushed it a thousand times to maintain its sheen, while her young mistress sat lost in her thoughts, regarding herself through hazel eyes flecked with gold and dreaming her girlish dreams. Each morning she sat reluctantly at her lessons, but come the mid-day heat everyone in the Governor's mansion laid down for siesta until the killing heat passed with the breeze sweeping in off the sea - or at least all the authority figures did. The day was far too short to spent so many hours asleep, or at least that was her view!

Instead she put on her plainest dress (one she'd swiped from the servants' wash and kept hidden in her bedchamber) and stole across the grass, between the magnolia bushes and along the coastal path into Barbados itself, masquerading as a servant girl with her hair kept under a cap. And so long as she returned to the house before she was supposed to awaken again and kept her adventures to herself, nobody knew a thing.

That particular night Anne was sleeping peacefully in her bed behind lacy drapes to keep the bugs away - her maid lying on her cot at its foot to keep any of the local bucks with aspirations away as well. Outside the mansion were a dozen redcoats on night duty patrolling around the main structure with their guns at the ready, while the others rested in their barracks down by the Governor's private docks and warehouse. At the end of the walkway a schooner rode at anchor, and on its stern a sailor hoisted his lantern high, peering doubtfully out into the dark waters of the bay. Was that a boat? He watched for a few moments longer then decided he was overtired, his mind playing tricks on him again.

 

[Maka]

Black Jonah Smith had carefully retrieved his ox-tail charm from a coat pocket and was making a series of ritual motions with it as the boat came to shore.

"Don't see why you trouble yourself with all that hoodoo superstition," Varney grumbled, still smarting from Jack's reprimand. "I know them Dahomey slaves still worship their devil-gods, but you ain't one of them Africans. You speak English, you were brought up over here -why, you're practically a white man yourself!"

"You're too kind," murmured Black Jonah, slipping his garde back into his pocket. Varney nodded seriously, entirely missing the other man's irony.

Jack, watching thoughtfully, did not comment. He didn't know that he believed in voodoo, loa, ghosts, and witchcraft. But he'd seen many strange things across the Caribbean. And he knew something for sure -not a man in his crew didn't fear the curse of a bocor, not even Varney, for all his bluster. What men believed was one thing, what they feared quite another. He'd seen a thirty gun ship surrender to a little ten gun sloop -because the men aboard the bigger ship had feared the black flag the sloop flew, feared the men aboard as they would the Devil because they bore the name 'pirate'. In that sense, at least, voodoo was as real as piracy itself.

The men crept along the jetty. Jack had taken the precaution of obtain a map of Bonny's mansion, drawn by a disgruntled former servant that Read had found in the drinking houses of Barbados some days earlier. Here was the governor's bedroom, here was Mistress Anne's room... Jack noted the occupants of each room from the mullioned windows on the outside of the house as they approached.

His eye dwelt on Anne's window speculatively for a moment. Like Varney, he'd heard stories while gathering information in Barbados. The serving man had been particularly forthcoming regarding the daughter of his former master. It appeared that he owed his dismissal to what Governor Bonny felt were his lecherous and overheated looks at Anne. Given the man's drooling descriptions of Anne's pert derriere, snug in riding breeches as she sat a horse; her smooth red hair; her slender shoulders; her flawless creamy skin and sumptuous breasts, it was hard for a fair-minded listener to feel that Bonny's concerns could have been entirely baseless. The serving man, whatever his other flaws, had been quite a painter with words and he'd aroused both curiosity and other things in Jack. A virile man with more than the common man's share of appetite, Jack had been at sea for the past two months, surrounded only by his fellow men. It was one of the few things about the pirate life that did not match his tastes.

But he let his gaze regretfully travel on. He was here for other treasures than the beauty that lay slumbering sweetly behind that window.

Part of the Governor's duty involved collecting the excise duties on all trading ships that sailed into Barbados harbour. It all sat in a strongbox in his bedchamber, at the very foot of his bed, awaiting its return to England and King George. At present, just a few weeks before the Navy frigate arrived at Barbados to take it back, the sum within amounted to thousands of pounds. And Jack intended to steal it all.

Their helpful informant had also given Jack an account of the redcoat patrols. Hiding among the magnolias, Jack and his men waited patiently for the musket-toting guards to pass by, standing stiff and erect and looking straight ahead, as they'd been taught to on the drillyard. Jack had to shake his head in amusement. Respectable men made the worst guards. If he ever owned a great mansion, he'd hire canny thieves to watch his gold and his possessions.

The patrol gone on their way, Jack led the charge across the lawn. The door was barred, of course, but above it Governor Bonny's bedroom window was open to the cool night air. Jack uncoiled the rope wound around his waist, and hefted the grapnel in his hands. It was used for boarding ships, but it made an impeccable climbing tool as well. It landed with a barely audible clink on the windowsill, and dug into the timber when Jack gave it a sharp tug. He tested it, putting most of his weight on it, and nodded approvingly when the line went taut. The grapnel was dug in.

Now, looking about him, he had a difficulty. Five men would be needed to handle the heavy strongbox and lower it out the window -one man would be needed to keep watch outside, in case the redcoats returned unexpectedly. It was a job that called for a levelheaded man not prone to panic. He had been planning on assigning Black Jonah to the task.

But Varney's remarks on the boat had been preying on him. A door connected the Governor's bedroom to that of Mistress Anne -a precaution against ardent nightime visitors that the serving man had been particularly bitter about. Varney knew it as well -he had been there when the man had been irately discussing this fact. Once inside the Governor's room, Jack did not think that anything could restrain the man from crossing over to Anne's room, there with the intent of forcing his own repellent gallantries upon her. And that, for reasons both moral and practical, Jack could not permit.

So instead, he ordered Varney in a whisper to stay below the window, and he and the other five swarmed up the rope. Used to climbing the sheets and shrouds of their vessel at the height of the great storms, they moved as effortlessly and silently as ghosts in the moonlight.


***

"I couldn't swear to seeing anything, sir," the sailor said. "But afterwards, it preyed on me, like."

"No, you did the right thing coming to me," the British captain said, stifling a yawn. He hardly felt so, being rousted out of bed at this unearthly hour, but Lord knew that the Governor was a worrier, and never more so since his virgin daughter had reached her present nubile state. If he learned that a subordinate had ignored a report like this, the consequences would not be pleasant.

"Rouse the men," the captain told his aide. "We'll do a sweep of the grounds and the docks."


***

Under his mosquito net in the grand four-poster bed, His Britannic Majesty's Governor of Barbados James Bonny was snoring soundly, his wig on a stand nearby. The moonlight illuminated the room, casting a shimmering chiaroscuro net of silver light and shades across every detail. A couple of the pirates cast amused glances at him as they clambered in through the window. They were used to sleeping in rocking hammocks amidst the creak and swell and tilt of a ship; to sleeping on piles of hides or on the splintery deck or on rocky, sandy wet ground. At this point, their hard muscles would revolt against the softness and luxury of the Governor's featherbed.

The ironbound strongbox lay at the foot of the bed, where the Governor evidently thought it would remain safe. Using gestures and low whispers, Jack organised the men into wrapping it in a sling. While they were busy, his eyes strayed to the far door of the room.

Anne Bonny. Said to be beautiful as the sea itself. What kind of man would stand within twenty feet of such a young woman, and not wish to verify the rumours for himself? He was not Varney. He would not molest her. He just wished to look at her sleeping face, to see if it was truly as lovely as they said. His kind did not often mix with governors and their daughters, after all. Who knew when he'd ever have another opportunity.

Raising his hand, he gestured for the men to hold for a moment, then slipped in through the door to the bedchamber of Mistress Anne Bonny.


***

Varney had seen the company of redcoats coming -spotted them at the same time they spotted him. He could have given the alarm, maybe given the captain and the others time to make escape. But he'd be facing the hempen jig no matter what. And what had damned Calico Jack Rackham, with his airs and graces, ever done to deserve that kind of loyalty from poor old Varney?

Instead, Varney gestured at the approaching soldiers, urgently enforcing silence upon them.

"They're up there!" he whispered as the captain came within earshot. "They're up there, a-plundering of the Governor's things! I'm just a forced man -they made me turn pirate! I'll lead you to 'em. Just spare me the noose, that's all I ask."


***

The chamber beyond was unmistakably that of a woman. It was not just the playful elegance with which it was decorated, the lacy softness to its furnishings. It was the subtle, sweet scent that clung to the place -fresh and clean and yet laced with something warmly spicy, like the hint of mischief in a demure girl's eye. The aroma of a beautiful young woman. Jack breathed it in greedily, letting it fill his head with pleasant visions for a moment. It was so different from the smells of tar and salt, of burning pitch and masculine sweat and coppery blood, the oxygen of a pirate's existence.

Moving soundlessly, he crossed the floor, glancing without interest at the maid sleeping in her cot as he passed by. All of his senses thrilled and tingled to see the face of the sleeper in that bed. He drew back the lacy curtains. Behind them, Anne Bonny, dressed in a wispy white nightgown was lying on silken sheets. In the heat, she had kicked up the skirt of the gown, revealing a delectable length of smooth leg but it was her face that took Jack's breath away. It was a piquant, beautiful face that seemed to glow with its own soft inner light in the moonlight spilling through the window. She could have been a slumbering angel lying there, or a carved Madonna, but for that certain upward curve her full lips had, even in sleep -a half-smile that hinted at mischief, adventure and defiance of all dull earthly law, a smile that, had Jack known it, in some ways mirrored his own at that moment. A spill of rich auburn hair, like a dark halo, framed that delicately lovely face.

