Stowaway...

[poohlive]

"I'm fine," He bit his lower lip, hiding away awkward laughter within him. Instead he reached out, his hands grasping for hers, taking her, intertwining the fingers. To be joined like that, to squeeze her hand and know he was next to her, inside of her, wanting to be together like this.

"And you feel wonderful. So tight. That is how it should feel. I'm not hurting you, am I? We can still stop, if you want..."

But he could not stop now. Nothing could stop him. He was buried deep inside of her. Her legs had come up around him, her body had accepted him. His cock, while loving the feeling of beeing deep within her folds, wanted nothing more than to fuck her.

His hips moved slowly, just at first, pushing himself out of her. He kissed her once, his lips brushing alongside her cheeks as he left her, departing from such a union. Then, he moved back inside, just as slow. His hips worked in small circles, moving him in and out, showing her what it felt like, what it would be like.

Slow, methodical, gripping her as he ran deeper inside. She didn't want him to go, her body needing him deeper, guiding him further inside of her. It gripped tightly when he pulled out, and invited him further when he pushed in.

Even at this slow pace he could feel the excitement running through his body. His cock grew harder, his eyes closed as a wave of pleasure ran up him.

 

[Britwitch]

"I'm fine...And you feel wonderful. So tight. That is how it should feel. I'm not hurting you, am I? We can still stop, if you want..."
"No...no, please...don't stop..." Niamh nuzzled into his neck, her hand squeezing his in response to his own gesture. Her words trailing off into a breathy moan as he began to move, his shaft withdrawing from her, it's pace achingly slow. Her sex twinging with discomfort for an instant as the head brushed the place where her maidenhead had stood only minutes before. Her sex gripping him tighter in it's warm, soft embrace, feeling the firmness, the strength of him.

Her back arched, raising her from against the sheets and pressing her body against his. Her hips tilting as he pushed back within her core, groaning, the sound muffled as she buried her face against his shoulder, her lips kissing and caressing his flesh, her fingers gripping his back as that sense of completeness returned.

Time and again Niamh's lips parted, wanting to tell him how he was making her feel but no words seemed to come close to describing the sensations rippling throughout her body.

Niamh could feel him swelling inside her, almost unable to believe that his already engorged shaft could become any more so. What surprised her even more was the slickness that her body seemed to be providing, easing his passage and causing that tingling bud of flesh at the top of her sex to almost begin throbbing.

She kissed his jaw, his lips, his neck, any part of his skin that came close to her mouth, desperate to be in almost constant contact with him. Her legs curling, wrapping around his waist, drawing him closer, increasing the sounds of her own sighs and whimpers as she felt him begin to move a little faster between her thighs.

 

[poohlive]

He used his hands to prop himself up above her. There, he could see between them, watch as his cock sunk deep inside of her. He could barely imagine it, where it went. It seemed to just disappear. Inside it felt so tight, the vise grip on him refusing to let him go.

He had to use as much energy to push out of her as he did to push back in. Even with the slickness of her walls, the constant flow of juices pouring from her wet pussy, it was still too tight. The virgin, the beautiful virgin that was no longer a virgin.

He moved faster. His body came up to meet hers, and all of a sudden he felt himself thrusting instead of simply rolling into her. His hips had shared with her a certain motion, just like the waves tossing back and froth on the sea. Then, once loud gasp and he plunged into her. He fucked her, one sharp piston plunge into her depths.

He stopped, buried deep inside of her, unsure if she was all right. He had heard a noise from her, but was it good, bad?

He leaned down, nuzzling at her neck, helping her to feel good.

When he had fucked her, their bodies had been pressed together. He had felt that little nub, tightly locked between them.

He waited, only a moment, and then did it again. Pushed himself out, and then simply plunged into her. A hard deep thrust, once more catching her body under his, slamming into her, knocking her back, their bodies once more tight together.

He lowered his head down, to capture a nipple in his mouth.

He began to fuck her like that, slow at first, but a hard steady thrust into her.

 

[Britwitch]

Their joining felt like nothing Niamh could ever have imagined. Everything about it was so smooth and almost soft. Her body was growing used to his presence within it, stretching ever so slightly to accommodate him without it feeling so uncomfortable while retaining it's incredibly tight grip upon him.

She cried out as he suddenly plunged within her, the movement almost harsh, pinning her against the bed, firmly embedding his sex within hers. Her lack of experience in the bedroom didn't mean Niamh didn't appreciate that it was Wesley's desire, his masculine wants coming to the fore. She could see it in his eyes, concern for her wellbeing shining back at her but glimmering alongside it, burning that little bit brighter, was desire.

As he nuzzled her neck, Niamh tightened her embrace, a shiver of...something racing down her spine. It was exhilarating to feel such want directed at her. She allowed herself a slightly shaky breath as he withdrew, only to have it sharply expelled as he thrust back inside her.

Slamming his groin against hers, causing that tingling bud of sensitive flesh to pulse intensely. The sound that left her lips this time was a moan, long and low and lusty, her hips pressed so close to his, her breasts crushed against the broad plain of his chest.

Niamh whimpered, the sound quiet and slightly trembling as his mouth moved down her body to take a nipple between his lips. Her back arched, offering her breast to his suckling mouth, her lips parting to moan again and again as his hips took up a new rhythm.

It began slowly but insistently, his shaft slipping back and forth within her lips, each inward stroke burying him to the hilt within her, holding her down, filling her entirely. Her legs tightened around his waist, pressing her body to his, moulding her form against his muscular frame. Her fingers running through his hair, pulling slightly as his body claimed hers again, and again.

 

[poohlive]

His fingers ran down her cool creamy skin. It felt so alive under him, these tiny rivers of electricity coming to him at every touch. Nothing felt as good in comparison, not even being inside of her. That did feel good, and it felt even better to take her as he was doing, to control her body like this, to see her cry out in surprise and desire as he showed her just how to make love.

He wanted her body, wanted it more than anything. He wantd to touch it, desperate clinging fingers coming up to her hair, and then down to the sides of her thighs, even further down her calves, holding her legs so close to him, clutching him, keeping him here never to escape.

And his mouth was just as bad, just as selfish. It attacked each nipple, tongue and tooth and lip working in unison, suckling, nibbling, nipping, licking, kissing. He work work on each one, giving it the attention it deserved, before slowly, reluctantly dancing his tongue over her flesh to the other one.

Those he wanted as well. He realized, with his hands around her slender neck, her hardened nipple in his mouth, his cock buried deep inside of her, fucking her, pushing her hard down against the bed, that he was in desperate need of her body. He wanted it, needed it. He wanted to touch it, be near it, give it such pleasure. He wanted it for his own, wanted to hear her scream and cry out in such deep pleasure that it caused him to erupt deep inside of her.

And he would, he could feel it coming. The first of his own needful excitement in his balls, slapping against her ass over and over. They tightened, and he felt himself wanting to go faster, needed to be buried deep within her.

There was nothing more he could do though. Take hold of her, plunge deep within her, their pace hard, fast, maddening. The bed creaked, hitting hard against the far wall each time. Her legs were obscenely open now, spread far to accomadate his body, her pussy walls gripping him in their wonderfully slick embrace.

Nothing left for him to fuck her, as hard and deep as possible. It was coming, he began grunting as he fucked her, utting like a wild animal into her. His teeth sharper, harsher against her skin, laying claim to her as his own. His cock penetrated, fucked, pointed each time, never giving her an inch.

