Stowaway...

[Britwitch]

Niamh was in the middle of trying to break through the rope that bound her wrists when the sound of the door being unlocked made her freeze. She had been rubbing the bindings against the window latch, hoping the metal would begin to work through the strands. She moved from the window as the door opened and Captain Patten entered, closing it behind him and moving towards the closet against the wall.

He carefully removed his hat and his jacket, hanging each one with almost reverential attention within the closet. Niamh began moving towards the door, eyes fixed on the Captain as he appeared to examine one of the shinning gold buttons upon the front of his jacket. As she drew nearer, the sound of the door being locked from the outside, snapped her eyes away from the Captain and towards the door. She frowned and clenched her fists behind her back before glanced back towards the Captain and jumping to find his eyes on her.

“One can’t be too careful, you understand I’m sure, highness…” He smiled sickly, closing the closet and motioning for her to take a seat in front of the elegant looking writing desk in the corner of the room. “For a young Princess to have survived so long and untouched in the company of pirates, she must have a resilience that requires her to be watched, as well as somewhat admired…”

Niamh, seeing she had little choice but to comply moved to take the seat he offered, perching almost precariously on the edge of it. Watching as he moved to sit, not at the seat on the opposite side but on the edge of the desk directly in front of her.
“You will forgive me, highness, for saying that rumours of your beauty scarcely do you justice…” His fingers reached towards her face to brush an errant curl from hanging in her eyes. Niamh jerked back, just out of reach.
“I thank you for the compliment but would appreciate your keeping your hands to yourself, Captain…No need for this to become uncivilised…” She smiled, although the expression was hollow.

“Uncivilised…?” Captain Patten repeated the word with a tone of disbelief in his voice. “This is hardly uncivilised…I think you have been in the wrong kind of company for too long, princess…” His voice grew quieter, more dangerous as he leant over her. “After all, it would be all too easy, given the state of your dress…” Captain Patten waved his hands over her body, making her lean back even further and fall back into the seat slightly, struggling to sit back up with her hands bound and now trapped behind her.

Gasping as his hands took opportunity of her vulnerability and ripped open the front of the white shirt, exposing the corset and flesh beneath it. “…all too easy…” He repeated, leaning closer and resting his hands on the arms of the chair on either side of her. “…for things to become uncivilized…” His leant closer still, his face within inches of her own. “…I am a Captain of the Allan navy, highness, but I am only a man…don’t give me ideas…” He grinned evilly before closing the distance between them and kissing her harshly. Niamh was momentarily too stunned to act but she quickly regained her senses and bit his lower lip. Causing him to pull away and rewarding her with a swift slap to her face.

“You clearly need a little more time, highness…and that’s fine with me…” Captain Patten wiped at his lip, eyes widening slightly to see blood upon his fingers. “We have plenty of time to get to know each other highness, the King will only just have set sail from Allan and then there will be the talks to decide upon the payment he’ll receive for delivering you…” As he spoke he moved behind her, winding his hand into her hair and using it to hold her still while his other hand ripped strips from the shirt and bound her arms to the chair, pinning her in place. Leant back and vulnerable.

“You can’t touch me…if you…you…” Niamh’s voice faltered over the words, dreading the thought of him taking her as much as she dreaded the thought of her secret being discovered, that she was not as innocent as he believed.
“Oh don’t worry Princess, your precious virginity will not be harmed…but you may learn there are more ways than one for a woman to entertain a man…” He winked, clearly hoping to be charming but failing parlessly.

With a final pass of his hand through her hair, he left her tied to the chair with her clothing ripped open. Once the sound of the door being relocked behind him had cut through the air, Niamh began to move. Whilst walking past the writing desk to take her seat, she had snatched up a small dagger from the tabletop, clearly ornamental, meant for little more than slitting open the wax on letters but it might be enough to get her out of her bonds.

Twisting her head so she could keep an eye on the door, Niamh began to cut through the rope binding her wrists. She had no intention of spending any longer on this ship than she had to. This Captain Patten was worse than the crewmen who had pawed her upon her discovery on the Guardian. They did not pretend to be anything other than what they were. She shuddered as she recalled his mouth pressing against hers, filling her imagination instead with the feel of Wesley’s lips against hers. That last kiss they had shared before it had all gone wrong.

She swallowed the lump that leapt painfully into her throat, making an oath with herself that that would not be the last kiss they shared. She knew, she just knew, he wasn’t dead. Something inside, some kind of hope, would not let her believe he had gone and until she found out otherwise, she would hold onto the hope that they would meet and they would kiss again.

 

[poohlive]

Derrick, the cabin boy who up until this morning had rosey cheeks, blushing every few seconds from seeing too much of that young princess, had one of the worst jobs of all. As the others went around patching up the ship, fixing holes and helping the wounded, bringing up sails, trying to make this ship look more like a merchant vessel, his job was to simply throw the dead overboard.

It wasn't right, and were he a few years older, and had some experience with a sword under his belt, he would have challenged Josh about it. The dead needed a burial, they needed something. To throw them overboard, it was madness. Only a captain unafraid of the sea did that.

And ever captain feared the sea.

It was backbreaking work. Some of these guys were two or three times heavier than him. More often he just dragged them along by their arms or legs, and then propped them upside the railing so that they could be thrown over.

Allan navy, their own crew. And the captain.

He propped Wesley up against the side, bending over his waist to grab firmly and then toss him overboard. His ear was pressed right against the bulk of the man's chest, and as he heaved the body up, he felt something.

Something move.

A grunt, followed by a thick intake of air.

Derrick let go, the body halfway over the railing. It could have gone either way, if the ship had hit a wave or the wind had rocked it in some direction Wesley would have plunged into the sea and that would be all. But, Welsey's hand came out, grabbing the railing, and he pulled himself back to the ship, falling down on the ground.

Derrick looked around. No one had seen, hardly anyone was on deck except for Josh and a few others.

"Captain," He whispered, bending down to Wesley, looking at that bruised face.

"Follow her, we... need...."

"Shhh, she's gone. Josh is captain now. He is going to Caria. He thought you were dead."

Wesley looked up, blood was caked against one of his cheeks. It was a dark brown, not red, and flaking off slowly, "I'll run him down."

"No... you're too weak. If he founds out your alive, he'll kill you. He wants to be captain. Now that he has it, he won't give it up. Not for anything."

Wesley ground his teeth together, "How... long?"

"Until we reach Caria? Less than an hour. We can't go as fast, the ship is wrecked, but we'll make it there soon enough."

"Take me... to my cabin."

Derrick looked upon the deck, everyone so busy. He nodded, getting up under Wesley. Wesley used him as a crutch, picking himself up, going forward to captain's chamber. Derrick locked the door, as Welsey fell down onto the bed, the dried stain of what happened last night against his back.

"You were hurt bad," Derrick said, "Everyone thought you were dead."