With Jack, to think was to act. In just a moment, he had leant over and softly kissed Anne Bonny's lips, relishing their sweetness, their warmth, relishing even the unbearable brevity of the moment. Then his seaman's clasp knife was out and he had cut from the sleeping girl's hair a lock of her hair, so swiftly and carefully that she did not even stir. It felt so silky and smooth in his hands. He smiled to himself as he put the lock away in a pocket of his calico shirt. If he was ever tempted to think of this whole hypnotic beautiful interlude as nothing but the dream of a man too long at sea, he'd have its proof in his pocket, a charm like Black Jonah's garde.

He stretched, and his thoughts regretfully returned to the business awaiting him in the other room. But could he... ?

His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the far room, followed by bursts of musket fire. They had been discovered.

 

[BlindKitsune]

When not 'putting on the pretty' for visiting Englishmen, James Bonny was a different, cannier man and an able Governor for the unruly colony of Barbados. Despite making his residence far enough from the main settlement to avoid the stink of its unwashed citizenry, he maintained a firm grip on its doings through his agents and made a practice of promoting any man who showed initiative in his service to a position of responsibility.

No wonder then that Captain Mercer was so swift to act on the night watching sailor's report. While he dreaded the tongue lashing he might receive if he woke the Governor unnecessarily, if it was learned that he'd ignored a possible threat to James Bonny and his daughter he could expect to be drummed back to an ordinary private - or worse if it was real. On the other hand if there was something awry and he managed to stop it, anything was possible! He set dozens of men scattering across the grounds in parties of six, and after a small boat was found drawn up on the sandy beach he led a large body directly toward the house. Who had come ashore, and what could they want? Surely nothing from the servants quarters or the slaves, which had to mean that regardless of whether the miscreants' goal was soft flesh or fabulous lucre, it lay in the Governor's house itself!

The moment they saw him lurking in the shadow of the Governor's window, he could tell that the ill-favored Irishman was up to no good. The Captain took his protestations of innocence with whole ladlefuls of salt but deferred putting him in irons until after he was done selling out his ship-mates.

Treachery begets treachery, and Mercer was in no mind to allow the undoubted pirate to slope off without due punishment - but he had to keep him quiet. "Right men, twenty of you stay here to make sure the pirates don't slip out this way," he whispered. "Make sure this good man stays safe and doesn't wander off before we can prove the brigands are here and see to his reward. The rest of you, with me!" As some men clustered at the foot of the grapnels, others spread out and took aim at the windows on the second floor. The captain led his men in a hurried rush in through the kitchens and up the stairs, heading for the Governor's bedroom.

***

In the gentle silky warmth of her boudoir, Anne Bonny dreamt of the same thing that had been plaguing her thoughts for months now; a man. Not just any man; a god among men, a veritable paragon! She'd seen him back in March when she went down to the Barbados docks to moon over the sailors there among scads of off-duty servants. There was just something so... rugged about their muscled bodies, tanned from days and weeks spent stripped to the waist on the decks of mighty vessels sailing the Spanish Main. In that she was no different to the maids around her; more beautiful perhaps, better fed and with flawless creamy skin that spoke of the upper classes, but she hid that - and many of her more overt charms - under her domestic gown, as well as she could. That day though, he came; a man with dark hair and piercing grey eyes, a richly appointed merchant she'd heard, who'd come aboard one of his trading vessels to spread pounds and charm in equal measure about the colony!

She swore he had looked at her there among the others, but when he started walking closer he had been waylaid by a pair of the local Barbados nightflowers, and she had fled in his moment of distraction. But though she had avoided his attentions that day, he seemed to have captured her imagination and she had spent many a night tossing and turning, imagining what might have come to pass had she waited for him, allowed him to pay court to her without all the issues of her station and her father and his expectations between them; simply the chambermaid Annie. Would he have gotten down on one knee and proposed? Where would they have been wed? And what would have happened afterwards, when he took her to their marriage bed for the first time? She could only imagine, and her girlish imagination caught fire as she tried. Though... truth be known, though she stubbornly turned her mind to the look he'd thrown in her general direction night after night, the lack of any real fuel meant that her fantasy fires were beginning to dim, leaving her dreams grey and pallid.

There was something different about her dreams tonight though. Sleeping lightly atop her sheets, she was unaware of the whisper of her curtains being drawn back. Yet her body tightened subtly, and the man in her dreams leaned closer to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, then feathered a soft warm kiss to her lips, faintly spiced with something indefinably masculine. Still caught in dream's tender embrace, Anne turned to one side and offered her imaginary husband a warm, welcoming smile... then slipped into a deeper slumber. She was largely oblivious to her visitor, his knife and the lock he stole away - and that likely would have been the end of the matter for Anne, save for the extra warmth breathed into a lingering fantasy and a lingering taste of something different, something that called to her.

But things were about to take a turn for the worse for Calico Jack, and both their lives would change forever.

***

Captain Mercer had run through the house with his sword drawn, expecting any minute to confront a pack of filthy pirates looting or molesting the servants but they all seemed peacefully asleep. When they finally reached the door to the Governor's bedroom, he flung it wide and peered in at the scene of pirates caught in mid-heist, the heavy strongbox wrapped in a sling over by the open window, three pirates busily trying to heft it over the sill. The fourth was a large black-skinned man in the midst of looking toward the closed dividing door and (fired by years of admiring her development from afar) Mercer lunged forward to protect Miss Bonny's virtue. "With me, men!" he shouted. "Seize the pirate scum!" Behind him redcoats poured through the doorway, running towards the trio with the strongbox and protecting the sleepy-eyed Governor sitting bolt upright in his bed to find his room filled with fighting.

One pirate started to climb out the window, then leaped back as the redcoats outside started firing at him. The others were fighting back and forth before the window, while the tall African and Captain Mercer fought up close, sword crossed with cutlass before the side door. "Stay the hell away from her," Mercer spat. "Filth like you all deserve the short drop!" The African pirate actually seemed surprised by this, and threw the door another look before beginning to retreat towards the others.

***

Anne Bonny started awake at the sound of the shouting; it seemed like there were half a dozen men just next door in Papa's room, arguing and- was that fighting? She sat up quickly, looked instinctively toward the dividing door and started when she saw a man standing in the shadows of her bedchamber. For a long moment she simply stared then inhaled deeply, chest heaving in her wispy nightgown. But Jack moved swiftly; an instant before she could scream, he was kneeling on her bed with his hand clamped firmly across her mouth, her furious hazel eyes met with his own.

 

[Maka]

Jack gave a low, blistering curse as he lunged forward, placing a hand over Anne's mouth. Her hazel eyes sparked furious fire and she struggled against him with all of the force that her slim body possessed, but Jack's corded muscles had been hardened into iron from the unending labour of shiplife -she might as well have tried to push the Adventure herself off course. But even so, the girl was slippery as an eel and she put up a fight that would have done credit to one of Jack's piratical shipmates. The distracting softness and smoothness of her skin, the fresh, womanly lilac scent of her hair and body, the pressure of her firm, ample breasts against his chest -these didn't help either. Jack was irresistibly reminded of how long it had been since he'd had a woman -and he didn't think he'd ever had a woman who could bring this kind of athletic, virago dynamism to bear, whether to a fight or a bed. This was a gently bred young lady, but she was more of a spitfire than any Port Royal tavern wench.

But he had locked her in place, a hand on her mouth when the maid sat bolt upright in her cot, screaming loud enough to wake all the devils in Hell.

"Mistress! Mistress! Oh Lord, he's got the mistress!"


***


To his surprise, Mercer found his African opponent meeting him swordstroke for swordstroke. The man was surely nothing but some runaway plantation slave, yet he was able to meet an officer of the British army, trained in the finest school of swordsmanship in Europe, in single combat. It frustrated Mercer, although what truly made his blood boil was the single glance the black man cast towards Mistress Anne's room. No doubt he was seething with bestial lust for the virginal young beauty beyond.

Mercer had long harboured an admiration for the young lady that he was uneasily aware went beyond the respect that was due her sex and her station. He found himself thinking of her at odd hours of day and night -of the supple young body that even crinoline and corsets could not entirely hide, of the delicate loveliness of her elfin face, of... of things that a well-bred officer should not dwell upon, things that the heat and jungle odours and lax, louche spirit of these distant colonies brought unbidden into his brain.

He redoubled the onslaught on the African pirate and was gratified to drive him back, step by step, to the window, where the man's massive frame was outlined perfectly.

Down below, one of the men guarding Varney saw his opportunity, sighted down his musket, and fired.

The explosion tore through the night. Mercer smiled triumphantly but then his jaw dropped open in disbelief. The black man still stood there, completely unharmed, while below, the redcoat stared at the shattered, red-hot barrel of his gun -the bullet had exploded in the firing chamber.

The black man grinned, his teeth brilliant white in the moonlight.

"Don't you know, man? Papa Legba protects me tonight."


***


It was far from gentlemanly, but the lives of Calico Jack and his men were at stake. His hand left Anne's mouth and grasped her slender wrists, pulling her hands behind her back. He pulled her out of bed, effortlessly lifting her as though she weighed no more than a feather, and put his catch-knife to the pulsing, delicate hollow of her throat, standing behind her.

Her subtle fragrance was all the more overpoweringly attractive at this proximity and her body, only wispy silk covering its nudity, felt good against him. He was wonderfully aware of the gentle swell of her derriere pressed so tightly against his groin, of her silky hair below his chin.

"I do beg your pardon, madame," he said, his voice wry and sardonic but the regret sincere. "I'm well aware that my manner lacks polish."

He smiled at the horrified maid, then advanced to the door and kicked it open before him.