 

[Britwitch]

Everything was swirling around her, a haze descending over their melded bodies, limbs entwined, bodies connected in the most intimate and special of ways. Every thrusting move inside her send ever increasing ripples of pleasure through her flesh, like the rings moving out across the surface of a pond following the touch of a raindrop upon it.

Only it wasn't just a raindrop. Niamh was in the middle of a storm, a hundred thousand raindrops dancing over her skin as his hands and mouth made love to her flesh while his sex laid claim to her body.

At times she found herself struggling to breathe, her body filled to bursting with so many emotions, so many sensations. That tiny bud of flesh all but exploding with need, a desperate, consuming need that frightened as much as excited her, it stole her breath and made her head feel light.

The touch of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the warmth of his tongue, the contrast of his teeth, against her nipples, her breasts, her neck, all combining to utterly overwhelm her.

Niamh wanted to laugh and cry all at once, to struggle away from this onslaught of passion that she feared may simply drown her and yet she wanted him closer, always closer, a whine rising in her throat with every withdrawal swiftly turning into a wanton moan of lust as he filled her again.

He was so strong and yet so gentle. The paradox was as breathtaking as the feel of him, the taste of him. Her lips snatching kisses whenever they could. Her skin prickling with nervous excitement as his hands moved to her throat. They felt so large, intimidating...lethal...and yet they caressed and stroked, fondled and explored.

As the speed and force of their coupling increased at a dazzling pace, all Niamh could do was cling to him. Cling to him and submit to the raw power of his desire, her legs splayed wide around him, her back arched, hips tilted, her eyes half open and lips parted in a perpetual whimper.

The rocking of the ship, the rocking of the bed, the slap of the waves against the wood, the slap of his flesh against hers...all combining and blending in her mind. She felt faint and yet more alive than she had ever done in her life.

Then the world exploded around her. Her sex and that tiny bud of sensitive flesh coming to life in a way she had never before experienced. She bucked and writhed, her body beyond her control, a scream piercing the air as her hips smashed back against his. Her nipples tingled and her tight sex embraced him closer than ever.

Her eyes fluttered shut, fingers gripping his hair, teeth catching on his shoulder as she jerked uncontrollably beneath him. In her mind she was flying through the heavens on silver wings, a warm wind dancing, tickling, teasing her skin, her heart racing so very fast, too fast. She couldn't stop trembling and the continuing movement of his body within hers only served to extend the delicious torment he had unleashed within her.

Her eyes opened hazily, her body rocking beneath his as the euphoria began to fade ever so slightly. Looking almost bewildered upon his face, a soft smile curving her lips. Her skin sparkling with beads of exertion, flushed with passion and her eyes sparkling with something that had never shone there before, never before this moment. She knew now, although any doubts she might have had had long since faded amongst the warmth and excitement of their union, she was certain. Whether he knew it, or wanted it, the fact remained. She was his.

 

[poohlive]

She would orgasm like none had ever orgasmed before. Never had a girl with him done what she did. Girls had orgasmed, they'd cum hard and loud, flailing about him, screaming his name.

But, her own body? That reluctance, unsure even what it was, what was going on in her body. Then, when it did come, to accept it with what little experience she had, to cling to it as she clung to him.

He came too. His orgasm ripped from him. That tight pussy of hers just gripped down, and he could no longer move. He just stayed buried deep inside of her, panic gripping him as he felt his cock growing harder, fatter, needing sweet release.

He didn't want to cum inside of her. He knew what that meant. Still, every time he tried to pull out of her, he simply could not. She had him gripped, even as wet as she was, he could not.

His cock exploded, deep inside. It just erupted inside of her, coating her walls with his thick white cum. He couldn't help himself now, hips bucking, wanting to push it further in, needing that last dirty thrust of himself.

And once he was spent, his cock slipped out. It grew weak, deflating inside of her, popping out as both of their juices ran down her legs.

He fell on the bed next to her, smiling at her. She looked beautiful. She glowed, that euphoria of sex never leaving her face. Eyes were half open, her mouth in a half smile. He kissed her, wanting to taste that smile.

"Thank you," He said, lips against her skin, nuzzling and licking the sweat from her glistening body, "That was... incredible."

He wanted to say he loved her, he wanted her to hear those words from him, but he just could not. The strength within him had left, he was weakened now, and despite everything he still felt he could not.

Rather, his lips just kissed her lightly, and his fingers ran over her tenderly.

 

[Britwitch]

Niamh felt the spreading heat of his seed inside her, the twitching and jerking of his sex as his hips ground their bodies together. Her legs wrapped a little tighter around him, holding them as close as could be as he spent himself. She was trembling, with exhilaration, with excitement, with nerves, all skipping and thrilling through her veins.

She whimpered softly as he withdrew, feeling the strangely cool sensation of his seed and her own bodies reaction seeping onto her thighs. For a little while she was convinced he was still within her, the tight confines of her sex refusing to give up the sensation of his flesh filling them, stretching them.

His smile was almost radiant as he looked at her, lying side by side, his mouth coming over to steal a kiss as she lay breathless and shivering in the afterglow of what they had shared.
"Thank you...That was... incredible."

Niamh could only smile shyly, her already flushed cheeks growing a little more pronounced in colour. There were so many things she wanted to say, to ask, to whisper in his ear, but she couldn't find the words to convey any of it. Not now. Not yet.

She rolled over onto her side, her chest and stomach against his, fingers coming up to idly stroke back and forth across his chest as her head nuzzled into his neck, kissing the flesh softly. Shivering and almost giggling as his own stroking fingers caused pulses of the unbelievable pleasure she had just felt, shooting across her skin, arching her back and pressing her closer still, her form moulding to his.

"I never knew such things were possible..." She murmured eventually, her voice husky and low as the sheer level of exertion her inexperienced body had been under began to take it's toll. Her eyes growing heavy and her breathing slow.

She reached back and pulled the crumpled bedsheet across, covering her torso and his leaving their bare, entwined legs below it and their shoulders and the tops of their chests above it. Niamh sighed, snuggling into his arm as she allowed her eyes to close for a moment.

"Wesley, I..." She began, her cheek resting against the smooth pillow of his flesh. She only intended to close her eyes for am instant, pausing in her words merely to take a deep breath, but the warmth of his body, the comfort of it, the strength, all seemed to highlight how tired she had become and before she could whisper anything more, Niamh began drifting into sleep, smiling softly.

 

[poohlive]

He felt her breath deepen. Her chest rising and falling against his. She felt so warm. His hands, too instincual for thought, wrapped around her, bringing her close. He kissed her, her forehead, her lips, her closed eyes even as she slept. She needed her sleep. She had been through so much today.

And he loved her. God, he shouldn't. He couldn't, but he did anyway. She had been stuck in such an impossible situation, and the one person she thought would save her, the man who loved her, would betray her for his own selfish ends.

They were headed for Caria. He made sure of it. Did he still want to go?

He would have to look at her. The moment he tied her up and sent her down the gangplank to the arms of soldiers waiting to bring her to wherever she needed to be. She would look back at him, scared, hurt, confused, wondering how a man who could touch her so softly, love her so would ever do such a thing to her.

He couldn't stand that look.

Still, lost in these confusing thoughts himself, he found sleep. It came to him in a restless and dreamless state, breathing and holding her tight. A woman had not slept in his bed since his wife, someone who made love and held him so tight, someone who could put that fear out of his heart, if only for a moment.

The constant pounding woke him up. Eyes fluttering, arms protective over Niamh before he even realized what he was doing.

"Captain!" One of the cabin boys blustered in, eyes wide when he saw them both in the bed. Wesley shot up, covering up Niamh as much as possible.