The dagger, in his side. He could not feel his side anymore. It had grown numb. He took off his shirt, looking down. It had cut deep, the blood darker than any he'd seen. When he breathed in it hurt, a dull ache rising to a sharp point with each breath.

"Give me the needle, some hot water and soap."

Derrick nodded, running out of the cabin.

Wesley could only think of Niamh. He had to find her. Had to bring her back. One ship, one ship and one loyal crew, that is all he needed.

 

[Britwitch]

Niamh groaned as the blade slipped through the last of the rope, finally freeing her wrists. After a few moments of painful twisting in the chair, she managed to slip one arm out of Patten’s makeshift bonds and then undid the other. Shrugging off the tattered remains of the shirt she moved swiftly to the window, flinging it open and catching her eyes out across the ocean. Her heart sank to no longer see the Guardian but part of her felt relief. If the ship wasn’t following this one, then they were out of immediate danger from the Allan navy.

She let her eyes drop from the horizon to the water churning beneath the window. The Captain’s cabin was to the rear of the ship, beneath the wheel and the upper deck. If she could get into the water without injuring herself, she could get a fair way away before she was noticed. The coast wasn’t too far away, the water would be cold but it was a risk she was willing to take.

Niamh turned back to the cabin, her eyes scanning for something she could use to lower herself down. Her eyes fastened on the opulent curtains hanging beside the windows. There were eight in all and each was at least two yards long. They might not get her to the ocean entirely but they would definitely lessen the drop.

She began pulling down the curtains, wincing as hooks and rings shot past her head but not flinching from the task at hand. She began knotting the curtains together, one to another and another. Once all eight were connected she looked around for something to anchor the end to.

The bed was huge, even larger than the one that had dominated Wesley’s cabin. Made of strong wood, with posters at the corners and yet more luxurious fabric draped as a canopy over the top. She dropped to her knees, looping one end around a foot of the bed and knotting it tightly. Running a hand through her curls she gathered up the rest and flung it out of the window. Poking her head out and smiling to see the end fluttering only a yard or two above the foaming water of the ship’s wake.

Glancing back inside she sought out anything that might help her in her flight. She snatched up the ornamental dagger, tucking it inside the waistband of the black pants still clinging to her legs. Biting her lower lip, Niamh jumped up onto the window ledge, feeling a slight rush to her head as she leant out of the ship. The wind catching her hair, sending it dancing around her head. Her bare shoulders and back prickling with gooseflesh.

Just as she was about to jump footsteps thumped across the cabin, hands snatching her before she could leap and throwing her back onto the bed. A heavy frame laying across her own within seconds.
“Like I said, a resilience that needs to be watched…obviously more closely than I anticipated…” Patten grinned down at her. His hands holding hers firmly against the sheets. “You are definitely more interesting than most Princesses…”
“Let me go, Patten…” Niamh spoke quietly and firmly.

“And why would I do that? Most men…and some women I shouldn’t wonder...would kill to be in a position like mine…” He leered, moving both of her wrists into one hand and using the now freed one to graze her shoulder.
“How dare you speak to me in such a manner…?!” Niamh demanded, turning her face away from his, trying to ignore the worrying, nervous tremors breaking out across her skin in response to his fingers movements across her skin.

Patten propped himself up slightly, letting his eyes hungrily wander over her form. Now clad in only the white corset and black pants she had to have taken from a member of Captain Acker’s crew, she looked quite the sight. Her hair fanning out behind her head across the sheets, her emerald eyes glittering with barely suppressed rage, face flushed, the globes of her chest compressed within the corset rising and falling sharply as she fought to control the panic building inside her.

“Stunning…” Patten murmured, more to himself than anyone else before lifting his hand to trail along the edge of the corset’s top. “You look a little uncomfortable my dear, do allow me to assist you…” He finished gripping the corset and ripping it down her front, exposing her breasts with a single motion. “There…there, that’s much better…”

 

[poohlive]

The sewing looked horrible. He could not get any decent angle, and young Derrick knew nothing about patching up wounds. He had warm water, and soap though. At least the wounds would be clean. He had a few minor cuts across his arm, one across his chest, but the dagger would deep in his side was the real problem.

Wesley just thanked whatever was out there that it had not piercved any organs. If it had, he would be floating out at sea, fish food.

He tried to sleep the rest of the way. It felt impossible. He could not hold his eyes open, nor could he fall underneath consciousness. The pain continued to keep him in some weird state of near consciousness. At times he just flailed about, or ranted at odd things.

Derrick kept him quiet, and gathered up all of captain Wesley's supplies. They would need to leave the ship as soon as it landed. He was going through the final drawers when something on the floor caught his eye.

It was the locket. The princess locket. He remembered that from the first day, when they had asked her to prove herself. She had given them this. It was a part of hers.

Derrick knew the girl had to be rescued. And, with this in his hand, he could now vow to do so. He would make sure that the princess would be all right.

The colors must have worked, or else no one cared about the ship, in either case before long they had docked in a decent busy harbor. With people coming on and off to leave, return, look at the damage, it did not take much to get Wesley off the ship, his personal bag in hand.

Welsey leaned heavily against the youth, feeling the dagger's wound squeeze into him further with each step. It felt afire now, and he knew that to be bad. Infection. He would not be able to walk in a matter of hours.

He would die before sunrise the next day.

He knew what town they were in. Portstown, one of the largest in Caria, next to the castle itself. He had been here many times.

He knew people here, "A bar. The Wicked Wench. There is a girl there. Her name is Mary, the lightest blonde hair you've ever seen. You need to find her."

They made their way through the streets. It was not easy. With each step Wesley seemed to slow down more and more. He could barely stand, he weaved back and forth now. Blood fell from his back, the wound must have been torn open again.

He fell, just at the back alley of the wench, crying out in pain as he hit the ground, but saying nothing more. Derrick bit his lower lips, glancing down.

He needed to find Mary.

He stepped inside of the bar. It was dark, the light seemed not to penetrate the yellow tinted windows that held the place. A few old sailors and patrons gave him half a glance as he entered. Derrick could see a strong young man behind the counter, pouring ale.

"I need to find Mary."

The man gave a gruff, "Ain't no Mary here."

"He said she would be here. She's a healer."

"You got the wrong bar, son. Go on now."

"Wesley..."

"Wesley, Wesley Acker?" Derrick looked up, up the stairs. At the top, he saw a woman mostly in shadow. She held a cloak around her body. He could not see her very much.

"Yes, Captain Acker. He's hurt, he's dying. He asked to speak to a Mary."

"Where is he?"

Derrick pointed out the back, "He passed out. I can't pick him up. Please, if you know where Mary is. He needs her."

 

[Britwitch]

The woman in the black cloak hurried down the stairs and followed the youth into the alley, dropping to her knees beside the practically unconscious man lying there.
“Oh Wesley…Wesley what have you done to yourself…” She spoke softly, almost whispering, running a hand across his forehead, brushing away errant locks from the too hot skin beneath. She pressed her palm there for a moment although it wasn’t necessary, she could feel the fever radiating off of him in waves.