The scene of a brawl lay before him. He saw with regret that one of his men -Tawny Toby McCarthy, a steady hand, already lay unmoving in a pool of blood on the floor, but the others were still alive. The captain of the redcoats, a man with the unmistakable ramrod-stiff bearing of military training, glared at him with a hatred that was as instant as it was total. Jack winked at him.

"Change of plan, Jonah," he told his second. "We're not taking the governor's treasure."

Jack grinned.

"We're taking his daughter."

 

[zora_little]

Anne did not intend to submit to the insolent intruder without a fight. Kicking and squirming in his grip, she managed to land at least one hard blow against his shin before he held her steady again. “How dare you touch me!” she hissed as soon as his hand slipped away from her mouth. “My father will hang you for this!”

The pirate – because that was unmistakably what he was - did not seem to care about her angry threats as he roughly pulled her out of her bed accompanied by the now almost hysterical screams of her chamber maid. In the blink of an eye, he had pulled out his knife and held it against her throat. Anne stiffened in fear. With the cold steel of the blade resting against the skin of her throat, she ceased to struggle against his grip.

“I do beg your pardon, madame. I'm well aware that my manner lacks polish.”

His words made her scoff in anger, but she did not reply. The knife was too convincing an argument for her to test his patience, and Anne knew how sharp such a blade could be, and how easily it could afflict injury.

As they both emerged from her chamber, Anne’s eyes widened in shock and surprise at the scene unfolding below. Captain Mercer stood looking up at her and her attacker, glowering at the pirate.

“Change of plan, Jonah. We're not taking the governor's treasure. We're taking his daughter.”

This announcement induced renewed resistance in Anne. Who did this man think he was? And what did he think he was doing? Was she a trinket that any ruffian could just steal from the governor’s house? Surrounded by redcoats as these bastards were, surely they would not be able to simply walk out! It was clear that the pirate did not intend to hurt or to kill her. It was quite clear that his plan had been to rob her father of his gold, and now he wanted to make off with much more valued treasure instead.

“Captain!” she called out in distress. “Surely you will not allow this man to just take me with him?” At the both fierce and slightly uncomfortable look on the captain’s face, Anne suddenly became aware that she was being paraded in front of an entire pack of men wearing only a thin white nightgown that in the light of the lamps, revealed more than it covered. Blushing to a bright crimson, but unable to move or do anything about it, she repeated her plea: “Mercer, for the love of God! Arrest these men!”

 

[Maka]

For a slim, gently-raised girl, Anne Bonny struggled, squirmed and clawed like a wildcat. Under different circumstances, the feel of her slender, taut body grinding and bucking against his so energetically might have been extremely pleasant. Indeed, Jack was momentarily distracted by a brief and speculative thought as to what an athletic young virago like this might bring to the bedroom.

Anne's struggles had left her nightgown in disarray. Her creamy, flawless skin glowed in the room's dim light. Her hem had been kicked up in the scuffle, and now rode up above smooth, bare legs. A beam of moonlight, issuing through the window, illuminated all of her slender frame under the sheer, gauzy cover of her white nightgown, tempting and perfect. Jack, who'd had some semblance of a classical education somewhere in his mysterious past, was reminded of Diana, virgin goddess of the hunt, in all her affronted, magnificent glory.

Realising the sight with which she was presenting the entire room, Anne flushed in a rather ungoddess-like way and stiffened, finally ceasing to struggle. The redcoat captain whom she had addressed had been guiltily admiring her as well -and he turned almost as red as Anne herself when he realised that Jack was observing him.

The pirate winked at him. Captain Mercer's flush turned to the purple hue of outrage.

"You're under arrest," he stammered. Jack shook his head.

"I think not. The young lady has a very lovely, tender throat, one that was made for better things than knives... but don't think I'd hesitate to slash it. I'm a pirate, after all."

Jack grinned at him. It was a bluff. There were many things he'd hugely enjoy doing to Anne Bonny, but killing her wasn't one of them. But he knew it didn't matter. It was the voodoo of the black flag all over again. Everyone knew pirates were capable of anything. The governor, who had sat bolt upright in bed, gave a terrified bleat.

"Do as he says, man! Do as he says!"

Mercer stepped away, and with great reluctance ordered his men to stand down.

The next ten minutes were tense and lively. Jack oversaw the departure of his surviving men, one by one, himself remaining in the room with his knife at Anne's throat, trying to avoid becoming distracted -or aroused, by the fresh scent of her hair, the enticing swell of her rump pressed against his crotch. In this last, he was not entirely successful, although perhaps the governor's daughter was too much of an innocent to realise what the sudden, huge hardness at her rear signified. The thrill of the danger only increased Jack's appetite.

To his amusement, Varney made an attempt to fall in with the retreating pirates whom he'd just betrayed. Jack, who did have a piratical soft spot for truly outrageous impudence, almost considered allowing him but then he saw the nakedly hungry way Varney was eyeing Anne. It was natural enough, but it made Jack considerably angrier than Varney's betrayal itself had.

"Ah no, my lad," Jack said cheerfully, waving him back to the grimfaced troopers. "You made your bed with these gentlemen, Varney -you may lie down with them."

Varney slunk back, his face distorted with the weasel-like rage only a small and vicious man could summon up.


The governor, the captain and his men followed them all the way to the pier, watching every one of Jack's movements, waiting for the slightest hint of a break in his concentration. Jack, who had been moving with the casual grace of a young man at a country dance, gave them none. Jonah took the helm of their boat and Jack, waving the redcoats farewell, stepped in after him and the others.

"Governor Bonny, I will contact you in three days' time with my instructions. Comply, and your daughter will be returned safe and sound."

Bonny was near-apoplectic with rage, but managed to speak -unlike the white-faced Mercer.

"She... she must be returned a virgin."

Jack smiled at him almost sweetly.

"I promise nothing."

And with that, they were off. Jack took his seat in the stern. He returned his knife to its sheath and shifted his grip to Anne's narrow waist, pressing her down with inexorable force on to his lap. The bow of the Adventure loomed ahead -and behind him, Jack could see that the redcoats were rigging a vessel for pursuit. He shouted up to the pirate vessel.

"Read! Read! Get us aboard, and get us sailing! We've stirred up a hornet's nest on Barbados!"

 

[zora_little]

“You promise nothing?” Anne hissed. “How dare you?” She threw panicked glances from the redcoats following them to the pirate ship that was anchored in the bay. “Well, I can promise you that you and your ill-fated ragtag bunch of a crew will all hang for this. And I am looking forward to it!”

But her voice betrayed her mounting fear. Why did this useless Mercer not prevent them from leaving, and leaving with her? It was obvious that the pirate would not kill her, and his men were so clearly outnumbered! How could they allow this?

The pirate’s grip was firm, but not painful, and to the casual onlooker, they might even have appeared to be a couple taking an outing, her lover holding her against him with care. The thought made Anne slightly nauseous.

But in the small vessel, lodged as she was in the pirate’s lap with five pairs of watchful eyes all trained on her, she did not dare to struggle much, aware that her nightgown did not leave much room for manoeuvre.

The small boat bobbed on the waves as its passengers carried it forward with swift strokes of their oars. Several times Anne was forced to hold on to the pirate’s arms wrapped firmly around her waist in order to remain steady, which was, as she had to admit to herself, an entirely new, and not wholly unpleasant sensation. Never before had she been in such proximity to a member of the opposite sex, and it stirred up rather curious emotions in her.

But then they reached the hull of the pirate ship, looming darkly in the night. Anne’s heart sank. A few lanterns danced around on deck as the rest of the crew was alerted to the return of their companions.

Upon the pirate’s orders, a rope ladder came down beside him, and a cheerful voice shouted: “Aye aye, captain, and welcome back!”

***

Mary – or Mark, as everyone else on the Adventure had come to know her – bent over the side of the ship to watch her friends descend from the small vessel to board the ship. Behind her, other men swiftly carried out her orders to lift the anchor and get the Adventure ready to sail.

The relief that washed over her every time that Jack returned safely from a raid was even more pronounced this time. She had been weary of his idea to raid the governor’s mansion. As Jack’s eyes and ears in Barbados, she knew only too well how James Bonny dealt with pirates – there were always several skeletons dangling from ropes in the breeze of the bay.

But what the…? In the dim light of the moon, the figure clad all in white that Jack was now lifting from his lap looked like a ghost, a ghost with a mane of luxurious copper hair, and, most surprising of all – the ghost was most definitely female.

***
“Captain.” Mary beamed at Jack, trying not to pay attention to the woman he had just brought aboard. Watching each of the others come on board, her eyes widened. “And…where is Toby?”

***
Anne stared at the young man in front of her. Was it possible? But there was no doubt about it - this was the same handsome merchant she had spotted only days earlier in the port of Barbados. What was he doing aboard the ship of this pirate scum? The way her captor addressed him made it clear that he was not a prisoner, and not here against his will. But how…?

“You are a pirate? And in league with this man?”

Her voice was more authoritative than one would have expected from a woman in her state and state of dress. Who was she?

Mary looked slightly puzzled, worried for a moment that this strange woman, clad as she was in only a thin nightgown, her hair in disarray, was either mad, or – at this thought Mary’s face flushed slightly in panic – recognised her from somewhere, and maybe recognised her as who she really was. And as matters stood, she, too seemed to recall having seen that lovely face before. But where?

Trying to sound as casual as she could, Mary turned to Jack.

“So captain, did you manage to steal the treasure from under Bonny’s nose?”

 

[Maka]

Mark's pretty face, lit up now with a smile of joyous relief, was a welcome sight as Jack climbed aboard, Anne held tight in his arms.