"What?"

"Ships... three of them. They fly Allan colors. One of them is a Man'o'war. The crew is scared. They've already untied the Duke, they want to trade him so there isn't a fight... Sir."

"Damnit," He crossed over Niamh's body, getting out of the bed. He caught a single glance of what they had done the night before. It was crusted in the sheets, blood, stains. He remembered his orgasm, inside of her, wanting to pull out, but she had been holding him too tight.

His hand went to her face but briefly, as he reached for his clothing.

"Where is the duke?"

"He's been talking with some of the crew. They've been listening. He makes some good points. All night, he's been convincing people, and now that the ships are coming... a lot of them are convinced."

Shit, shit... he grabbed for his boots, shoving them on as hard as possible.

"Get out," He asked the little runt, who squeaked and ran off, closing the door behind him.

"I'm on verge of mutiny, and about to battle against hellish odds with a more powerful ship."

He turned back, looking at Niamh in the bed, "I sure hope this plan of yours works. Because right now I don't have much confidence."

 

[Britwitch]

Niamh slept peacefully in his embrace, the warmth and comfort of his body so close, arms around her, holding her tight, keeping her safe. She felt it, even in her dreams, she knew he had not left her. Worries threatened to plague her nighttime musings, concern over the Duke, his intentions towards her...towards Wesley. Disquieting thoughts of her future, she had given all that she had to Wesley, she had given him the greatest prize she posessed but what would happen now...? Would he give her up and simply add her to the list of his conquests? Would he keep her with him...could he actually feel for her the way she was convinced she felt about him...?

In her dreams they travelled together, sharing adventures, sharing a life, a home...
A panicked voice cut through her fantasy, jolting her back to reality, feeling Wesley's embrace tightening as her eyes flickered into focus and drew a gasp from her lips as she saw a flustered looking cabin boy in the doorway. Wesley hurried pushed the sheets over her exposed form, demanding to know what was so important it could not wait.
"Ships... three of them. They fly Allan colors. One of them is a Man'o'war. The crew is scared. They've already untied the Duke, they want to trade him so there isn't a fight... Sir."
"Damnit,"

Niamh's heart stopped at the cabin boy's words.
"Oh no...no..." She murmured, her tone bursting with anxiety as she clutched the sheets closer. Frowning as she followed Wesley's gaze which had frozen for a long moment, blushing as their evidence of their union stained the sheets beneath her. His hand grazed her face, drawing her eyes back to his and bringing a brief but genuinely warm smile onto her lips.

"Where is the duke?"
"He's been talking with some of the crew. They've been listening. He makes some good points. All night, he's been convincing people, and now that the ships are coming... a lot of them are convinced."
"He's talks a good fight but that is all...!" Niamh insisted, not convinced either of the men in the room would be listening to her. Wesley seemed to be cursing to himself as he hurriedly dressed, bellowing at the cabin boy to leave them.

"I'm on verge of mutiny, and about to battle against hellish odds with a more powerful ship...I sure hope this plan of yours works. Because right now I don't have much confidence."
Niamh slid from the bed almost as soon as the door closed behind the cabin boy's back, her naked form almost gliding across the floor towards him, pressing herself briefly against him, pushing herself up onto her toes and kissing him.
"You trusted me before, please, don't doubt me now..." She whispered, almost pleading.

"Put the Duke in a dinghy and leave him, he'll be picked up and that will at least delay them for a little while. He'll tell them what we've told him and if their Captain is as loyal to Allan as he should be, he'll turn back or at least wait for word from their King...giving us time to escape..." She pulled back from him, heading to the drawer of women's clothing and rifling through it looking for something, anything she could wear in a battle. Cursing when she found nothing even close to suitable. She hastily pulled on a corset and undergarments, turning her back instinctively to him to help her fasten it.

She could see the question in his eyes before he asked it.
"Of course...if he's not as loyal to Allan as he should be, then a battle is obviously on the-" Her words cut off as Wesley's fingers pulled the laces tight and briefly stole her breath. "...the cards..." She finished, turning to smile reassuringly at him, to let him know he hadn't hurt her. A lifetime in a corset had hardened her to such things. "Either way, you'll have time to get ready...their ship maybe more powerful but that doesn't mean it will win out. The other two ships will head back with the Duke...leaving the man'o'war alone..."

"Your men will follow you and they will obey you...of that I am certain. It would take far more than the flowery words of a Duke to dissuade them....it would take far more to dissuade me..." She finished softly, leaning up to kiss him again. "Now go, remind them of where their loyalties lie while I try to find myself some clothes..."
She followed him to the doorway and scanned the deck urgently.
"You!" She yelled at the cabin boy, causing him to almost fall over his own feet as he caught sight of her in the underwear and nothing else. "Give me your clothes and do it now...!" She ordered brusquely.
"But...but I...I..." He stammered, clearly confused. Groaning, Niamh walked swiftly over to him. He was thin and weedy and barely an inch or two taller than she. Her fingers curled into the white shirt across his chest and pulled him closer, courageous nervousness coursing through her veins and giving her a nerve she found she rather liked.
"Either you give them to me or I rip them off you and leave the rest up to the Captain. Now, give me...your clothes...!" She spoke quietly and firmly.

Soon afterwards, Niamh moved across the deck, eyes seeking out Wesley. Her slim form now clad in the tight black trousers and white shirt of the cabin boy. She had taken his sword as well as his apparel and was just fastening the scabbard and belt around her waist as she approached Wesley on the upper deck. His keen eyes surveying the horizon behind them.
"What's happening, what are they doing, Captain?" She asked, adding his title almost as an after thought. While she was certain almost all of the crew would know by now of the manner in which they had been discovered, there was a real need to acknowledge his position when among his crew.

 

[poohlive]

"There you are," Josh Morgan stood on the lower deck, with the wide eyed duke right next to him. He turned from the ships over to the captain, and became very excited indeed when the princess came to stand upon his side.

The duke nodded, "I told you about the policies of Caria royalty. Was I not right?"

A few nodded in agreement. Some more aggressively then others. Wesley saw that some had their swords out, others just looked back and forth, scared between a captain, a duke, and a ship about to blow them out of the water.

"I tried to talk some sense into him last night, but she has him wrapped around her little finger. Make no mistake now, boys, this is her ship now."

Wesley growled at that. Stepping away from Niamh. He didn't want to, if anything he wanted to come closer, but he found himself unable to do so, not now.

"Like I said, we let them get close, and if I go to talk to them I could..."

"Lower a rowboat. Put the Duke on it. We're sailing away," Wesley said, his voice rough, firm, an order he wanted to be carried out. Two of the crewmembers moved at once, going to haul one of the rowboats overboard to pull it down.

No one else moved.

"That is your great plan?" The Duke asked, voice as wishy and wavy as the sea they were upon this moment, "Let me go and hope for the best? You see the ships, don't you captain? Allan does not tolerate piracy. You of all people should know that."

Wesley turned towards Josh, "Put him in the boat, now."

"Where are we going, Captain?"

That question put him off guard. He paused, his eyes running back from the duke to the crew. That was a loaded question, with many answers that could hurt him from many different fronts. He bit his lower lip.

"Josh..."

"No, I want to know. We're free now. We've worked all of this time to finally get out from under Allan's thumb, and now we kidnap him? We have the princess of Caria, what are we doing? The duke said he would reward us handsomely for her. We could retire, like you wanted."

"You will not question my authority on this ship. None of you."