“Stay with him, don’t move!” She told the terrified looking youth before hurrying back into the tavern.
“Adam, there’s a man in the alley, he needs help, bring him in carefully and bring him up to my room…!” She told the man behind the bar, her tone broked no question and the young man hurried outside the door, taking several patrons with him.

Soon enough Wesley’s sweating and shivering body was laid upon her bed, the concerned face of the boy watching on as she asked for hot and cold water, cloths and briefly delivered but undisputed list of other items.
“Can…can you help him?”
“What’s your name boy?” She asked, glancing over to him as she eased the blood stained shirt from Wesley’s body.
“D-Derrick…” He replied a little meekly, his face paling and voice faltering as the angry, red, weeping wound was revealed.
“I will do what I can, Derrick…he knew what he was doing when he asked you to find me…”
“You’re…you’re Mary…?”

She half smiled, easing off her cloak, letting the heavy black material float to the ground around her, revealing the rolling waves of pale golden hair that fell delicately down her back, her blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight of the room. Her figure was as tall and lithe, the pale pink dress that clung to her frame made the most of her small but proud breasts, the neckline scooping low over the modest cleavage that the tightly paneled dress created.
“I’m known by many names to many people…but to him, yes, I was…I am Mary…”

Adam, the man from the tavern, brought up the supplies she had asked for, casting a wary look at Derrick and asking if she would like him taken downstairs.
“Perhaps a drink would help steady young Derrick’s nerves…” Mary suggested, rolling up the sleeves of her dress as she dipped the clean cloths into the boiling hot water Adam had brought her. “Take care of him for me Adam…and Derrick, I promise I will take care of Wesley for you…”

Adam wrapped a beefy arm around the boy’s shoulders and steered him out of the room saying something about the wonders of rum as Mary’s careful fingers reached out to undo the crude stitches that barely held the wound together.

“I know I said drop by if you need anything but don’t you think this is taking things a little…far…” She muttered, talking to the man who was slipping rapidly between consciousness and the dreamland beyond. She wasn’t even aware if he knew where he was or who she was.

Her small nose wrinkled as the wound fell open, angry flesh giving way to the infection below. Mary began to gently cleanse the wound, delicately wiping away the traces of dead flesh and infected matter that had begun to fester.

Once she was satisfied the wound was at last clean, she took a clean strip of cloth and soaked it in the icy cold water that had been brought up along with everything else and laid the sodden material over Wesley’s brow. Then, moving closer, she began to carefully sew up the gash. The stitches small and tight and the result of sewing up more than a few patrons whose disagreements had become more than a little physical.

After applying a thin coat of a golden coloured substance from a jar she retrieved from a box beneath the window, she covered the wound with a clean dry cloth. Mary washed her hands and cleared the soiled material and now dirty water away.

Then she sat, stroking fingers through his hair, every now and then wringing out and then reapplying the cold cloth to his forehead, his neck, keeping a watchful eye on his colour and the heat of his skin.
“I’ve done my part, Wesley, the rest is up to you…whatever got you into this mess, I hope you want it enough to fight through this…” She whispered softly.

 

[poohlive]

He awoke, hours later. His body ached, but it was a good ache, the ache after a long day of work, where the tendons and muscles relaxed in order to heal for the next day. It felt nothing like before, trying to walk through blinded streets.

He didn't even know how he got here. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, the sheet falling from his sweaty skin. Wesley saw that he was naked. It didn't matter.

He caught her scent first. Mary's sweet scent. She smelled of her flowers, her remedies, cool medicine rolled into such fine light hair. He could never get that smell out of him, when he was with her it stayed in his clothes and on his skin for weeks afterward.

He always thought she did it on purpose, so he would not forget her.

He turned, looking at her. She sat by him, a wet rag in her hand, "I was looking for you. I had hoped to find you. You saved me."

He leaned down, kissing her forehead, "Saving me again, how many times do I owe you now?"

He felt better. By morning he would be good as new... perhaps not new, good enough to walk anyway. Good enough to go after his own ship, and make Josh pay for what happened.

"Where are my clothes, and Derrick? I need to get back to my ship."

He tried to stand, one foot found the floor, but as the other one did his knees buckled and instead he crumpled back into bed. He felt weak, unable to do anything more than breathe.

"I should have known," He said, in a whispered haze. He smiled up when he saw Mary staring down at him, "How bad was it this time?"

 

[Britwitch]

Mary jumped slightly as movement in the bed startled her. She had been contemplating heading down to the tavern to tell Derrick that Wesley's fever had broken, his breathing had grown less laboured and his skin, whilst still clammy to the touch, had begun to cool when Wesley sat up.
"I was looking for you. I had hoped to find you. You saved me."
His voice was still husky with sleep and his eyes not as sharp as usual but as he smiled hazily Mary felt the slight skip in her heart she'd always felt when he smiled at her. She sighed as his lips brushed her forehead.

"Saving me again, how many times do I owe you now?"
"More times than I can count but don't worry...between friends there are no debts, are there...?" She replied smoothly. "Besides, if I didn't have you trying to kill yourself every few months, whoever would I practice my craft on..." Mary teased lightly, dipping the cloth in the cool water and brushing it across his forehead.

"Where are my clothes, and Derrick? I need to get back to my ship."
"You need to rest..." Mary began firmly. "I may be good but I'm not that good Wesley..."
Wesley attempted to get out of bed, her words apparently falling on deaf ears, soon enough though his body commanded him where she could not and he fell back into the bed, his chest heaving slightly.

"I should have known,"
"Yes, you should..." Mary admonished lightly, pulling the sheets back over him and taking her place beside him once more. Leaning across him to brush the hair from his forehead tenderly.
"How bad was it this time?"
"...Bad..." Mary's voice grew a little tight. "If Derrick hadn't have come in when he did, I doubt you would have made it..." Her gaze dropped from his for a moment before rising back up to meet his eyes squarely.

"Oh Wesley, have you never listened to the advice I've given you...when you're wounded like that you should know what to do by now...clean it, close it and rest it. I've seen better stitches come from the hand of my blind grandmother...don't you realise what could have happened to you?" She finished quietly, her almost motherly tirade ending with obvious concern.

"Derrick has been fretting over you, he seems to think the world of you...definitely found yourself a loyal lad there, Wesley..." She smiled slightly, moving to pour him some water, carefully bringing the glass to his lips and tipping the cool liquid in when he parted them. "I sent him downstairs to Adam...he'll probably have him drunk as a lord by now but it's probably for the best...he looked like he'd been through the wars as much as you seem to have been..." Her eyebrow quirked, sensing a mild tinge of evasion in Wesley's eye.