Mark was a strange one, there was no doubt about it. He made an unlikely pirate -slim and finely made as he was, with his delicate and gently tanned features, with his smooth dark hair and luminous, piercing grey eyes. But he'd proved his courage and skill scores of times on the high seas -and for all that they might josh him about his pretty boy looks, the crew of the Adventure were practical creatures at heart. They knew they could rely on Mark, and that was all that mattered.

Indeed, his striking looks and quiet charm were valuable themselves. Jack was too notorious to be able to spend much time in lawful ports, and few among his crew were apt for the ticklish job of gathering information in such places, but Mark was able to pass without question for a respectable merchant captain, gaining admission to all manner of dockside tavern on the strength of his looks alone -sometimes even attending society affairs, mingling with the very owners of the ships which his pirate brothers plundered. Mark had a knack for disguises, being able to take on a whole new persona with its attendant voice, way of speaking and mannerisms in a matter of moments. Jack sometimes wondered if the lad had spent time on the stage at some point, but by longstanding tradition, none among the crew ever discussed their lives before they'd turned pirate.

It was obvious that Mark had a secret, that he was fleeing something -but then what man sailing under the black flag wasn't? Most of the crew thought that he'd gotten some pretty little farmer's daughter in trouble back in the Old Country, and come out to the Caribbean to escape an angry father. Jack had never pried. Every man on the Adventure had the right to his own secrets, and Jack was sure of the only thing that mattered -that he could trust Mark with his life. The slender youth's devotion to Jack was something of a joke among the crew -Mark followed him like a shadow aboard deck, anticipating his orders with uncanny speed and accuracy. Sometimes he would drift off into a dream watching Jack, his grey eyes soft and distant. Back in Wapping, Jack had had a little brother, who'd died while still a child, and sometimes Mark called him to mind.

He shook his head sadly at Mark's inquiry about Toby.

"Didn't make it, curse the luck. They got Varney too -but that turncoat made his own bed."

He was recalled to Anne's presence by her renewed, indignant struggling and, not without a stab of regret, released her. The warmth of her slender, feminine form seemed to linger across his body for just a moment. Name of Christ, how long had it been since he'd had a woman?

"You are a pirate? And in league with this man?" Anne demanded of Mark, her hauteur and address remarkable under the circumstances. Jack laughed.

"Oh aye. Mark's the best man we have. Miss Anne Bonny, may I present Mark Read, pirate. Mark, Miss Anne Bonny."

Mark was frowning at Anne. He seemed discomfited by her scrutiny, a slight flush spreading across his face.

"So captain, did you manage to steal the treasure from under Bonny’s nose?"

"In a manner of speaking," Jack replied. He indicated Anne. "There stands the governor's greatest treasure -and we're going to ransom her."

He glanced over his shoulder, where Mercer was preparing a launch.

"If the redcoats don't catch us first, that is. Jonah! Lift anchor, and get those sails up We need to be on our way to the hide-out before dawn."

He turned back to Anne. She was still staring at Mark, her rosebud lips slightly parted and her lovely face confused. Jack admired the way her soft, creamy skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, the gentle rise and fall of her ample breasts, left uncovered by her nightgown's disarray.

"Mark, take the young lady down to my cabin."

He anticipated Anne's reaction.

"Miss Bonny, you'll be my guest for our short voyage. I assure you that I've no intention of ravishing you by force. I've never taken a woman against her will."

"You don't need to," muttered one of the pirates. "With every slut in Nassau begging for a taste of your cock."

Jack raised an eyebrow just slightly, and the man instantly lapsed into silence. But he winked at Anne.

 

[zora_little]

The tone that these men dared to strike in the presence of the governor’s daughter! Anne gasped, but said nothing.

Mark looked at the captain, frowning slightly. It was obvious that he was not as thrilled about the kidnapping of Anne Bonny as the rest of the crew. But he said nothing, and only briefly nodded at the captain’s order.

As the two descended the stairs to the captain’s cabin, Anne decided it was a good moment to try and make conversation with Mark, who struck her as the most reasonable of the pirates on board. If he was worried about her father’s wrath – as he should be – maybe he was susceptible to the idea of helping her, too.

“When I saw you in the harbour, you were the captain of a merchant vessel, were you not?”

Mary almost breathed an audible sigh of relief as the memories fell into place. Of course! She had seen Anne Bonny in Barbados. Only that the girl then sending her sweet gazes had not been the daughter of the governor at all. She turned around and looked at Anne.

“As I recall you were not entirely honest in your appearance then either.”

Anne blushed violently yet again. Amidst the turbulence of her capture she had forgotten that the first time she had seen Mark Read it had been in the disguise of a maid. And how brazenly she had invited his advances then! Judging by the young man’s sly smile, he, too, remembered each detail.

“Not to fret, Miss Bonny!” His cheerful voice added to Anne’s embarrassment. “I like a girl who knows what she wants.”

***

The captain’s cabin was a small but rather well-kept place. The soft yellow light of several lanterns gave the room an almost inviting air. There was a bed, a table covered with maps and nautical instruments. A pair of pistols hung across a wooden chair, and a dagger had been stuck into the smooth wood of one of the beams of the ship overhead. Anne made a mental note of both of these weapons. If that filthy pirate thought that she would give in without a fight, he was up for an unpleasant surprise.

Mark followed her gaze and smiled before pulling the blade from the wood and slinging the pistols around his slender shoulders.

“These are too dangerous for a gentlewoman like yourself. You might get hurt,” he said softly.

Anne bit her lip.

“I am afraid to get hurt if I am left defenceless in the hands of that man,” she whispered haughtily.

“The captain meant what he said”, the young pirate said with a strangely constrained voice. “He has never taken a woman by force.” There was a pause. “And besides, there have always been plenty of women ready to sell their soul to share his bed for one night.”

Anne blushed again, while trying to appear thoroughly unimpressed. What kind of woman would degrade herself to the point of begging a pirate to ravage her? Surely only tavern wenches and common whores! But she was smart enough not to utter these thoughts out loud. She wanted Mark to like her, to be kind to her, and maybe even help her escape this horrible vessel. He seemed like a gentle, well-raised young man.

“Why did you become a pirate, Mr. Read? You seem so different than these men who attacked my father’s home.” Anne hoped that he would not take her question as an insult, but as an invitation to share her confidence.

Mark looked at her, unsmiling, one slender hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“My dear Miss Bonny, I believe that is none of your concern.” Then his face lit up with a boyish smile. “After all, we have only just met. Maybe we will get the chance to get to know each other more intimately as time passes.”

A violent blush spread over the young woman’s face at the words. Mary almost laughed out loud. It was so easy to keep up appearances with her, if for nothing else than her coy innocence. Mary had travelled in the company of men – and not just any men – for too long to feel any shame at the mention of carnal pleasure, even if enjoying it for herself had been denied to her for too long a time.

Then she pointed towards a chest in the far corner of the room.

“You will find clothes there, Miss Bonny. Please do help yourself to anything that might make you feel a bit more…comfortable.”

Anne instinctively raised her hands to try and cover her half-exposed breasts, only too aware that it was to no avail.

“I will have to join the others on deck. Do not hesitate to ask should you be lacking anything at all.” The mocking tone in his voice made Anne flinch.

And with that, he left her. Anne sighed. What now? She could only hope that Mercer would not allow for this ship to escape to the hiding place that hideous pirate had mentioned.

 

[Maka]

Back on the deck of the Adventure, the crew was working with a single will, every man working with quiet, intense competence -every man knowing his place.

They worked like men who trusted each other and their leader. Before hoisting the black flag, Jack Rackham had served on many merchant vessels. Some were helmed by competent captains, others were not -but never did you get the same level of cooperation as you did on a pirate ship.

On any lawful vessel anywhere in the Caribbean, sometimes as many as half the crew had been pressed into service -drugged and dragged aboard from a dockside tavern; taken in the street; sometimes even torn from their beds and the arms of their wives at night. They were resentful, fearful, inexperienced. And even among those who had voluntarily signed on, there was little to motivate them. No matter what fabulous profits a successful voyage might secure, shares would go only to the owners and the captain -a common sailor made only his meagre wages day by day. Whether he knew his trade or not, the captain could only rule by fear because there was no other motive to appeal to.

Whenever the Adventure captured an honest merchantman, Jack extended the same offer to all members of its crew. They could remain with their present captain -after plundering the hold, Jack would leave them supplies enough to limp back to the nearest port. Or they could come aboard the Adventure and embrace a pirate destiny, where every man received a share of the spoils and if they didn't like their captain -Jack always knit his brows together in a mock-affronted glare at this point in the speech, and thought that they could do better, they could always put that notion to the crew.

A handful would take the offer, each time. Others would hesitate, nervously eyeing their apoplectic captain, wondering if they dared to forsake everything they'd ever known, all civilized law, for a wild life between the decks of creaking ships and on the white beaches of coral islands, a life of revelry and carnage, played out always under the shadow of the gallows.

Jack would have had it no other way.


Now the Adventure scudded and leapt across the waves, foam glowing phospherescent in the tropical moonlight. The canvas sails stretched taut in the wind, with the crewmen racing about the masts and sliding down sparlines as nimbly as monkeys. Black Jonah, at the helm, kept a course as true and straight as a plumbline. His head was thrown back, his eyes eerily white and blank, and he mumbled constantly. Everyone knew that at times like this, Jonah was not Jonah but merely the 'horse' for something else -an old and powerful being, an ancient ally who knew every reef and shoal in Caribbean waters and who seemed to hold a certain affinity for the pirate way of life.