The duke nodded, "He's right. It is his ship, after all. His orders being carried out. He is the one in charge. And, if I am not mistaken, he gave an order last night, did he not?"

All of a sudden Wesley turned back, looking at Niamh. Fear crossing over his face. He couldn't let her be here, couldn't let her hear this.

"Shut up, Duke. You're going back home."

"Just like your princess is, I'm sure. Where are we going, Wesley? It is a simple question..."

Torn, from all sides. Too many fronts, too many battles to fight. He ground his teeth, what did he need to do, what could he possibly do.

Nothing, without his crew. He realized that. He could do nothing without his crew.

"Caria," He said, the words low, flat on his tongue.

The duke had a high expression, which somehow mismatched on his already wide face, making him look twice as big, "Is that right? What are you going to do there, dear captain?"

He lowered his head, "The princess is worth more if we deliver her ourselves. We'll get ten times what the Duke promises, if he could promise. I would not trust him, no matter what the price. His tongue is looser than a snakes."

The duke seemed to have bowed at that, something of a compliment in his eyes.

"So that is why you fought so hard to save her, because of more money. No wonder. Here I thought there was an army, and a plan, and reserves... Oh my. It seems even a princess can lie like the best of them."

God, what had he done?

 

[Britwitch]

"Caria,"
Niamh felt suddenly sick.
"The princess is worth more if we deliver her ourselves. We'll get ten times what the Duke promises, if he could promise. I would not trust him, no matter what the price. His tongue is looser than a snakes."

She had moved away from Wesley, sensing the need for him to be seen as acting alone but it turned out such theatrics were not needed. She stumbled back against the side of the ship slightly, her cheeks pale and eyes glittering no longer with excitement but with fear.

"So that is why you fought so hard to save her, because of more money. No wonder. Here I thought there was an army, and a plan, and reserves... Oh my. It seems even a princess can lie like the best of them."
Her eyes narrowed, scowling at the Duke for an instant before turning them towards the Captain. He wasn't looking at her, she could tell his avoidance of her glance was intentional. She had seen enough cowering, obsequious men in her time at the Castle of Caria to know when a man was cornered. It wasn't a look that sat well upon Wesley's shoulders but she knew he was acting in the only way he could.

She frowned and turned away, letting her gaze run across the ocean towards the ships in pursuit, just who did she think she was she trying to convince? Was she really that desperate to believe a pirate capable of mercies towards her, capable of love towards her...?

"A princess does what she can..." She almost snarled at the Duke, moving towards the rail of the upper deck, looking out across the lower deck and the angry, confused and mostly scared faces looking back up at her.

"I will be worth nothing to you if I am taken by Allan, which is what they will do, you cannot believe what this worm of a man says..." She drew her sword and pointed it towards the Duke. "They will take me and kill you, all of you...why would they pay for what they think they can steal..."

"Your Captain will see you all paid if I am returned to Caria, the Duke can make you no such offer...follow your Captain, his word is true...and you know it...!" Niamh turned away from the crowded men below, not wishing them to see the tear that had escaped her eye.

She knew they would follow him, as she would have followed him. She had believed him, trusted him...she had even loved him...
Now she had to fight alongside him and save the Guardian from destruction.

After that, she would have to find a way off of the vessel and hope to find a life for herself somewhere. For just as she had believed his words of love in the night before, she knew enough to believe his words now, that they were truly headed back to Caria and that was a fate she simply could not accept, even if delivered to her by him.

 

[poohlive]

"You see," Why did she have to agree with him? It hurt him so. Like someone coming up and slamming into his back, drawing all of the breahth out of him. He would have liked it better if she yelled at him, screamed at him, run up and cried in his arms, tearing at his flesh, wondering what last night had all meant.

What had it all meant, if he was still going to kill her, death by invading army.

He didn't know.

"Put him on the boat," He said.

Josh hesitated a moment, turning back to the Duke. It seemed as if this is not what the duke had said would happen, and Josh's loyalties were compromised.

"I'll reward anyone who helps me," The Duke said, pointing to the three ships, "And my ships will make sure to kill all those who don't. You have littl choice here. Come on Josh, you said yourself you wanted to be captain. I could give this ship to you, make you a privateer for Allan. You would die rich beyond your dreams."

It sounded like a speech, and a well versed one that must have been used throughout the night. Welsey knew he had nothing against it. His counter off was to take out his pistol and start shooting those who did not follow his command.

That, or the promise of gold would not sway his crew.

"Niamh," He turned, his eyes sorrowful, but needing. She had the tongue to match the Duke, she knew the words, the politics. He knew nothing more than a sword and command. He would make them all walk the plank, did he not need them for the fight to come.

If she could not convince them, then they were all lost.

"Please," His whisper low, just for her.

The duke nodding, "I told you who was captain now. She uses what she has, like all women, as power. And now it is her ship more than his."

 

[Britwitch]

"You see...Put him on the boat,"
Niamh winced, turning away completely, hiding her face that threatened to crumple and betray just how devasted she felt. Her heart ached, it actually ached and her stomach was churning over and over. She felt sick, and stupid, oh so stupid to have allowed herself to be taken...no, she hadn't been taken...she had given herself to him and that somehow made it all worse. Had everything he had said been a lie, the words of love he had whispered in her ear, the sentiments, the desires...had she just heard what she wanted...

Her musings were cut short as the Duke's voice rang out over the deck.
"I'll reward anyone who helps me...And my ships will make sure to kill all those who don't. You have little choice here. Come on Josh, you said yourself you wanted to be captain. I could give this ship to you, make you a privateer for Allan. You would die rich beyond your dreams."
Niamh couldn't help but turn back, she could feel the tension rising up off of the crew in waves, coming strongest off of Wesley, his fingers twitching, eager to start something, anything.

"Niamh,"
She looked to him before she could stop herself, seeing the need in his eyes and something else, guilt perhaps? Or was it the same pain that was stabbing at her insides.
"Please,"
Her teeth caught on her lower lip, if he couldn't keep control of his crew she would be lost to Allan and her fate would be sealed. Her only chance at escape from all of this would be if Wesley and his crew fought against the steadily approaching enemy as one.

As well as the fact that seemed to worry her most of all, if Wesley lost control of his crew, he could well lose his life and that was the last thing Niamh could bear to see happen. In spite of the pain his words and intentions were causing her, her heart still remembered the way he had made it feel, the way he had made her feel, in a time when they were Wesley and Niamh and not Princess and Pirate.

"I told you who was captain now. She uses what she has, like all women, as power. And now it is her ship more than his."
"If this were my ship, Duke, you would already be overboard and without the benefit of a boat..." Niamh whirled to face him, sneering his title, the sword once again in her hand. Every insult he made towards her, towards Wesley, irritated something, awoke something deep inside her.

"This man holds less power than you all think...I am a Princess, upon return to Caria I will be a Queen and I can either order the rewarding of those that bring me there...or their destruction...the Duke is a fool, if he thinks Allan will be rewarded by the Braviens he is far more witless than most titled pigs are...they will take me and burn the ship that brings me...then war will be waged on Allan, a war they will lose, a war which will include all of you if you chose to side with the Duke here and now, and that will be the end of it..."

"Allan will not let you go if you give me over to them..." Niamh continued, her gaze sweeping across the crew below her. "They need me...and they need to remove any rivals...the Duke is as capable of telling the truth as a fish is of building a nest...he cares for his own skin and his own skin alone...you matter less to him than I do...I at least will pay for him to buy another title...you will give him nothing and so will get nothing in return..."