"So...where's the rest of the crew? What about that Jason...the one from Allan, he was usually hanging around you like a bad smell whenever you came into port, where's he taken himself off to...?"
The man before her remained silent.
"Wesley...what aren't you telling me...? Why the urge to get back to the ship...? Wesley, what happened to you...?" It was a loaded question, they both knew it, but she had to know what kind of trouble he was in and what kind of trouble might find it's way to the tavern in search of him.

 

[poohlive]

"It's been a long week," He said, laying back down, his head very comfortable against the pillow. He hadn't even realized just how long a week it had been since she mentioned Jason. Jason was dead, he had been in the beginning of all of this, and his death is what pushed them to where they are now.

He gathered his thoughts, enough to understand the story, and then told her everything. It began with the money for the duke, the paper he had gotten, his apparent clearance. He unfolded it from his pocket, giving it to her, maybe she knew the words written on it.

THe stowaway, princess Niamh. The troubles with her, every kind of trouble imaginable. Jason wanted her, the duke wanted her, the crew wanted her.

And he wanted her as well.

And he got her, if but for a night. He was reluctant to tell that part. He never felt comfortable talking about a new lover with an old one. She had asked for the truth, and she would get it.

"I tried to hold on, but I could not. They cut me deep in the side. Josh took over, at least that is what I think happened. After that things got a bit fuzzy. I am not sure until I woke up here."

He gave Mary a brief smile, as his hand laid across the cool sheets in search of hers, "I just need one ship, and one crew. I can find her, I can rescue her. I have to try, Mary."

 

[Britwitch]

"It's been a long week,"
There was something in the sigh that left his lips that told Mary she was in for a long story. Unlike some of the patrons of the tavern whose tales needed to be taken with a fairly decent sized pinch of salt, Wesley was not one for exaggerated tales of his adventures on the highs seas so she knew that whatever she was about to hear would be the truth.

She moved, sitting so her back was against the wall behind him, looking down as he took a deep breath and began to talk. Her mouth dropping open slightly as the truth unfolded, the reason behind the lethal wound gradually becoming painfully clear.

She took the paper he handed and glanced over it, the hand and language beyond fancy but she understood it enough, it was a paper guaranteeing his 'freedom' from Allan and their piracy laws. According the paper in her hand, the man lying in her bed was an innocent in their eyes.
"But, if you have this then...what happened? Why didn't you just sail away like you've been saying you would for I don't know how long..." She interjected, more for her own need to say something than to actually get an answer from him.

Before her words had faded in the air he told her.
"The real Princess?!" Mary's eyes widened for a moment or two before her lips closed to let him finish. She could sense his unease as he told her of his night with the young Princess. She could tell in his eyes and his voice that it had been more than a mere conquest, why else would he have risked his life the way he had.

"I tried to hold on, but I could not. They cut me deep in the side. Josh took over, at least that is what I think happened. After that things got a bit fuzzy. I am not sure until I woke up here...I just need one ship, and one crew. I can find her, I can rescue her. I have to try, Mary."

Mary felt her heart drop ever so slightly, her eyes breaking with his until his seeking hand drew them back. She took his hand, squeezing it as she raised it to her lips to kiss the back affectionately.
"Oh Wesley, you had to fall for a Princess...only you..." She smiled softly, shifting to almost lie beside him, his hand still held in hers.

"They said she'd been kidnapped...the Braviens, that is. The day after they took the castle they announced that she'd been taken and that they would reward any with news of her. The invasion was awful Wesley, they killed so many and the royal family died defending their kingdom, their people...the streets were full of the injured and the dying, that poor girl lost everything that night...and then she found herself on your ship." Mary's blue eyes grew warmer as they looked at him.

"I have seen her, once or twice, around the city before the invasion...she is definitely a pretty little thing, wouldn't have thought she was your type though Wesley..." She teased lightly before adding a little more solemnly. "I'm sure you'll get her back...I know you will...she is a very lucky young lady to have a man as good as you pursuing her, I just hope she knows that..." Mary's voice became almost protective.

She had known the broad shouldered pirate for years, one of the few to have known him before the cruel loss of his wife and children. She'd been his bedfellow more than once or twice during his visits to Portstown and although she would deny it to any that asked, she had more than a slight soft spot for him. She knew the kind, gentle side he kept safely hidden from his crew and those he associated with.

Part of her held onto the weak hope that he might one day stay for longer than a fleeting few days to heal whatever wounds his latest adventure had blessed him with and to share her bed. Why else did she always keep her door open whenever she saw the Guardian in the docks.

She sighed, kissing his hand again, her weak hope had begun to fade the moment he had first mentioned Niamh's name and now...it was almost completely gone.
"How can I help you, Wesley? What can I do...? You know I am here to help in any way I can, I want nothing more than to see you happy and I don't doubt this girl will make you so..." She winked, moving a little closer to lay her head on the edge of his pillow.

 

[poohlive]

Mary. His perfect blonde Mary. Mary who has always healed his cuts and kept him sane in the worst of his years. She would seek him out when he came, and he would be hers for the short time he stayed in town.

Yet, he never loved her. Not completely. H had been as foolish and unnerving as any man with a woman, always keeping her at arm's length. Mary had found her way in deeper though, burrowing close to his heart.

Not inside of it. No, but close. Close enough for him to let his arm drap around her, and his lips to find her in an old lover's kiss.

"I need you to heal me, as only you can do. I need to be ready, by morning at the latest. I need to fight for her, and I can only do that if I am well. I also need to know about my ship. What happened to it, what can I do to salvage it?"

His ship seemed a lost cause though. If Josh truly had command, he would get repairs and then sail as soon as possible, before anyone asked too many questions about that flag flying about the mast.

It would be a miracle if it still was in the docks now.

He remembered Niamh's heart felt woes about her people, and Mary talking of the fights just now, "The princess, she laid her heart on hopes of a resistance. People who would still fight for her if she wished to claim the throne. Do you know if they exist? She kept talking about it as if it were real, but I imagined it was nothing more than a fairy tale, to keep her going at night. Anyone we can get on her side would be needed. Right now, she has myself and little Derrick out there, drinking and becoming a man."

He might even take his first girl tonight. He was young, but many a young boy such as Derrick had fought in their first fight, went to their first bar, drunk their first real drink and then taken their first girl. It seemed a good day for firsts.

The Braviens. They wanted the princess more than anything. An idea was forming in Wesley's head. A spectacularly stupid idea, and one he knew could easily get him killed. Yet, he was planning on saving the princess, from the three ships and possibly more which stood to help protect her from harm. All he wanted was one crew to take on three, that in itself was madness.

Was his idea with the Braviens any more or less so?

 

[Britwitch]

The kiss was comfortable and warm, familiar and Mary had to fight against the natural reaction she felt to return it, to deepen it. That wouldn't be right. But the touch of his lips against hers almost made her forget about everything, princesses and rescue attempts, invasions and ransoms. For those few moments, all she was aware of was how good it felt to be in Welsey's arms again.