Jack was everywhere at once -shouting orders over the gale or lending his muscular frame to help pull at a stubborn rope. When Mark emerged a few minutes later, he knew his place immediately -at Jack's side, supplementing and clarifying, lingering on to ensure the work was done right while Jack raced on to the next emergency. As always, Jack put his instinctive, unthinking trust in Mark's quiet competence, not even glancing over to make sure that the boy was fulfilling his intentions.

Mercer had simply commandeered one of Bridgetown's merchant vessels -a sleek and fast sloop. And he was driving his men hard -too hard. The ship was managing to keep up in their wake but, studying their pursuer through a spyglass, Jack could make out figures slipping and sliding across the deck -and one poor fellow falling from the sail, all while Mercer stood rigid at the prow, no doubt barking orders frantically.

Jack shook his head. That was no way to treat a crew -or a ship, for that matter. Ships were like women -to get the very best out of them, you had to first coax and seduce them, nurturing them, spending time and effort on them -that was how you lured a truly extraordinary performance out of a ship... or a panting, moaning, starry-eyed woman.

Then again, Jack reflected with a wry grin, considering the object of Mercer's pursuit -lovely Anne Bonny, half-dressed in her sheer white nightgown, it was a wonder he wasn't splitting the ship apart in his frustration.


But fanatic determination only went so far against the skill and daring of the Adventure's crew. The sudden headwind had been fortuitious, but it was their destination -the tangled archipelago of little isles between Barbados and the northern tip of the Windward Islands, that Jack had been counting on. Once their white beaches and sheer cliffs came within sight, he gave orders to slow their reckless speed and trim the sails.

The Windward Islands were a gift to the pirates who sailed this far east. A maze of shallow, silt-clogged channels ran between the islets and coral reefs -a nightmare to patrol, and filled with potential hiding places. Jack and Mark had taken a week, and a small sailboat, to explore and map these remote reaches. They knew them like no other sailors did.

Taking advantage of hidden depths, the Adventure made an apparently impossible entry into one of the channels, shearing smoothly past walls of spiky coral on either side. A hair to port, a hair to starboard, and one of those spikes could have punctured the hull and doomed them all, but Jack had faith in Black Jonah's steady hands -or at least, the steadiness of whatever now inhabited Black Jonah's body. A few hair-raising minutes later, they were beyond the coral channel and into the deeper waters beyond.

Mercer foolishly decided to try and follow but he didn't know these waters, and lacked Jonah as a helmsman. Almost immediately, the ship foundered on a sandbar -remaining there, half in and half out of the water as the Adventure sailed serenely on.

Jack knew that Mercer had to be observing him through a spyglass. He winked in the direction of the British captain's ship then sauntered away.


It was plain sailing now. It would be days before Mercer could get his ship pulled off the sandbar -and he stood no chance of finding Jack's hidden cove in the maze of islands. Jack only relaxed half an hour later, as the ship sailed into the cove -a hidden little harbour on a forested island. He was feeling the exhaustion hit his body like a cat o' nine tails at last. Every part of his lean, muscular body ached and glowed with the effort of his exertions. He clapped Mark on the back.

"You've done well. Bring her into harbour now."

He raised his voice.

"You've all done well. We've nothing more to worry about now, lads! All we need to do now is sit about and drink rum for three days... and that I think you can handle!"

There was a chorus of laughs, cheers and catcalls.

"Just like you can handle the pretty little thing below decks, aye, captain?" somebody shouted. Jack grinned.

He descended below decks, entering his cabin without troubling to knock.

 

[zora_little]

After Mark had left her alone in the cabin, Anne had reluctantly opened the chest he had indicated, and rummaged through its contents. It was mostly loot, as far as she could see, frilly dresses and skirts, some beset with pearls and lace that would have made a lovely addition to any ballroom on Barbados. There were several shawls, too, some jewellery, and belts. Anne wondered why a captain of a pirate ship kept such an assortment of women’s clothing in his cabin, and Mark’s words sprang to her mind: were these keepsakes of all the women who had begged to share the captain’s bed for one night? If so, he must have lured some rich damsels between his sheets – some of the dresses in his chest were truly fit for royalty.

Anne sighed. As much as she loathed accepting anything these pirates offered her, she could not remain in the sheer nightgown she was wearing now. Already she had offered too much of her body to their hungry eyes.

After looking through a number of garments she settled on a simple dress of faded green silk, the only piece of clothing she had been able to find that did not look ridiculously fancy, or dangerously revealing. She also tightly wrapped a thin woollen scarf around her slender shoulders, somehow hoping that the number of clothes she would wear would signal to the pirate that he was not to lay hands on her in any way.

Her nightgown lay folded over one of the chairs. She noticed that the ship had started to slow down, and when she tiptoed to look out of one of the windows to the front of the cabin, she could see that they were steering their vessel into port. Anne uttered a silent curse. This could only mean that Mercer had lost them, and that they were now safely hidden from his grasp. What a disaster! Anne knew that Mercer would not take the defeat lightly, and that, should he ever be able to lay hands on one of these pirates, they would pay dearly for this humiliation.

What now? Nervous, but starting to feel the exhaustion, she sank into one of the chairs. Three days. Three days were not much. She was strong, and her courage would see her through her capture. If the pirate captain wanted nothing but to ransom her to her father, he would make sure that she remained unharmed, would he not?

At the sound of approaching footsteps, she sat up straighter, her hands folded in her lap. Who was coming?

She sprang to her feet when the door opened. It was the pirate captain. Anne felt her heart leap into her throat with sudden fear. Now, down here in his cabin, she felt uncomfortably at his mercy.

Unsure of what to say to him, she just stared at the captain, hoping that her fierce glare would communicate all that she did not dare to say out loud.

***

“That lass has taken a fancy to you, hasn’t she?” Little Sam brought his hand down hard onto Mary’s shoulder and laughed. “A blind man could see it! The way she got all googly-eyed when she saw your pretty face.” He took a swig of rum from the bottle before handing it to her. “If you’re lucky maybe the captain will let you have a stab at her, eh? Give her a little souvenir she can remember us by?”

Mary smiled weakly. She had gotten used to the giggles and blushing glances of the girls she met on her outings to one of the ports, and sometimes she enjoyed the masquerade and the effect she had on women and men alike. But Anne Bonny was a dangerous woman to be remembered by, as a pirate. She took a small sip from the bottle and gave it back to Sam.

“The captain shouldn’t have taken her with him,” she said quietly. “Jack should have stuck to the plan, and taken the gold, not the girl. Bonny will not let this go unpunished, Sam, and I fear we have not seen the last of these redcoats yet.”

Sam laughed. “You’re worrying too much, Mark! Nobody will find us here. And why not enjoy yourself for once, my boy? When’s the last time you got to fuck a lass as pretty and creamy-skinned as Miss Bonny, eh? I say: you’re a pirate, and a damn fine pirate at that, you should take the spoils as they fall in your lap.”

The low growl of Black Jonah’s voice interrupted his giggle.

“Touch the girl and lose your cocks.” Then his face lit up in a wide grin. “After we collect the ransom there will be plenty of gold to pay for the finest whores in all of the Caribbean.”

Mary sighed and glanced at the stairs that led down to the captain’s cabin.

“Let’s hope that we’ll be alive then, and in possession of all important body parts.”

 

[Maka]

To his amusement, Jack saw that Anne had managed to find the plainest and modest dress in the chest - a simple, high-necked green dress that not even the godliest churchgoing matron could have objected to. As though to add to the effect, and to cancel out the vivid impression still lingering from her disarrayed nightgown, she had wrapped a scarf tightly around her shoulders.

Her efforts were for naught, however. There was simply no way that a girl so beautiful and a slim body so perfectly, entrancingly shaped for love could disguise their nature -least of all from one with an eye for beauty like Calico Jack Rackham. She could have swathed herself head to toe in coarse black cloth, like the Mussulman women were said to do, and one glance from those bright hazel eyes would undo it all.

She was standing very straight as he came in, her eyes blazing with indignation and her hands folded below her breasts. Jack was sure the comparison would have infuriated her, but she reminded him of nothing so much as a sleek and lovely Siamese kitten, deeply affronted by something he'd done -its tail lashing wildly from side to side and its small chin lifted up in defiance.

He watched the spill of gorgeous auburn hair falling below her shoulders. Red hair.... he'd never known a redhead that didn't have a temper on her like a South Seas typhoon. He'd also, Jack reflected with a grin, never known a redhead that didn't turn into a half-crazed hellcat between the sheets -and he'd be very surprised if Anne Bonny was an exception to that rule.

"Sit!" he said cheerfully, throwing himself down on a chair and hooking his booted feet over the leg and ordering her like a cabin boy. "Wait, no. First get me a bottle of rum from the locker there. You can take a swig yourself while you're about it."

Jack expected a baleful stare in response to this.

"You might as well. There'll be precious little else to do while we wait."

 

[zora_little]

Anne made a step back instinctively when he entered the cabin. Now that she was all alone with him, she was not sure how much on her guard she had to be. But she was not afraid.

“Rum?”

She opened her mouth to make a defiant comment. Who did he think she was? His servant? But then she thought better of it.

If he wanted to drink, fine. With a bit of luck he would get drunk enough to fall asleep, giving her an opportunity to try and slip from his cabin. Everybody knew that pirates knew neither discipline nor self-restraint, and she would have to take all the chances she could possibly get.

Walking over to the locker that he had indicated, she opened it and took out the half-empty bottle of rum closest to her. There were no glasses, and Anne did not expect a man with his manners to require one.

She placed the bottle in front of him a little bit too hard.

“How about you tell me what your name is, captain, before you make me wait on you as if I’m your serving wench.”