"Captain Acker will see you rewarded for your work and I will see that this ship and all on it are given safe passage out of Carian waters...surely it is not a hard decision to make..."
Several members of the crew exchanged glances, a few whispered to one another. Her words hung in the air over the deck as she stepped back, moving closer to Wesley, trembling slightly as the silence grew longer. Fingers tightening upon the handle to the sword while her free hand acted before she could stop it and reached back behind her to quickly grasp his hand.

The warmth, the strength of his hand against hers bolstering her confidence, as well as making her want nothing more than to wrap herself in his arms once more.
She stepped forwards, eyes blazing in the sunlight, her voice carrying loud and true on the wind.
"So what is it to be? Will you give in and surrender to the Duke and the dogs of Allan...or fight like the men I know you are inside...?!"

 

[poohlive]

There seemed to be a new vigor in the Duke's wide eyes stare. He did not have that weakness before, perhaps because he was surrounding by people, and his ships were coming ever close towards him. This Duke would not back down, as last night's had done so easily.

The princess had already lost, she just did not know it yet.

"You will be no queen of Caria. And you will have no power to pay them. Oh, she is right when she says any ship that takes her to Caria for return will be burned, along with whatever crew is inside. But what does that say for this ship? For Captain Acker there? The Braviens will not think twice about a pirate ship, but three, with a man o war? And all we want is to negotiate terms of surrrender for a princess they need?"

He spoke with luster, with a deep understanding for these men and their plight. He spoke as a man who could make things done, half promises in the night, and handshakes, lots and lots of handshakes.

He spoke like a man lying through his teeth, but no one knew it except for Niamh.

"Face it, your wonderful captain put you in this horrible situation because of a woman. He wanted her for himself. He always wanted her. He would have the whole world going to war, simply because of his desire. I wonder though, is it mutual? How much did little princess have to resist when he finally fucked her?"

Wesley broke the touch he held with the princess. He wanted to hold her, wanted to keep her tight, but his hand had begun to shake ever since the Duke had started talking.

He took out a blunderbuss, aiming it at the Duke's head, "And if I kill you here? Duke? What sort of plans do you have then?"

Two other crew men, alongside the Duke pulled guns as well. One could not bring himself to raise his weapon to the captain, the other, Josh, had it aimed right at the princess.

"Don't do anything stupid Wesley..."

Wesley's finged itched though, and he could feel that bullet's need to be lodged inside of the DUke's skull.

 

[Britwitch]

"You will be no queen of Caria. And you will have no power to pay them. Oh, she is right when she says any ship that takes her to Caria for return will be burned, along with whatever crew is inside. But what does that say for this ship? For Captain Acker there? The Braviens will not think twice about a pirate ship, but three, with a man o war? And all we want is to negotiate terms of surrrender for a princess they need?"

"Three ships will be seen as an invasion attempt and a fleet will be sent to meet and destroy them...the Braviens won't stop and wait for an introduction..." Niamh retorted.
"Face it, your wonderful captain put you in this horrible situation because of a woman. He wanted her for himself. He always wanted her. He would have the whole world going to war, simply because of his desire. I wonder though, is it mutual? How much did little princess have to resist when he finally fucked her?"
"Why you-!" Niamh began, her eyes narrowed and the sword once again high in her hand but Wesley acted before the words could finish leaving her lips.

"And if I kill you here? Duke? What sort of plans do you have then?"
Before anything more could be done, two more weapons were raised, one aimed at Niamh, the other somewhere to the left of Wesley, the crewman holding it obviously not brave enough to aim it at the Captain.
"Don't do anything stupid Wesley..."
Niamh glanced from the gun aimed at her to the Duke's smug face and then back to Josh, the crewman aiming the blunderbuss in her direction.

"None of you doubted Captain Acker before this treacherous worm was brought on board and began poisoning your minds...he is a liar and a coward, he's relying on you to fight his battles for him, just as Allan will use any of you that join them as cannon fodder..." Niamh began to move forwards, the grace of her movements belying the speed with which she approached the Duke.

"You may not be able to recognise the lies leaving his lips but I do..." She felt Wesley's hand snatch at hers to hold her back but she was already out of reach. "I'm sorry...none of this would have happened if I hadn't come onto your ship and I'm tired of people fighting my battles for me, ..." She said softly, looking back at Wesley over her shoulder. Her sword pointing menacingly at the Duke as she descended the steps between the decks, the sun glinting off of the polished blade.

"I have nothing to lose, Duke...you seem to forget that...if I die here or back in Caria at the hands of the Braviens makes little difference, but at least here, I shall die because I choose to..."
She stepped closer, the cocking of the hammer on Josh's gun halting her progress for an instant.

"With all of your plans and all of your scheming, Duke, there is something you don't know...something important...I never wanted to be Queen anyway..." Her smile was almost sardonic as she raised the sword a fraction higher and charged at the Duke. She dodged the aim of Josh's gun, wincing as he fired and hissing as a dull pinch hit her upper arm.

The Duke drew his sword and the ringing of metal against metal filled the air as the Princess and the Duke began to fight. She met every blow, deflecting it and returning it with one of her own. He looked panicked and scared, she looked calm and prepared. Every hour of training she had had with her brothers coming into play as she almost danced around him. The white of the shirt turning to crimson from the wound to her arm but she barely noticed.

The need to defend herself too strong to fight against, a desire to avenge her family in some way, any way. The Duke was tiring, his breathing heavy and Niamh took her chance. She rammed her sword forwards, catching the Duke on the right side of his chest, causing him to stagger backwards and she followed him, step after step, driving him backwards, until the side of the ship hit him in his back.

"Now, you've been asked nicely...get off...this ship!" She withdrew her sword and swung it towards his head. He flinched, his face pale and expression confused as he leant back out of reach and lost his balance, his arms circled uselessly in the air before he fell, hitting the sea with a loud smack. Niamh whirled back, her sword stained with the Duke's blood as her eyes swept the stunned crew before her.
"Anyone else want to discuss this matter futher?" She asked pointedly, an eyebrow arched.

No one moved.
"In that case, I suggest listen to your Captain...you are about to go into battle..." Niamh thrust the sword into it's scabbard and leant heavily against the side of the ship. Feeling the pain in her arm for the first time as the exhilaration in her veins began to fade. Her eyes seeking out Wesley as the crew turned to face him expectantly.

 

[poohlive]

The duke looked almost content, his last dying moments before he fell overboard. He had the distinct honor of knowing he had beat her. One way or another, Princess Niamh had lost this fight, and her rage overtook whatever calm she held. She had to resort to a pirate's way out, fighting him. And now, knowing he would die, he knew also that she no longer had a way out.

No amount of talk or negotiation would end this encounter for her. She was determined to lose.

Maybe that helped him, as he sputtered, cried out, flailed his arms uselessly, and then succombed to sea water deep in his lungs.

Wesley only stood there, impotent. He could not have imagined this going any worse than if he tried. Betrayed by his crew, forced to tell Niamh the truth, about to run aground by superiour arms and firepower, and now his only bargaining chip, as screwed up as it was, just flew overboard.

He shook his head, wanting to go and see to Niamh's wound, see if she was ok, just hold her in his arms, but he could not. Instead, he took hold of the helm and turned the ship hard.

"I want the main sail. Bring me the mison mast center. Start loading up charges. I want everyone at the ready."

They would try and run. He knew that much. He could not fight three ships, not even two... not if one was a man'o'war. He could take on two if they were both equal, he had that much trust in his crew, but not a man'o'war. He could fight bravely for a good ten minutes, and then a third volley of that wall of canons would just blow them all out of the water.