"I need you to heal me, as only you can do. I need to be ready, by morning at the latest. I need to fight for her, and I can only do that if I am well. I also need to know about my ship. What happened to it, what can I do to salvage it?"
"I'll send someone to the docks to find out about the Guardian but if you want to be up and about by morning, you need to do what I tell you..." Mary said firmly, leaning closer to kiss his cheek. "...I need you to rest and give my remedies a chance to do what they must before you go charging about Portstown..."

"The princess, she laid her heart on hopes of a resistance. People who would still fight for her if she wished to claim the throne. Do you know if they exist? She kept talking about it as if it were real, but I imagined it was nothing more than a fairy tale, to keep her going at night. Anyone we can get on her side would be needed. Right now, she has myself and little Derrick out there, drinking and becoming a man."

"She doesn't know it, but she has me too...for what that's worth..." Mary added with a sigh, pushing herself up and away from Wesley's arms. Forcing herself to get on with fufilling the promise she had made him. She helped him roll onto his side, gently peeling the dressing back from the wound and smiling with no small amount of satisfaction to see it healing.

"The secret's in the honey..." She winked, skipping from the bed to the chest beneath the window and retrieving the small jar from within it. "Honey, calendula and few other secret ingredients...the honey helps clean the wound and keep it from festering..." She explained, opening the jar and carefully applying a little more over the stitches.

"I will give you a jar and a parchment to give to your lady, I doubt this will be the last wound you recieve before she's back in your arms and I doubt that I'll be around to heal you when you do get her back...the parchment will tell her how to make more...should she need it..." Mary grinned before leaning closer and tenderly kissing the unmarked skin above the wound.

"I don't ordinarily share my secrets...but then you're no ordinary man, Wesley...and if I can't have you as my own to take care of, then I will do all I can to help the woman who does have your heart..." She whispered, privately proud of how level she managed to keep her voice, her blue eyes gazing into the rich, warm depths of his.

"Now...rest...sleep and by morning you should be up and about...I will send someone to the docks to seek out the Guardian in the meantime..." Mary stood, leaning to brush another kiss against his forehead before leaving.

 

[poohlive]

When he finally awoke, it had been morning. He saw the passing of sunlight come streaming through the curtained windows, a new delicious glory just outside. He got up, testing himself and his muscles. Only a few groaned at the cause, the rest were ready and eager to do as he wished.

He tossed the sheets from him, tentative to place a foot on the ground. It shook, but held his weight. The other did as well. He got out of bed, walking to where his clothes had been cleaned and folded neatly.

He was dressed by the time Derrick walked in, with a heaping plate of breakfast.

"Good morning captain," He spoke, his voice deeper than it had been yesterday. Welsey seemed to imagine something of a lot of first's happening for this young lad, and perhaps the best first of all had come true as well. He certainly had the walk of a man, nearly a swagger in his step.

Wesley found his own stomache not curious about the boy and his bedly manners, but rather the pork and eggs and fried potatoes. He sat down, digging in, eating vigorously.

"I have not seen Mary since last night. She went out, to investigate, but has not returned."

He had asked her to do several things. She was such a brave wonderful woman. He did not give woman enough credit for their strengths. Were it his resolve, he'd have an entire crew of them.

"And the Guardian?"

"Gone, it set sail in the dead of night, with more than a few other ships complaining of lost merchandise or money."

It was just as well. He thought that going for his ship against Josh would be just as suicidal as going up against the Allan navy just for a princess. He still would have done it, but it would have been suicidal nontheless.

"Then we have no other choice."

"No?"

Wesley shook his head, grabbing for his weapon, tying it around his waist, "We are to the Braviens themselves. With a little luck, and some persuading..."

He said this very lightly, because he knew he would have to invoke Niamh herself if he wished his plan to work. He remembered some of what she had done, the sly half truths, the double talk, playing into someone else's hand. It had been an art form to him, like watching her paint a canvass. He had seen so little and wished to make his own portrait.

It had to be done though.

He would wait for Mary, and when she came back, good news or bad, they would be off.

"Get ready, lad. Do you have steel?"

"No, sir," He shook his head. Wesley got down upon his knees, checking under the bed. There, he found it. Mary must have sworn a hundred times she would throw this in the ocean after him, but she never did. A trunk of his belongings, some of his clothes.

And the first sword he eve held, the first one he killed a man with.

"This is yours. Take care of it. It is a lucky weapon, and will strike true if you trust it. You are no longer a cabin boy, Derrick, you are my first mate."

Derrick's eyes beamed at the promotion.

 

[Britwitch]

Onboard the 'Animus'

As the sun rose over the ocean, the water was still, almost a complete flood calm with barely a ripple upon it’s surface.
Onboard the Allan ship, the Animus, inside the Captain’s cabin Niamh lay wide awake.
She had lain awake for most of the night, every time she closed her eyes it brought it all back. His hands, his mouth, pinching, biting, groping. Her ivory skin was now decorated with red marks, some turning purple, trailing down from her neck and across her breasts.

Flashes of the previous evening running unbidden and unwanted through her mind…

“You’re…you’re…” Niamh didn’t know what he was, this monster ripping at her clothes. Patten was astride her waist, his weight pinning her down while his hands worked to secure hers above her head. Tying them painfully tightly with his belt, the end of which he looped around one of the bed’s four posts.

“I know Princess…I know…” He merely grinned, leaping off her and stripping his own clothes from his body and, after knocking on the door and hearing it locking, bounded back to the bed. His eyes almost glowing with excitement. “Wouldn’t want us to be interrupted, now would we…?”

Niamh pulled and twisted but her movements only tightened the leather around her wrists, cutting into her flesh, making her wince and making her eyes sparkle with the discomfort.

Patten, apparently happy in the knowledge that she wasn’t going anywhere, slowed down his assault considerably, laying beside her and licking his lips hungrily as he trailed a fingertip down from her shoulder and across her exposed breast. Lingering around her nipple, his eyes transfixed as he circled it again and again. Muttering something to himself as he lowered his head and took the small hardened nub of flesh between his lips and began to suck. The sucking had given way to nibbling, then biting. His mouth and teeth attacking every inch of flesh within reach.

All the while he ground his groin against her hip. The bulge of his excitement unquestionable. His hands pinched and slapped, groping her breasts, holding her neck, squeezing it. Until he cried out, groaning into her ear, a sickening warmth spreading across the skin of her thigh. He had climaxed, his seed soaking through her clothes to her skin beneath.

Throughout it all, Niamh fought against letting any sound leave her lips, biting her tongue against whimpering or pleading. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, let him know how he was making her feel.

How scared and dirty and alone she felt…

Inside she was crying out, screaming for Wesley to come and save her…

…but he wasn’t coming…and that scared her even more…

“Morning princess…” A voice broke through the nightmare and snapped her eyes open. Captain Patten was laid on top of her, his head cushioned on her breast. He shifted, pushing himself up and laying a wet kiss on her lips. She kept them firmly shut and her jaw tight.