Anne crossed her arms in front of her chest, determined not to show fear or submission. If he wanted to amuse himself with seeing her tremble and plead, he would be disappointed. Anne Bonny would play the maid in distress for no one.

“And if you think that I will pass the next three days drinking with you in your cabin, you are mistaken! I’d rather sleep outside with the crabs and wild animals of this godforsaken bay than spending more time than I absolutely must in here with you. You are a vile, horrible man without honour, and the day will come when you will pay for what you have done tonight!”

Her eyes were blazing in fury now, her cheeks flushed in rage. His sly smile only added oil to her fire. How could anyone be so arrogant? Was he not afraid of what her father would do to him and his crew?

 

[Maka]

"My name... ?"

Jack was honestly surprised, and a little annoyed. How was it every landlubber from Charleston to Bristol trembled at the name of Blackbeard, but his own was as yet known only to the real connoisseurs of piracy? And the merchants he'd robbed, of course. Blackbeard this, Blackbeard that... stick a couple of fuses in a man's beard and suddenly he's the Devil incarnate.

"I'm Calico Jack Rackham. My father gave me the last part, or so I'm told; my mother selected the 'Jack'. As for the 'Calico' part... " Jack spread a sleeve of his Indian cotton shirt in wide-eyed mock-bewilderment, "Who knows why they call me that? It is a mystery."

He was enjoying watching Anne, and not just for the obvious reasons -although watching her stoop over the locker, the green silk tautening over her firm young buttocks, was undeniably a treat. But the fact was, Anne Bonny looked magnificent angry -like some wrathful queen of old. There were pirate captains who wanted nothing but quivering little mice in their beds -the sort who'd tremblingly tell them what big men they were every night, for fear of their fists. But give Jack a spitfire virago like Anne Bonny any day.

She had set the rum bottle down hard on the chest in front of him, ignoring his suggestion that she take a sip for herself. Jack drank from the bottle -savouring the sweet, spiced burn of the dark liquor. He'd taken it from a Spanish sloop off Hispaniola, liberating it from the cabin of a Spanish grandee. Good rum and a pretty wench... what else was desirous?

“And if you think that I will pass the next three days drinking with you in your cabin, you are mistaken! I’d rather sleep outside with the crabs and wild animals of this godforsaken bay than spending more time than I absolutely must in here with you. You are a vile, horrible man without honour, and the day will come when you will pay for what you have done tonight!”

Jack had his head tilted back, a benign, indulgent smile on his lips as Anne told him exactly what she thought of him. He was only half-listening, in all truth -more of his concentration was spent on wondering about those fascinating specks of gold in her hazelnut eyes -the way they caught the light in the cabin and shone with an interior glow as she became angrier and angrier. Pirates' gold.

"Well, you may be right," Jack told her when her tirade at last subsided, "Although I certainly hope your father will pay for what I've done tonight first. Otherwise, it's a pirate life for Anne Bonny, hey?"

He stretched, yawning -the exhaustion of the night's sailing catching up with all at once.

"But we can talk more in the morning. For now, make yourself useful and sling my hammock up, will you?"

He anticipated her instinctive, indignant stiffening.

"Of course," he added innocently, "If you'd rather not, we can both share my bed. She's fit two before... even three in the past."

 

[zora_little]

Anne looked at him in honest shock, while embarrassment, anger and bashfulness all battled for control of her delicate features. Who did that man thought he was speaking to? And how did he dare to make such…insinuations in front of a young lady?

“How dare you…!” she hissed, but it sounded quite disingenuous. Silly even. Why would he not dare? Here she was, trapped like a fluttering angry bird in his cabin, her father’s men outsmarted, and she all on her own. In truth, she should be grateful that snipes and pointed remarks were all he directed at her.

But at the same time it angered her that he took advantage of the situation to humiliate her like this. He treated her like a silly girl. Surely he expected her to fluster at the thought of taking care of a ship’s bedding, but she knew, of course, how to string up a hammock, even though this was not something she had learned in the governor’s mansion. A girl living in the Caribbean quite simply needed certain skills that her father did not need to know about.

“Fine, captain.” She spat out his title like it was poison. “I think I prefer to sleep in the hammock, while you take the bed that you have so thoroughly used.” Anne threw her head back in defiance. “And I prefer to string it up myself.”

At the same time she stole a glance at the bed and for a split second could not help her thought to wander off to that night he was referring to, when it had fit not only two – that much was to be expected from a pirate captain, surely he was in need of a steady supply of harbour whores to satisfy his base needs – but three people! What debauchery had he indulged in in this very cabin? Mark Read’s words sprang to mind: that countless women had begged to spend the night with the famous pirate captain who was now ordering her around so very brazenly.

Anne suddenly wondered how many women would envy her for being in this situation, and how many of them would gladly change places.

It was this thought that lead to anger winning the upper hand.

“Captain Calico Jack Rapham, you better pray that my father will pay the ransom for me. Because if he doesn’t, and if I have to stay on this ship, I swear I will cut your throat in your sleep.” Her hands in her sides, she glared at him. “If I am to be a pirate on this ship, you can be certain that there will be a mutiny, and that you will make history as the first pirate captain who lost his seat to a woman.”

 

[Maka]

Jack roared with laughter.

It was not incredulous or mocking, but the laughter of genuine delight. It wouldn't have impressed him if Anne had maintained a haughty, queenly silence or told him that Daddy's men would cut him to pieces, but she'd had the pluck to threaten him to his face, and sworn to wield the knife herself. She might have born to silken sheets, but she had a true pirate's spirit, that much was clear. And he grinned wolfishly at the thought of how describing her that way would make her splutter in rage. It would be tenfold worse than describing her as a Siamese kitten.

And indeed, she looked decidedly less kittenish now as she stood slim, straight, and slender -a flush of anger across her lovely face, her hands on her slender hips in the way of angry women across the world, a glint that meant business in her lustrous hazel eyes. Jack suppressed a soft sigh as he looked at her, head cocked to one side. He could only imagine fucking this redheaded beauty would be like riding a hurricane.

"God's blood! I believe you would, miss," Jack said, his tone cheerful but bordering on respectful this time. "And I believe my crew might follow you... disloyal dogs that they are. Ahh, but no matter. James Bonny would hardly leave his tender young virgin daughter to the likes of us, now, would he? Three days from now, you'll take your leave of me, my Adventure and my men forever... with your much-prized maidenhead intact, what's more."

He stretched his feet out and watched Anne prepare the hammock. He had been expecting much ineffectual fuss and struggle, to be eventually concluded with a plaintive or teeth-gritted appeal for help, but to his surprise, she quickly and competently slung the hammock between two bulkheads. Her fingers were as swift and deft with the knots as any sailor Jack had known.

He had been planning on insisting Anne take his boots off for him, but her spirit and her unexpected competence decided him against it. She'd earned a little respect. He pulled them off himself instead, and for a while sat sprawled there, drinking from the rum bottle.

The night was feverish hot, drops of sweat slipping across Jack's toned body. The sound of a drunken shanty came from the deck above, supplementing the creak and groan of the Adventure's timbers, the song that Jack loved best in the world. He drank but did not become drunk -it took a very great deal to unman Calico Jack Rackham. He watched Anne. Finally, he stood.

"Well," he said, "I'm for bed. Piracy, kidnapping, and generally dastardly behavior wear a man out, by God."

With no further ado, and in Anne's full sight, he unabashedly began unbuttoning his calico shirt. Within moments, it had slipped from his broad shoulders -exposing a lean, firmly muscular abdomen that could have been sculpted from stone and a stomach as flat and trim as a mariner's rule, tanned a deep and rich brown by the fires of the tropical sun. A deep sabre scar traversed his upper chest -a memento from his last meeting with Charlie Vane. His body, glistening with sweat, shone faintly in the moonlight streaming in through the portal.

Then Jack unbuckled his belt and let his breeches fall. Dangling heavily between his legs was the most enormous, thick and long cock -the source of innumerable feminine cries of disbelief and adulation ever since he'd come to man's estate.

He threw himself down on the bed, scorned by Anne, and lay there with his hands crossed behind his head, regarding her with a challenging grin on his face. It was clear that he intended to do nothing so gentlemanly as closing his eyes or turning his head while she undressed, unless she explicitly asked it of him and so admitted defeat.

 

[zora_little]

So the thought of him walking the plank of his own ship was amusing to him? Anne’s eyes narrowed. Did he think she was winding him up, that she was not dead serious with her threat?

He seemed unfazed as he kept drinking while she daftly strung up the hammock, carefully choosing two bulkheads that were at a safe distance from his bed. Anne was trying to simply ignore him while he talked, gritting her teeth, her attention stubbornly turned to the task at hand. But at the mention of her maidenhead, she felt her face flush again with rage and embarrassment. Why in the ocean’s name was he so hell-bent on humiliating her? But what else was to be expected from a pirate.

“It’ll be a damn more than what you’ll be leaving your ship with,” she hissed without looking at him, trying to imagine the many ways in which she wanted Captain Jack Rapham to die. She would enjoy watch the sharks go for his ridiculous shirt. Yes, maybe she would ask Mercer to let her put the noose around his neck herself. Anne smiled at the thought. Then she was done with the hammock, and turned back to him.

Her eyes widened in concern as the good captain started to undress in front of her. She could handle his boots, but now he was undoing his calico shirt, carefree and nonchalant as if he was alone in his cabin. Anne, flustered, looked around the small room trying to find something to occupy herself with, to occupy her gaze with, but ended up simply staring at him as he pulled off the garment.

Even she had to admit that the sight of his naked chest was impressive. Her thoughts strayed to the many times she had stolen away from her father’s mansion only to mingle with the folk around the Barbados harbour, to catch glimpses of the sailors on board of the trading ships. Back then she would have been awed by a body as fine and sculpted as Jack Rapham’s, but these days felt like an eternity ago now.