He would run. Caria. Maybe Niamh was right, if Caria saw that many ships, they'd think it was an attack and would counter accordingly. But, what then?

He didn't know. All he knew is that in the time they took, negotiating, those ships had come far too close. Almost in range.

As if to emphasize that, he head a first volley of canons. The water around them exploded. Too far away, but not that far. They were coming up on it though. Warning shots, to return their Duke.

He would be returned all right. They would see him floating soon enough.

The sail came up, catching the wind, and then the ship lurched forward, as Welsey turned it dead east, right to the heart of Caria.

Forgive him.

 

[Britwitch]

Niamh stumbled into the cabin, finding a strip of one of the dresses she had been in the middle of adjusting and wrapping it tightly around her arm to staunch the blood a little. Her heart was racing in her chest, panic rising sharply to replace the fleeting feeling of achievement she had felt at sending the Duke overboard. The Allan ships would be upon them soon enough, the rumble of cannon in the distance.

She had to do something, there had to be something. This was all her fault. The words kept echoing in her head. She had doomed this ship and herself the moment she had stepped onboard it. Why hadn’t she just run, if she hadn’t have come on board she wouldn’t have met Wesley and she wouldn’t be feeling the things that she was. The sense of something akin to obligation, a desire to see him safe over anything else.

She sunk onto the bed for a moment, the sheets still crumpled and creased and showing the evidence of their union. She wrenched her eyes from the sight, burying her head in her hands for a moment. Her mind desperately seeking a solution. The ocean outside the window erupted with foam as the enemy cannon fire crashed into it. Niamh looked up, eyes wide before falling to the drawer still half open, clothes and material spilling out of it onto the floor from her search for a makeshift bandage.

A lurid purple gown she had deemed too vulgar to even attempt to adjust for herself caught her eye, along with another of yellow. Her tongue wetting her lips as an idea filtered into her brain.

The colours of Caria. From a distance at least they could appear to be so.
If she had enough time she could…

Niamh flew out of the cabin, the plan still forming in her head as she swung herself up the stairs to the upper deck, grabbing Wesley’s forearm and pulling him away from the wheel. He made to pull himself free but something in her eyes must have caught his attention.
“…Captain, I…I have an idea…if you can buy me just a little time, I think I know a way that should get us past the Bravien defences…a flag. A Carian flag, I think I can make one…or something that would pass for one at distance. The Bravien guard will believe us to be a Carian vessel in distress at the hands of the Allan ships, just as they would attack the Allan ships without checking their reason for straying into their waters, they will launch ships in defence of this one if they believe it to be theirs without checking for verification first…” Niamh swiftly explained.

“…Then we will just have to follow the coast until we’re out of Carian waters…unless…unless you would rather put me in a dinghy over the side once we’re in sight of the coast…that should buy you enough time to make your escape…” She added tenuously, asking as bluntly as she dared whether he was really going to hand her over like a piece of plunder to the highest bidder. Not certain she truly wanted to know the answer.

 

[poohlive]

Would that work? He thought it over. He didn't know. It didn't sound like a good idea. Easily see through, if anyone chose to check up on it. A single flag to save them all.

It would be an hour before they were in sight of Caria land, an hour would be enough time to make a flag. They could outrun the Braivens for an hour.

And then what? Welsey did not know. He thought of what Niamh said, putting her over the side might be a good idea. She might be able to survive that way. He didn't imagine her surviving in this ship anymore. She couldn't. Too many were out to get her, and now even himself.

He held her hand, speaking low to her, so no one could hear, "I'll get you somewhere safe, and let you go. No Bravien will touch you, no Allan, and none of my crew. Everyone looks at you and sees their future..."

That future was all money though. He was the only one who looked upon her and saw a future with her, saw her sailing with him, saw her crying out for him each night, bearing his children.

Yes, eveyrone who looked at her saw their future.

And, all he could really do for her is let her go. Make sure no one could touch her. Then, he would sial away, they would follow him. She could escape, find any of these loyalists she lied to so many about. Maybe there were some loyalists out there though, maybe, a good small army, enough to start an uprising. That is all she would need.

He hoped that for her.

Right now, he would need that flag though.

"Go, do it," He spoke, finally happy that the sails of the Allan were not getting close. The gunfire had stopped, but Wesley could see now that one of the ships was pulling something out of the water. Something heavy.

The Man'o'war called out, a large blaring horn.

And the ship to the right, the sleekest and smallest of the three, pushed forward. It looked like a keel haul, floating above the water instead of in it. It had the speed of a ship half its size, and the crew smart enough to know what to do with it.

It didn't take Wesley long to realize what while he could outrun a huge man'o'war, he couldn't not outrun this tiny vessel. And if it had firepower they were as good as done.

He swallowed, hoping for the best win, the easiest sails, and the fastest trip ever recorded on water.

He knew though, somewhere in the back of his mind, that none of that would happen.

 

[Britwitch]

"I'll get you somewhere safe, and let you go. No Bravien will touch you, no Allan, and none of my crew. Everyone looks at you and sees their future..."
Niamh's heart sank at his words, even though he was stood there promising her freedom and a life away from the slavery that her life back in Caria would amount to under the Braviens, she found it not as enticing or as tempting as she thought it would be. After all, what would freedom be worth without someone to share it with...?

"Thank you...Wesley..." Her voice was trembling slightly as she spoke, although she hoped most of it would be lost under the sounds of the crew working like lightening to get the Guardian ready. She wanted to say no, that she wanted to stay, to work with him, live with him...love him...but this was neither the time nor the place for such admissions. If they were to survive he, above everyone else, needed his wits about him. She could not afford to have so many lives on her conscience should her words distract him.

She settled herself for squeezing his hands and smiling, half coy, half wanton, meeting his eyes only increased her desire to be with him again, to be with him totally and utterly. Forcing herself to look away before the desire grew too strong and she simply threw herself at him, desperate to feel as safe and as loved as she had done in his embrace.

"Go, do it,"
Niamh could only nod, not trusting her voice to not betray her desires and emotions. She hurried back down towards the cabin, risking a final glance back at him over her shoulder before disappearing back into the relative calm of his bedchamber.

She focused herself on the task at hand. Yanking the two dresses from the chest and setting about pulling them apart at the seams. Fortunately the billowing skirts on both had more than enough material within them to make the size of flag that was required. She began to cut, two large triangles of the purple and a long wide strip of the yellow that would run diagonally between them.

Laying the large pieces of cloth out on the floor, arranging them until she was satisfied, she quickly threaded the needle and began to sew. The small piece of metal flying back and forth, marrying the two sides of the cloth with the tiny, strong stitches she had used to fix the mainsail.

Niamh focused entirely on the task before her, crawling about the floor in what she was certain was a most undignified position, her head close to the cloth, her rear high in the air to keep her balanced. She could not afford to snag the material or break the thread. There simply wasn't time to correct such mistakes. Gritting her teeth as her arm ached constantly, pulsing with agony everytime she had to lean upon it. God forbid anyone should look in on her in such a position.

Once finished Niamh allowed herself a slight smile, it looked better than she had imagined. It was true the yellow was not quite the gold that Caria used upon it's flags but one could only tell that when as close as she had been. She doubted even her mother and father would have been able to set this flag apart from one that had fluttered on the ramparts of their home.