Without another word, he got up and changed. Washing and pulling on a clean uniform. Returning to the bedside where Niamh lay, silent, staring up at the canopy above the bed.
“I need to go and see what my crew have done with my ship over night but then…I’ll come back and we can down to some pressing matters…” He slapped her breast before leaving.

Niamh didn’t allow herself to cry until he was gone and the door once again locked behind him.

 

[Britwitch]

In 'The Wicked Wench'

"I assume Derrick told you about the Guardian...gone, in the dead of night..." Mary cast a slightly wary eye over the tavern patrons before beckoning Wesley closer, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

Wesley, Derrick and Mary were sat at the very back of the bar, it was early in the day and the tavern was almost deserted. Almost. There were the sea dogs too long in the tooth and too salty to be a part of any sane man's crew who almost lived in the bar. God knows where they stumbled off to when they finally shut their doors in the early hours of the morning but they'd be back, without fail, as soon as the doors opened.

They were harmless for the most part, but Mary hadn't survived as owner of 'The Wicked Wench' for as long as she had without being cautious. Most believed her to simply be a senior barmaid, hardly any knew it was more than just her place of work. It was her home.

"This resistance of hers, it exists." She whispered to Wesley before leaning back and taking a long sip from her drink. "They keep themselves to themselves, as I'm sure you can appreciate but they are around..." She continued in a low voice.

"I get the impression they aren't easy to find...but if you can make yourself known to them, they will find you..." Mary's eyebrow quirked slightly. "All a little more cloak and dagger than I'm used to but then again...this isn't just anybody is it. This is royalty and power we're talking about..." She added with a wink.

"So, do you want me to make enquiries on your behalf or...leave this up to you?" Mary took another sip. "Not that I think that you can't handle some subversive individuals but...I reckon you're going to have your hands full with...whatever it is you're going to be doing..." She finished pointedly, clearly wanting to know what he was intending to do.

 

[poohlive]

Wesley had been surprised with Mary's news. He did not think such a thing existed outside of Niamh's mind. She had been telling the truth, at least partial truth. Or, maybe she had just lied and caught some strange coincidence.

How lucky would that be.

He nodded, "You need to contact them. Tell them who I am, and what I want to do. Derrick and I are going to go to the Braviens."

And for this, he did have to speak low. He was not sure how most of Caria reacted when it came to the impending army sitting in their castle, but he doubted it was much praise and absolution.

"I'm going to tell whatever king is in charge that I can bring the princess back to them. We're going to convince him to give us a ship. I can use that ship to save her from the Allan army, and then..."

This would be the part that did not require luck, but skill and cunning on his own part, "Then we sneak away somehow, get the resistance to help, make sure Niamh can plan her attacks safely away from harm."

He had become a freedom fighter. He did not know why, the cause did not burn in his heart, not like it did for those of Caria, or for Niamh. But, the princess burned her own fire that stokes his soul, and that fire would be enough to feign his patriotism.

"I just do not know how to convince the King of my words."

Derrick piped up, his young lips that only just began growing the peach fuzz of a moustache held foam from his first beer of the day, "I know how."

He reached into his pocket, and took out the necklace that had been around Niamh's neck. It held the locket, heart shaped, with the pictures of royalty inside.

"Yes," Wesley's eyes beamed, "Anyone will know that is her locket. They will know what I say is truth."

He smiled, looking back at Mary, "Is there anything else?"

 

[Britwitch]

"You need to contact them. Tell them who I am, and what I want to do. Derrick and I are going to go to the Braviens."
"The Braviens?" Mary couldn't keep the surprise fro her voice but she leant closer and kept a wary eye on the patrons who may be within earshot. She doubted any of them were sober enough to remember or use anything that they might hear but, as she'd always said, prevention was better than cure. Better to not be heard at all than deal with the consequences of it.

"I'm going to tell whatever king is in charge that I can bring the princess back to them. We're going to convince him to give us a ship. I can use that ship to save her from the Allan army, and then...then we sneak away somehow, get the resistance to help, make sure Niamh can plan her attacks safely away from harm...I just do not know how to convince the King of my words."
Mary frowned, royal politics and the dramas of court were a world away from anything she had ever experienced. Or ever wished to.
"I don't know, Wesley...they are a suspicious lot, in my opinion, they'd doubt the truth if it was laid on a platter before them."

"I know how." Derrick beamed, producing a necklace and locket from his pocket. Mary reached out and carefully opened the delicate piece of jewellery. There were two portraits inside. One of the late King and Queen of Caria and another of the Queen and a young woman, Niamh. They shared more than just mahogany hair and piercing green eyes. There was a strength, even in the painting, shining through their eyes. A courage that Mary didn't expect to see on the face of a Princess.

"Yes...Anyone will know that is her locket. They will know what I say is truth...Is there anything else?" Wesley grinned.
"I don't think so..." Mary carefully closed the locket and handed it to Wesley, his smile so wide she almost had to look away from it's brightness. "I'll seek out the rebels and let them know of your plan. I'll send word to you...somehow...once I have them on our side..." Mary pushed back some of her golden hair, stopping it from falling into her eyes as she added softly. "I can see why you fell for her Wesley...if the picture in the locket is anything to go by...I can see how she managed to steal your heart. She looks almost as brave as you..."

She laughed, leaning back slightly, trying to break the slightly solemn atmosphere that had surrounded them.
"When did you become so devious, Wesley. I never would have thought to hear such plans come from your lips...but I don't doubt that you'll make these plans come to fruition...you are still the Wesley of old, once you set your sights on something, you do not give up easily..."

She raised her tankard in a toast, lowering her voice as she did so. "...To Caria, The Princess...and love..." Mary caught Wesley's eyes as she spoke, "...may they never die..."

 

[poohlive]

They raised their glasses in solemn silence, drinking deep. Derrick loved the dark taste, it was good, important, and it burned down deep in his belly, stoking a fire he never wanted to go out.

Welsey, stood up, grabbing the rest of his things.

"We need to go."

Derrick pounced to his feet, making sure the sword was still at his side. He had been making sure ever couple of minutes, his young smooth fingers rolling over the hilt. Welsey noticed. He had done it himself, years ago.

Now, he dreaded it, the weight at his side holding him down, almost too much to bear.

He caught Mary, his arms around her, pulling her into a hug that was not quite a hug. Their lips met, and he remembered her passion of old. He kissed her, deeper than he wished, more than he intended, remembering those cold nights he spent in her warm bed.

"Come with us," He said, but a whisper against her flushed skin, "It will be dangerous, but you know that we need you. Please. Just... think about it. I will leave in the morning, ship or no ship."

He left then, turning for the door and refusing to look back. Derrick followed him, pausing at the entrance, turning to see Mary standing there by herself. She looked so beautiful, Derrick wished he were a year or so older, and he could kiss her that way.