She swallowed, and forced herself to counter his occasional provocative looks with a cold, disinterested gaze. It proved a much harder task than that of slinging up the hammock. To her alarm she realised that Jack was not a man to sleep with breeches on. Now, that…she cleared her throat as he pulled them down with the same carefree grace as he had used to discard his shirt. Her lips parted in an involuntary intake of breath as her eyes fell on his cock. Anne had caught hasty glimpses of naked men before, more by accident than by design, while on one of her harbour expeditions. For the length of a few heartbeats, she simply stared at Jack, too shocked and too surprised to do or say anything, before she finally caught herself and quickly changed her expression to a disapproving frown. What kind of a man behaved like this?

She watched him settle on his bed, comfortable and smiling.

Did he expect her to undress? She scoffed at him. It was hot in the cabin, and Anne wished for nothing else than ridding herself of the horribly constraining dress she had chosen so rashly earlier. At least her nightgown allowed her some relief, but she would be damned if she would give him the pleasure of watching her undress for him like some common whore. And she would not beg him to finally be a gentleman and look away either.

“Not in a thousand years,” she spat at him, while climbing into her hammock, fully dressed. Already now it was quite clear that she would not be able to sleep like this. Anne considered making good on her earlier comment to go out and sleep under the stars. But the sound of several feet on deck, of song and raucous laughter a bit further away on shore made her change her mind. At least in this cabin, she only had to deal with one horribly rude pirate.

The wood creaked as she stretched out in the swaying hammock, and she could hear his soft breathing. Probably he was smiling, mocking her again for her distress.

The silence weighed heavily on her. Painfully aware of his presence just feet from her, his naked, decidedly manly presence, she finally asked into the moon-lit room:

“Who gave you that scar?” Then she blushed deeply, grateful that he would not be able to see her face at that very moment. The comment on his scar made it all too clear that she had taken in his naked body, noticed his built, and, what was worse, was still pondering on what she had seen while lying in the hammock. Anne hoped against hope that he would not catch on to her unladylike thoughts. And to do away with all assumptions on his part, she added: “Because it is good to know that I have an ally.”

 

[Maka]

A tropical breeze stirred the heavy air in the cabin, bringing with the scent of lush jungle vegetation and warm midnight seas. Jack was thinking of his first sight of Anne Bonny, lying in bed, her nightgown in disarray and that enigmatic, secret smile on her lovely face. He listened to the soft sound of her breathing, reviewed in his mind the pole-axed, wide-eyed expression of shock she had worn as he pulled down his breeches. It was an expression Jack was used to, having seen it light up the faces of even the most jaded whores, but he liked it best on the aristocratic features of Miss Bonny.

He wondered if even now she was regretting the instinct of maiden modesty that had led her to climb into the hammock fully dressed. Stubborn though Anne was, Jack didn't give that particular decision a very long lifetime. Not even the most virtuous young creature in the world could sleep fully dressed in these climes. Very soon, he thought, Anne would be as bare as any daughter of Eve -though perhaps she was waiting for him to fall asleep first.

Her voice cut through his thoughts.

"Who gave you that scar?"

Jack grinned to himself. So she'd been inspecting his body, had she? As though guessing his thoughts, a hasty addition came:

"Because it is good to know that I have an ally."

He laughed, a deep rumble of amusement.

"An ally? You are in for severe disappointment, should you ever have the bad luck to encounter him. Charles Vane is the man's name, and he has no friend or ally in this world. Even the Devil could not abide him."

Jack propped himself up on one elbow.

"He's another pirate captain, but without my sweet and yielding disposition. Was the master of this ship, before we had a disagreement and I saw fit to take it from him. He gave me my scar, I took his eye, and set him adrift with provisions in an open boat."

That disagreement had concerned the fate of a party of young novices from the Order of St Phoebe's aboard a captured Spanish vessel, being taken to join a mission convent on Hispaniola. Vane had wanted them to be kept for the pleasure of himself and his men. Jack, a newcomer to the crew, had opposed this decision and led a mutiny, with Mark Read as his first and strongest supporter.

But he didn't tell Anne that. In the first place, she'd hardly believe him and in the second, it was just too ridiculous -Calico Jack as the defender of maidenly virtue. As a matter of fact, he hadn't quite been that anyway. The Adventure had brought the rescued nuns on to Santo Domingo and during the voyage, it had turned out that more than a couple of them were very grateful and not as attached to their vows of chastity and perpetual virginity as they first seemed. Jack smiled at the memories.

"A mark on my chest and a cup or two of blood for the Adventure," Jack concluded. "It's a bargain I'd make any day."

He twisted his head to look at her for a moment.

 

[zora_little]

Anne could not help but be intrigued. She had always loved pirate stories, and the one Jack Calico was now making a mention of seemed especially exciting. Every child in Barbados, and likely in the whole of the Caribbean, had heard the frightening stories of Captain Charlie Vane, one of the most cruel and blood-thirsty pirates these waters had ever had the ill luck to sweep from shore to shore. And Jack Calico had challenged him on his very own ship? And, in addition, had won the upper hand and chased the notorious pirate out to the sea? The devil himself was said to be too frightened to try and lay a hand on Vane! It was clear that Jack was even more of a madman than Anne had thought him to be.

But she would have rather cut of her right arm than admit that she was interested in hearing the details of his tale, biting her tongue and refraining from asking what the dispute with Charlie Vane had been about in the first place. In all likelihood the two vile men had gotten in a row over their share of some booty, and Jack Calico had simply been lucky.

“So you’re a mutineer,” she remarked sourly into the room instead. “Betrayed your captain and stole his ship and his crew?” Anne realised that the words had come out harsher than she had intended in her attempt to express disinterest. It also dawned on her that being in Captain Jack’s company was suddenly fraught with a much worse danger than having him glimpse her naked form through her nightgown.

“How do you know he is not still alive?” She asked the question without turning around in the hammock to face him, while secretly wishing to find a pretext to catch another look at the naked captain again, just a glance, to reassure herself that he was vile and of no interest to her whatsoever, and to make sure that he was a man who would be able to fight off an enraged, murderous pirate captain for a second time. “For all you know, the sharks might have long gotten to him, if he didn’t die of thirst before that.” She tried to make her voice sound as casual as possible. “But what if he survived and is now seeking revenge?”

Anne sighed in discomfort. The heat seemed to grow more oppressive with every moment that passed, and she longed for nothing more than to be able to rid herself of the confining garment and feel the soft breeze on her skin. Hiking up the skirt of her dress, she was glad for the slight relief of feeling the air against the bare skin of her legs.

 

[Maka]

"So you’re a mutineer. Betrayed your captain and stole his ship and his crew?"

Anne's words were hostile but her tone was curiously faint and strangled.

"That I did, and I'd do it over again," Jack affirmed easily. "That's just the way among pirates, you see. On law-abiding ships, the captain stays the captain. Don't matter if he doesn't know the stern from the prow; don't matter if he only got the job because he's the owner's nephew; don't matter if he'll beat his men bloody for fun. He gives the orders, he makes the decisions."

Shadowy clouds momentarily obscured the moon, and the cabin was plunged in darkness for a moment. On deck, the shanty came to a ragged halt but from the beach, the distant throb of Black Jonah's drums could be heard, regular as a beating heart. Little would be seen of him for the next few days -he would be out in the jungle, repaying the loa for the favour they had shown him twice over on the raid in his own mysterious way. Jack continued.

"But on a pirate ship, everyone gets a vote. Not when the bullets are flying and the sabres are singing, of course. Someone has to give the orders then. But the rest of the time, if the crew aren't happy with a captain, they can vote him out, bring in some new likely lad. But Charlie wouldn't accept our vote and stand down, so there was some blood spilled."

"How do you know he is not still alive?"

Anne was lying very still in her hammock, her slender and finely-made body unnaturally stiff and rigid and her face upturned to the cabin ceiling. A renewed flood of moonlight had illuminated the cabin once more. Jack closed his eyes for a moment, feeling desire course through him.

"For all you know, the sharks might have long gotten to him, if he didn’t die of thirst before that. But what if he survived and is now seeking revenge?"

There was a strained and flustered note to Anne's voice, but otherwise she could have been sitting on her father's verandah and discussing the latest society dance, not the murderous vendetta between two pirate captains.

"Oh, I don't doubt he survived. Charlie Vane is too mean to die. Maybe I should have killed him when I had the chance but... killing a man in cold blood seemed like a poor start to my career as captain. A crew's like a Bengal tiger -they can get a taste for blood. And if you start killing everyone you rob, pretty soon there's no-one left to rob -that's what old Ben Hornigold used to say. But if Charlie thinks there's still accounts to be settled between the two of us, he knows where to find me -I'll surely clear them for him."

Anne shifted, and hitched up the hem of her dress -exposing a delectable length of bare leg, flawless ivory that the sun had not touched, that seemed to glow softly in the moonlight. Jack closed his eyes again, swallowing to moisten his suddenly dry throat. His next move, taking pity on the sweltering girl in the hammock, was to at last turn in bed so that he faced the wall -giving Anne the opportunity to disrobe, if she so chose, without his lustful gaze admiring all the while. He made no comment, but deliberately made enough noise so that she could hear his movement.

A fine time to discover a chivalrous streak, Jack wryly upbraided himself. Just the merest glimpse of Anne's slim leg had been mouthwatering, and now he was consumed with curiosity to see more of that elegant, untouched young virgin's body... but at least he would be able to listen to the rustle of Anne undressing -noises that had a muted, intimate erotic quality all by themselves.