She carefully gathered it up, hissing as her arm protested against the weight, being carful not to stain the material with blood, she carried it outside. Seeking out Wesley and heading straight for him. Her eyes widening as she saw the ship in pursuit, it was not the large man'o'war but whatever it was, it was gaining on them.
"Here..." She handed the flag to a crewmember that passed her. "Run up these colours on the main mast and be sure to remove any others...!" Her words sharp and blunt as she moved to stand beside Wesley, following his gaze out across the rolling waters.
"Will we make it...?" She asked, clasping her hand around her injured arm, both to try and ease the discomfort as well as prevent it instinctively reaching out for him.

 

[poohlive]

By the time he saw Niamh again, he wished she'd stayed below decks. She might not get hurt this way. He had begun to turn the ship more towards the north, to make a better leeway when it came alongside this new keel haul.

It had cut the space between them in less than ten minutes. Another ten and it would have been right on their ass, with all canons firing perfect shots.

The captain had no choice. He had to fight. They were going to do a long dash along the side of the ship, and hope to get the better of it.

And then hope they could detach and still make a run before the other two ships could get within firing range.

Every moment became precious.

"Fire!" He shouted from the helm, as a first volley shot out. They had been within range, but the balls from the canons shot everywhere. Some too far, others hitting the water useless. Only a few broke sides into the ship, one tearing out a sail as it flew through the air in thunderous applause.

"Get ready," He said to the princess. He held her hand, bringing her in close to him. It would be a kiss, a wonderful lasting kiss. It might indeed be their last, and if it was, he wanted it to be a good one.

The fire was returned. The keel hauler let loose, the ship shaking as it was hit. Two balls in the side, one crashed down on the top deck. Two men screamed as they were flung overboard.

"Damnit," He cried, turning the ship, grabbing at the rudder underneath, getting them close enough so canons were useless.

Close enough to be boarded.

Ropes were flung over. At that Wesley drew his sword. The cutlass, new, hungry, eager to taste flesh looked like it belonged in his hand. He ran to the side, cutting a rope, and then running down one of the men who tried to jump over.

A dozen more followed him though, some getting footing, others screaming as they pulled out blunderbusses, and fired randomly.

Wesley cried out for the princess, but he could no longer see her. He fought two men, one on each side, and all his attention was kept on not getting scewered from either angle.

She showed herself useful with a sword once.

He bit his lower lip, his sword finding a man's flesh all too easy to tear into.

 

[Britwitch]

"Get ready,"
Niamh clung to Wesley as he kissed her, closing her eyes and for a moment forgetting the chaos around them. Savouring every touch of their lips, their tongues, storing every second in her heart in case she was never kissed like that again. Her knees felt weak and she wasn't certain that it wasn't the cannonballs of the enemy that had ripped into the side of the ship rather than just the kiss that had made her feel unsteady. Before her eyes could flutter fully back into focus, Wesley was gone.

A roar rising up on the deck as the crew turned their attentions on the enemy sailors attempting to board the Guardian. She licked at her lips, eyes narrowing as she drew her sword and followed the wave of the crew nearest to her in trying to hold back the men attempting to cross from the Allan ship onto the upper deck.

The air was filled with the sounds of battle, metal clanging against metal, the dull pops of pistols being fired, the cries and screams of men in both victory and anguish.

Niamh found herself battling one man after another, smiling slightly as each would falter upon seeing who they were fighting. That she was a woman was shock enough, that she was the princess they had been sent to retrieve was quite another. Those moments of shock allowed her to dispatch them swiftly and, she hoped, relatively painlessly.

She was smaller and lighter than any of the sailors on the deck and as a result she all but danced around those who tried to attack her. Her blade moved with speed and precision, keen eyes watching more than just the man she was fighting.

Whenever she felt safe enough to do so, her eyes would shift and look for Wesley. His large frame making him easy to spot but also making him an easy target. He was almost constantly surrounded by men, a blur of polished steel encircling him. Niamh wanted to go to him, to stand by him and fight but she knew she could not.

Niamh whirled back to face the sailors still pouring on board from the Allan ship and found herself face to face with a pistol.
"Your highness, I presume..." The smugly smiling face of the sailor behind it leered at her, his eyes sweeping openly over her form. With her curls spilling wildly about her shoulders, the white shirt and tight fitting black pants did little to hide the feminine curves the corset emphasised beneath them. "We can do this the easy way or the hard, but I am sure my Captain would rather see you come onboard without that pretty face of yours bloodied..."

"And if I decline, if I do not wish to go aboard his ship...?" Niamh asked, moving slowly, the pair circling, evaluating one another as the battle raged around them.
"It is not an invitation, Princess, it's an order..."
"I don't take orders..." She said flatly, flicking the pistol out of his hand with her sword and charging him down. He drew his own weapon in time to defend himself but the shock on his face showed how close he had come to being run through.

Niamh smiled raising her sword to drive him further back across the deck when she felt the air expelled from her lungs. Two large arms forcing her arms down, crushing around her ribcage and lifting her off her feet. She kicked and struggled but the arms held her fast, her sword clattering to the deck in the process. Crying out as her wounded arm was smashed against her body, her body wriggling and writhing like a fish out of water as the sailor began carrying her towards the side of the ship.

"Wesley!!" She screamed, ramming her elbow back in the hope of connecting with the sensitive flesh of his torso and forcing him to release her. After all it had worked on her brothers, although admittedly all they had been trying to do was hold her still to tickle and torment her.

 

[poohlive]

It was the sound he never wanted to hear, one he dred each moment as he held his own against the oncoming force. These were good strong men, determined men. Sailors, pirates who were as strong and as useful, but worked for the government instead of on their own.

They were fighting their own here.

And he heard his princess scream.

He turned fast, searching for her. The upper deck, his eyes scanning the bodies, both living and dead, for her. He hoped she was still alive, he hoped she had not been run down.

But, he did see her. He never felt so happy, even if she were in the arms of another. To see her kicking and fighting was a sight. He could save her against a foe, against ten, but he couldn't save her with a sword through her heart.

He bumped against one of the attacked, pushing him down into the sea below as he ran forward, towards her and her captors. There were two of them now, holding her, carrying her over to the keel haul ship.

Oh God, no. He couldn't lose her. Her dying was one thing, but losing her?

He had to work his way across the deck now. It was filled with people fighting, dancing over the dead in order to keep themselves alive. He doged and weaved, running up the stairs as the two men, one of them bent over in pain, threw her over the railing.

She flew in the air, she looked beautiful, even in flight. He jumped, catching himself against the side of his own ship, clasping against one of her ankles.

He held on tight. Three other men in the keel haul were waiting for her, catching her in their arms. They each had her, and Wesley held onto that one ankle, tight.

She was caught between ships, so many fighting to keep her. They pulled, but not too hard, because they knew they needed her alive. So much money if they made sure she got back home alive.

He had a death grip on that ankle though, he would not let her go.

"Captain Wesley I presume."

Time stopped. Wesley felt it, the pressure against his side. Someone coming up against him, whispering in his ear. For a moment he thought it was the duke, the same sickly voice, same cold resonance in side of it. But, it couldn't be. It was one of the people who had thrown Niamh overboard.

His grip weakened, eyes half closing. He felt something hot against his side. He winced out, knees buckling. The knife tore into his chest, running down his back. The sailor, with wonderful surprise, smiled as he looked over at the princess.

"Now pull."

Wesley winced, his strength gone, emptying through the hole in his side. One giant pull is all they needed. She slipped from his grasp, her whole body going aboard the arms of the others, some of them crying out in surprise, in victory.