But, he didn't care. He ran back to her as well, and made his lips press to hers.

"You look very pretty," he said, blushing, unsure what else to say. He was not very good at these sorts of things, but he did know women liked compliments.

He ran off to catch up to Wesley.

They made their way through town, easy enough. The castle only had a few guards. He told them of his intention. All he had to do was mention the Princess. The doors opened as easily as if he were walking in with crates of gold.

It took only a half hour before he was ushered into the main throne room of the castle. There, stood a tall gangly man in the Caria's throne, with Bravian colors. Three of the largest, strongest men stood at his side, all of them holding massive swords, their heads shaved, eyes looking as if they were caught in some snowstorm.

"You mentioned word of the princess?"

Wesley nodded, bowing low before the fake king, "I heard great reward for any information. I am wondering what the reward to be if I brought her back to you. Alive."

His eyes lit up. They were dark blue eyes, almost black. Impenetrable, unreadable. He had one finger in his mouth, teeth chipping away at a grown nail.

"I would be most interested. You could name your price for that."

"My price is a ship, and a crew. If you give me that, I can get back the princess."

He spit out a piece of nail to the ground, "That is so little for something so precious to me. She was kidnapped you know, stolen from me in the dead of night. We were to be married that next day, combine our two kingdoms. But, of course I do need some assurances. I can not simply give you a ship from the Bravien fleet and have you sail it away on dreams and ambitions."

Wesley had to stop himself from grinding his teeth. This man wanted Niamh too, for marriage, this was the man that had brought so much pain and torture down upon a princess, whose life should have been as complicated as masquerade balls and feasts.

He took out the locket, presenting it to the king. He could not get close to the man though. As soon as he stepped forward the three guards came up and surrounded him. Instead, one of them took it, showing the king.

"The locket?"

"I know who has her."

The king nodded, "The Allans."

Wesley paused, unsure how that had happened. He had thought this was all new and useful information. How did the Braviens know that...

And then, the double doors to this chamber were thrown open, and a fat balding man in elaborate robes stepped through.

"I demand to know the meaning of this?"

"Oh Calm down Frederick. I was merely chatting with this man. I am sorry, your name?"

"Captain Wesley Acker, king, at your service."

King Frederick cocked an eye, "What has he to do with any of this?"

"Well, king, you said you had my princess and would return her for a handsome price...."

King Frederick, the king of Allan. They were already trying to negotiate. Wesley had gotten here just in time.

"Now I have a second offer. He wishes to take a ship and give her back to me for far less than that. Now, it would seem there is a bidding war."

Frederick looked at Wesley, and the small pup at his heels, "Oh nonsense. He does not have the princess. I do, and you will not get her back unless the kingdom of Allan gets proper respect and settlement."

The Bravien King nodded, and then turned to Wesley.

"I never said I had the princess," Wesley said, hoping Niamh would help her with this, trying to remember how she said things, simple words with a razor's edge, and double meanings, "I only said I could bring her to you. With one ship."

"One ship? You must be mad. I have three guarding her."

Wesley nodded, "A Man'o'war, a Keel Haul, and a decent sized scooner."

The king of Allan fumbled a bit at that, "But how did you..."

"All I ask is the ship itself once I have returned the girl."

"So, the price of a single princess returned to me, unharmed and in good living condition is now one ship. My king of Allan, any counter offer you can give?"

"Oh no, this is prepostorous. You can not fight such odds. King, he will fail, he will die, and not only will you have lost a ship, but also have to deal with me. And I promise you, my price will go up."

The king nodded, "You are quite right. Besides, once Wesley has this princess what is to stop her from doing just what you did, keeping her for himself to trade for more. Then it is settled."

Wesley's heart dropped. The king of Allan nodded sagely.

"Wesley, you are to take four ships to bring back my princess. I want her back alive. The ships will assist you in whatever way you wish. Then, they will escort you and the princess back here. That is simple enough."

Wesley nodded, although his heart sunk. Four ships. It is true he needed the extra gun power and men, but he couldn't get away from them once it was done. Damnit, what was he to do?

At least, he would get the princess back. If nothing else, he could see her again, touch her. Kiss her. He would deal with the Braviens as soon as possible. Right now, there were too many other things on the table.

"Good, there is a ship in the harbor. It is the Rapier. She is yours, I will have the other ships report to you by this afternoon."

"Good king, this will be a sign of war. You will attack on Allan territory with Bravien ships. We will not take this lightly. This is an insult beyond anything."

The king of Bravia nodded, understanding this, "Then it is war. Lock him up in the dungeon. He is our first prisoner."

"But.... but..."

Wesley was aleady gone though, out the door. The first step was done. The hardest step.

Now, he had to go get Niamh.

 

[Britwitch]

In the 'Wicked Wench'

"Come with us...It will be dangerous, but you know that we need you. Please. Just... think about it. I will leave in the morning, ship or no ship."
Mary smiled hazily, her lips still could feel the touch of his upon them, his arms still around her. She had lost count of how many times she had dreamt of him asking her to go with him but now that the offer was before her, she found herself hesitating.
"I will think about it, I promise..." The blonde woman's voice was husky and slightly breathless and trembling ever so slightly. "Take care of yourself Wesley," She added. "Until your Princess can do it for me..."

As Wesley swept towards the door, large, long strides eating up the distance Mary found herself fighting against weeping. She may well shed a tear for the loss of the love that had never truly been hers to lose but she would not do so in public. Suddenly She found herself face to face with Derrick and before she could say anything his lips had pressed fervently to her own.

The kiss was brief and earnest and innocent. It left Mary stunned and smiling.
"You look very pretty,"
The compliment was far more blunt than most she had heard but it's tone was genuine and that made Mary blush almost as much as the youth before her.
"And you are very kind...and I don't doubt very brave too..." She kissed his cheek, her hand stroking the other before he turned and ran off after Wesley.

"I just hope you both get what you want and lose nothing along the way..." She mused before shaking herself out of the worrying thoughts that threatened to cloud her mind and picking up her cloak. She had business of her own to deal with now.

"Key an eye on things for me please, Adam," She called to the burly man behind the bar. "I have things to attend to...I may be some time..." She finished solemnly before pulling the hood up over her head and leaving the tavern, walking briskly away from the docks and towards the edge of the town.

The rumours of the rebellion had all pointed her towards a run down tavern away from the harbour. It wasn't an area Mary had frequented very often, tales of violent muggings and rapes kept most people away but Mary knew if she was going to help Wesley at all, she had to put such tales aside and find these people the Princess had told him of.

The streets were twisting and narrow in this part of town, dark and shadowy inspite of the height of the sun, an odd smoky mist seeming to creep around her ankles as she wove her way deeper into the maze of alleys and snickleways. Once or twice a yell made her heart leap into her throat but Mary forced herself to keep her head down and keep moving. If she at least looked like she knew where she was headed, she hoped she stood less chance of being stopped...or worse...