 

[zora_little]

Anne did not reply. She was surprised by his reasoning – a pirate captain who did not care to just kill and loot? The Caribbean would always spit out enough unlucky trading vessels, but maybe, just maybe, Captain Jack Calico did have a conscience?

If only it had not been so hot in the dress! When she heard him move on the bed, she turned her head, curious if he had – maybe – also discovered mercy for her.

She peered over the edge of her hammock, and really, he had turned to grant her the privacy she needed to rid herself of her dress. Anne held her breath, wondering if she would dare to do so. What if he tricked her? But he did not stir. Trying to be as quiet as she could, she unlaced the dress, pulling and almost tearing it in her uncomfortable position, but finally managing to wiggle out of the garment. She almost sighed with relief. This was better.

She wanted to lie like this for just a moment, just for a very short while. Then she would reach for her nightgown and cover herself like a well-raised lady should, but for now she enjoyed this unexpected freedom. Anne turned onto her stomach, carefully keeping one eye on the captain. Maybe he was already asleep? Safe from his observant gaze she granted herself another long look at his body - there was no denying that he resembled the Greek heroes described in the books her governess had made her read, his lean and muscular form, the glow of his skin in the moonlight…what would it be like, she wondered, to feel his skin against her fingertips? Would it be soft? Smooth like silk? What would it be like to feel his muscles, graceful like that of a dangerous jungle cat, moving beneath?

Anne shook her head, annoyed with herself for allowing such thoughts to even enter her mind. What was she thinking? Surely the heat and her own overexcited head were to blame.

She was about to reach for her nightgown, but then thought better of it. The evening breeze felt like a gentle caress against her skin, and after the uncomfortable confines of the dress, this newly-won freedom felt too good to immediately yield to her modesty. After all, who was going to see her now? The pirate seemed to have fallen asleep, and nobody would dare to enter his cabin unasked at night.

In her father’s house, she was not allowed to sleep naked, not even on the most stifling summer evenings, her nurse had always made sure of that. “Only barbarians and whores roll around naked in the sheets” – that was what she had always said.

The Adventure was softly rocking in the bay, and Anne could hear the faint sound of a drum, of laughter, and of song from the beach. Someone was walking across the deck, making the well-worn planks sing underfoot. For moment she almost forgot that she was a captive on this ship, and she wondered what it would be like to spend a life like this, free, answering to no one.

And over that thought, she finally fell asleep.

 

[Maka]

It was midday when Jack awoke. The sun, riding at its zenith in an azure sky, streamed through the porthole like slow, rich golden honey. Jack lay like a leisurely jungle cat in the pool of sunlight, recalling the events of the previous night. A soft, sleepy feminine sigh from the other side of the room drew his attention. Turning his head, Jack saw a sight that was truly worth waking up for.

Anne Bonny lay sleeping nude in the hammock. She was lying curled up on her side, with her shapely derriere pushed invitingly out, her silky auburn hair cascading gently down her slim shoulders and between her cleavage, providing an exquisite contrast of warm red on smooth pale ivory. Her breasts -large, round, firm and flawless globes capped by rosy nipples like cherries set in snow, were marked with the criss-cross pattern of the hammock, an impression left behind by its ropes that somehow excited Jack even more. There was a half-smile on her lovely, sleeping face -that same expression of mysterious yearning and mysterious, sensual happiness that had so struck Jack when he'd watched her sleep the night before.

Jack took care to dress himself quietly. He felt as though disturbing this perfect tableau of erotic beauty by waking Anne would be like vandalizing a work of art. He shook his head as he pulled on a fresh calico shirt. The thought that this fiery young beauty was only going to be aboard the Adventure for three days was a sad one. It was sadder still to think that, once reunited with her father, her inevitable fate would be marriage to some bewigged, dry-as-dust gentleman who would carry her back to England, just another import from the West Indies, and no doubt ceremoniously and joylessly mount her once a year. It was obvious to Jack that a girl like Anne needed romance and adventire and fire and freedom and hard, regular and oh-so-thorough fucking. She'd blossomed under the warm blue skies of the Caribbean -she'd wilt back amongst the rain and fog of England.

But it couldn't be helped. Jack stepped out on the deck. Most of the crew had forsaken the Adventure for the white sands of the beach, where they lay sprawled under the midday sun, sleeping off the night's celebratory carousal. But Mark Read was not among them. The slender, darkhaired youth was sitting by himself in the shade of the mast, whittling something from wood.

Jack looked at him for a moment, his head cocked thoughtfully to one side. Mark always looked completely self-contained, at peace yet alert. There was an enigmatic cast to his face. He reminded Jack of an illustration he had once seen in a book, of a riddling creature called the sphinx.

Jack sat down beside him, kneeling down on his haunches.

"What are you whittling, Mark?"

 

[zora_little]

Anne awoke with a start. She had slept more deeply and peacefully as she had in a very long time, and when she first came to, he head still heavy with darkness and night, resisting to adjust to the bright sunlight streaming in to the cabin, Anne did not immediately realise where she was.

She stretched, like a cat, and the rope of the hammock chafed against her naked skin as she did so. Slowly everything in the radius of her eyesight came into focus: the wooden planks of the ship, the beams, her nightgown draped over a chair below. The table, the half-empty bottle of rum still on it. The bed, empty. His bed. Captain Jack Rapham. Anne sat up so quickly that she almost swung out of the hammock by accident, and gasped. She had fallen asleep naked in his cabin, and the good captain had very likely and at the very least granted himself a good look at her form. Even now, alone in the cabin, Anne blushed a deep scarlet and instinctively clutched her hands in front of her chest, as if that gesture alone was able to restore her dignity.

Why did she have to fall asleep, she scolded herself. How would she ever be able to look him in the eye now? Throwing hectic glances to the door – it was midday, and there was no telling who would suddenly just march into the room to gape at her – she slipped from the hammock and quickly, her movements informed by no little panic, laced herself back into the green dress she had discarded the night before. Anne silently swore not to take it off again until she reached Barbados. And maybe even then she would wear it for a few days more, just in case.

After that was done, she carefully took down the hammock. Any good sailor knew that on a ship there was no room and no place to lazily clutter, each thing had its carefully selected place and its use. And Anne would not give Jack the opportunity to call her a spoiled little girl, oh no. Folding the hammock away her stomach started to rumble, reminding her that the ship had no servants who would serve any breakfast.

***
Mary blinked into the sun, her worries of the previous night less pressing.

As was her custom she had woken up early, before everyone else. Her disguise came with many disadvantages, and one thing she did not want to miss were her swims in the morning, when the sea was calm and fresh. The crew had drunk heavily all through the night, and Mary could be quite certain that nobody would disturb her in one of the hidden bays of the island. It was a curious thing, that most of the pirates did not need to care about dress or etiquette, that they were able to discard their shirts and their breeches at will, diving into the sea. Mary did not have that luxury, which is why she jealously guarded the small windows of opportunity that presented themselves to her.

There was also a beautiful sweet water pool that she had discovered inland, the water cold and crystal clear, and now she was sitting on the beach, her hair still damp and clinging to her scalp, but her physique again carefully hidden away in the attire of pirate Mark Read. She was working away at a small piece of wood, lost in thought and oblivious to the world around her. Her father had taught her how to handle wood – another quality that captains and sailors appreciated her company for – and Mary enjoyed the smooth feel and the scent of the material in her hands. Every now and then she had thrown glances at the ship, at the place where she knew Jack was sleeping. She wondered about their captive as well. What if none of this was going to end well?

As Jack kneeled down next to her, she looked up in surprise, smiling. Her fellow pirates often mocked her for the way her face lit up when she shared moments as this one with their captain, calling her a kiss ass and a shoe licker for it in jest. But Jack never seemed to mind her loyal affection for him.

“Good morning, captain,” she said softly, a suggestive smile on her lips. “I trust you found some rest?”

She put down the piece she was working on, her voice suddenly laced with worry.

“It’s stupid, really…a totem, a figurine to keep us safe.” She almost added ‘from her’, but did not. “Safe from any harm or ill luck.”

 

[Maka]

"You sound like Jonah. And he's far from stupid."

Jack did not entirely share Jonah's belief in loa and voodoo, but neither did he dismiss it. He had seen seemingly impossible things done under the Caribbean sun -or things that would have been impossible back in England, in the Old World. But here, where the heat haze shimmered over the palm trees, where colourful birds talked like men and monkeys gibbered in the trees, where the air itself seemed tinged with the flavours of rum and gunpowder -here, magic seemed natural, just as a part of everything.

"And I'll take all the luck we can get. We can hang it over the figurehead."

Further down the beach, Duck Creasy had lit a fire. Everyone in the crew called him that -the English approximation of the Duc de Crecy, the title to which he insisted he was rightfully entitled. According to Duck, he was the eldest scion of a French noble family, whose younger brother had had him waylaid and transported to the West Indies as a Spanish galley slave. Duck would sometimes daydream aloud about some day returning in glory to gain revenge on his treacherous brother.

Duck was actually French it was true, but Jack didn't give much credence to the rest of his story. He had a shrewd idea that the tough old man, with his long, shaggy grey hair and blazing eyes, was one of the original bucaneers -the wild men who used to live rough on Hispaniola, cattle-stealing, raiding and trading with the Spanish mission settlements. But he didn't question Duck's story. A man could be what he wanted to be in Calico Jack's crew, provided he fought and worked as hard as his crewmates.

Duck had produced a frying pan and soon the sizzling smell of bacon came wafting to where Jack and Mark sat. Jack grinned at his lieutenant.

"Breakfast, I reckon."