He just looked over at her, caught, those wild eyes, toss of red hair. She was searching for him. His arm was still stretched out over the rail, even as he fell down to his knees.

"I'll find you," He said, "I'll save you."

The other sailor jumped, the man with the big arms used a rope to go back overboard. The rest of the men were not in the mood to fight anymore, and the crew, seeing Wesley against the rail, and their prize gone, stopped as well.

Josh came up, looking down at his captain.

"He's dying," He looked at the ship, the keel haul. Someone was barking orders to move away, disentangle from the ship. Josh could have made a strike now, taken the offensive, raged them all to go and save the princess.

But what did he care? She'd been nothing but trouble since she'd come aboard.

"Get her," Wesley called, trying to get up from his knees, trying to keep hold of his sword in his arm, even if his hand was shaking, even if it felt too heavy to lift.

"They're gone," Josh said, leaning down, "Let them go. They'll leave us alone now."

"No!"

Wesley felt the ship move. The keel haul beginning to leave. He tried to look, but he could not. His vision was blurring, first double, and then nothing but colors could be seen.

His princess.

He had lost his princess.

Darkness followed.

 

[Britwitch]

The relief Niamh felt at seeing Wesley burst upon the upper deck was swiftly dashed as she was all but flung over the side of the ship. The cry caught in her throat as she felt something, someone grab hold of her ankle. As she hung in mid-air, trying to shake off the clawing, grabbing hands of the Allan crew beneath her, she looked back up to the Guardian to see Wesley, hanging over the side, his hand holding fast to her leg.

She smiled, briefly, brilliantly before turning her attentions to those trying to pull her down among them. She swatted and slapped, struggled and wriggled but soon her arms were held in sweaty palms, making her cry out as she was pulled sharply, her injury protesting louder than ever.

Then, amongst the cries and yells, Niamh heard a sound that froze the blood in her veins. A muffled cry, a grimace of pain, her eyes returned to Wesley just in time to watch him begin to crumple behind the side of the ship, a smug looking sailor stood over him.
"Noooo...!" She screamed as Wesley's grip loosened and she fell into the hands below her.

She struggled to her feet, eyes seeking out Wesley even as hands moved to pin her, hold her, rope passing around her wrists as she watched her Captain's eyes find hers.
"I'll find you...I'll save you."
"I know..." Niamh whispered back, her eyes tearing as his face slid out of sight. A wave of nausea washing over her as a voice carried down to her.
"He's dying..."

Niamh was pulled away, towards the centre of the deck, oblivious to almost anything, her eyes fixed on the last point she had seen Wesley's face. Someone was stood over him, talking to him, her heart feeling some kind of relief that he wasn't yet passed. The keel haul began to move, breaking away from the Guardian. A tear rolled down her cheek unchecked as the space between the two ships grew and it became painfully obvious that no one was coming to save her. Not now.

"Princess Niamh..." A voice mused, loaded with tone that in any other circumstance would have been almost suave. "It is not often we have such dignified guests onboard."
Niamh turned her narrowed emerald gaze towards the speaker, a tall, blonde man, broad shouldered but lean, his uniform crisp and unmarked in the sun. Clearly the Captain and one who had had little to do with the recent fight between the opposing crews.

"I am Captain Patten..." He bowed, the action smooth and well rehearsed. Niamh looked away, her jaw tightening against any kind of response.
"You will be staying in my cabin, highness, even though my men are well drilled and obedient, I do believe that someone with your obvious...charms," His gaze moved down from her face to her chest, the white shirt having opened slightly during the fight to reveal more than a little of her corsetted cleavage, a fact augmented by her arms now being bound behind her back. "...could lead even a saint to stray from their path...and we wouldn't want to see your innocence compromised, would we..."

Niamh allowed herself a very small smile. The Duke hadn't been able to share the truth about her relationship with Wesley and this Captain obviously believed her to still be the prized virgin that would bring him and his King the reward they desired. A memory of Wesley's flesh against hers ran through her mind, the feeling of him taking her, filling her...
"Now then, highness, a few rules for your stay...you will obviously be confined to my quarters and food and water will be given to you as you require it. My King also requires that you sign a letter he has drafted that will then be delievered to the Braviens. Informing them of your position with us and allowing them to enter into discussions with him as to the price of your release..."

"And if I choose not to sign, Captain?" Niamh asked boldly, tipping her head to the side slightly.
Captain Patten smiled, a thoroughly worrying expression as he stepped closer, running his hand, too smooth and soft to be the hand of a sailor, around her face and down her neck, gliding over her shoulder, towards her upper arm.
"You will sign, highess, you are our guest but our hospitality has it's limits and while you are to be handed over to the Braviens in best of health...I have the authority to...convince you to behave using whatever methods I see fit...after all, accidents do happen..." With that his stroking thumb moved over the bullet wound and squeezed it viciously.

Pain shot up her arm and caused her to cry out, she tried to hold it back, tried to mute it, but her eyes filled with tears and her body doubled over slightly in agony.
"Take her to my quarters," He barked to the men holding her tightly. "It will give you some time to consider your place here...then, once we are safely out of range of Caria and the Guardian, I will come to you..."
Niamh was hauled off of her feet and taken to his cabin before she could gather enough breath to retort. She was dumped unceremoniously upon his bed before the men left her, locking the door securely behind them.

She scrambled to her feet, wobbling and staggering with her hands still bound behind her, moving to the window, watching the Guardian already beginning to grow small in the distance behind them. She leant her head against the glass, tears running down her face as her eyes locked on the ship on the horizon, feeling for the first time in a long while truly frightened.

 

[poohlive]

Josh Morgan had dreamed of this day. The day he became captain. His visions of it, day dreams as he rose sails or swabbed decks, barking orders that other men had given him, only grew richer and more frequent as time went on. He wanted to know what it was like to have his own ship beneath him, his own sails, travelling towards his destinations.

Pirating his own ship.

And today, as the Captain lost to the weakness, his blood now spilling down against the deck, Josh saw that vision come to him.

"He's dead," He said, looking down. The captain felt cold, he had grown limp. Josh couldn't even feel Wesley breathing anymore. The man had passed, trying to save some princess who had given him a good night out.

Serves him right. He had chosen the girl over his own crew, and that's what he deserved for it.

"Raise up the sails," Josh said, "We're leaving."

"Where?"

He pointed back towards the ships, "Away from them. Are you daft?"

"But... but where do we go?"

He looked across the ship, those curious eyes of the crew on him. Some still bled from the fight, others had gunpowder glittering their skin. Only a few had died. Thank God for that.

"Caria," He said, his eyes growing bright, "We sail for Caria."

"Josh?"

"Captain," He said, kicking Wesley in the side, "Wesley is dead. I'm captain now. Call me captain."

"Why Caria? We don't have the princess anymore."

"No," Josh said, walking over to the main mast, picking up a very finely sewn piece of fabric that looked exactly like Caria colors, "But we have their flag. We can be a merchant ship. We need repairs, and a new crew. So long as we don't harbor at a naval base, we'll be fine."

Some didn't like the idea, others weren't even sure Josh should be captain. Wesley had been a good captain, brave and never stirred them wrong, not even during some of the worse times.

"We go to Caria, find a safe harbor, get repairs and then steal everything, leaving way before morning. Then we can go wherever we went. We'll be free."

That prospect of gold and reward got some of the fires up under the crew. Some moved to do as he said, two of them lowering down their own flags to raise up the Caria colors.

Josh had them clean up the decks as much as possible, throwing the dead overboard.

The ship lurched, turning around, heading dead east once more.