Just after nerves began to prickle at Mary's stomach and make her think she might be completely lost she found the tavern she had been seeking. 'The Mermaid's Purse'. An almost pretty sounding name for the ramshackle building before her. The windows were almost all covered with antiquiated shutters. The air almost oddly quiet given that she stood before a house of drink and, she didn't doubt, of women.

Steeling herself and taking a steadying breath, Mary pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The air was thick with smoke and the scent of rum. The inside was dark, only a few flickering candles here and there providing any kind of light, casting eerie dancing glows over those inside.

As the door shut behind her, all eyes turned towards her and Mary had to fight against simply turning and fleeing. Angry eyes, covetous eyes, curious eyes, dangerous eyes, all eyeing her hooded figure with distrust. Mary headed towards the bar, waiting with increasing nervousness for the barman to approach her.
"What can I get yer?" The harsh, alcohol scented voice asked brusquely.
"A...A bottle of your best brandy..." Mary replied smoothly and loudly, praying the code she had been given had not simply been the ramblings of drunken old sailors. "And charge it to the King..."

Almost before the words had left her lips there was a burst of activity. Tables were flung back and Mary found herself spun around and the hood ripped back from her head. A man appeared at either side of her, holding an arm apiece. Another moved before her, a sword pointed at her throat and it's owner looking at her curiously.

"Don't think that because you're a woman, we won't harm you..." His voice said bluntly, while his bright eyes scanned her form, clearly searching for a weapon.
"What is it that you want here? I don't doubt that you know the meaning of what you just said, that you know who we are...what I do doubt is why you think you might be able to help us..."

"I...I come with news of the Princess..." Mary replied. "And of a man who means to rescue her...but he can't do it without your help..."
"Why should we believe you?" The man with the sword countered with a toothy, dangerous grin.

"I didn't come here to play games, sir..." Mary almost sneered, looking him boldly in the eyes. "Lives, many many lives, are at stake here and if you seriously wish to help your Princess and the rest of Caria then I suggest you put your sword down and let me speak."
The man paused, apparently in thought before lowering his weapon and waving away the men who held her arms.
"Come then, let us hear what you have to say..." He replied eventually, leading her towards a table and calling over a man with a tankard and glasses, pouring dark amber coloured liquid into both and leaning back, waiting to hear Mary's story.

 

[poohlive]

The rapier lived up to its name. It was a light scooner that ran high in the water. High and proud. It reminded Wes of a woman full born in heat that let her ass come up far beyond her back. To extenuate the curves, to show off, and most importantly to make all the other ships jealous.

Wesey thought above everything else, the Rapier did that. It was not his own ship, but it would do. It would do just fine.

Derrick ran through the lower decks, checking out anything and everything. He had a wonderous gleam in his eye. The boy made it look like it was his own ship, and he would be inspecting it once over.

Wesley inspected the crew. They were nothing like the pirates he worked with. Clean, orderly. Organized. When he asked them to assemble the formed a line. They were all so young. Only a year or two older then Derrick. Full men though, with hardened muscles from the real work of running a ship.

He gave them leave. They would work well for this strike.

The others ships would be assembling. By morning he would leave.

Now, he just needed the rebels.

 

[Britwitch]

Mary swiftly told of Niamh and Wesley, keeping the part about their union to herself. She explained Wesley's plan, making sure to mention the locket he would have hopefully used to convince those within the castle to go along with him. She was made to repeat herself several times, asked to verify little parts of her story time and again. She knew the rebels were merely trying to find holes in her tale, a reason to doubt her. But Mary answered all of their questions smoothly and calmly, meeting each pair of eyes that landed upon her squarely.

Eventually the men within 'The Mermaid's Purse' seemed to believe her and soon mary found herself heading back towards the docks with her heart fluttering excitedly within her chest. The rebels would come to the docks at nightfall, ready to sail with Wesley the following morning.

After a short conversation with the harbour master, with no small amount of flirting on her part, Mary soon found out that the 'Rapier' had gotten itself a new captain. It had to be Wesley. Mary scurried around to where the impressive looking vessel was moored and, after a careful glance around her, made her way onboard.

"Wesley? Wesley it's me, are you here?" She called lightly once upon the deck, heading straight for the Captain's cabin. Her muscles were tensed, ready to run in case the man she could see moving behind the slightly ajar door was not him as she pushed it open a little wider.

 

[poohlive]

He hated the fact that it looked so different. The bed was against the side, smaller than his own. It did not face the window, instead ran alongside it. There was a large desk, he did not approve of, and when he looked down at the quill and pen and parchment he simply turned away. Something as a captain he could never do.

He didn't know why, but he thought coming in here it would smell like her. Since her first day with Niamh on his ship, his quarters had smelled of her. A scent that seemed to ingrain itself in the wood, and stir up whenever he found the gall to somehow forget her.

As if her own scent were playing some teasing game of desire that she could never do with him.

He wanted this place to smell of her too. He felt lost without it, that faint musk of her fair skin, her long flowing hair, the lust she had for him that night.

He turned, catching a shadow of her figure on the wall. His heart skipping, as she came in, calling his name. He knew who it was before she showed her face though. The memory served him well, but not well enough to believe in fairy tales.

Instead, he watched as Mary came in.

He closed the door behind her, knowing this would be private. He stepped in close to her, and caught her own scent. It was good, sweet. More earthy than Niamh's, but something there remained.

He caught Mary, leaning into her, closing his eyes and remembering something sweet. A morning where he had woken up next to her, and let his fingers trail along her pale skin.

He opened his eyes when he realized he couldn't quite remember who that was. He wanted to say Niamh, but when he brought up her face, Mary's red curls and her impossible to read smile came up to him.

Either way it brought him to the present and he sat down upon the bed, looking up at her.

"What news?"

 

[Britwitch]

"What news?"
Mary smiled and moved to sit beside him, trying to forget the slight stab of disappointment that had pricked her heart as she had seen his smile falter ever so slightly upon seeing her. His mind obviously far way, somewhere else, with someone else...
"Well, I found your rebels, her rebels..." Mary shrugged with a vague smile, waving her hands lightly in front of her. "Someone's anyhow...regardless, whoever they fight for, they are coming. They shall come to the docks at nightfall and board while the harbour masters change their guard ready to sail with you upon the morning tide..."

"I...I have thought about your offer, Wesley..." Mary began with a slight sigh, knowing what had to be said and simply praying she had the strength to say it all. "You have no idea how many times I wished I could have come with you, shared in your adventures instead of simply patching up the wounds you accumulated along the way...but I wanted more than even that Wesley, I wanted you and now...now I know I shall never have you. Women should be pirates for we steal hearts better than any other and I know this Princess has truly captured your heart..." Mary turned to look into the Captain's eyes, raising a hand to rest upon his cheek.

"She would truly be a fool to let you go and I know you would never let yourself become involved with an imbicile..." Mary joked, suddenly aware she was losing herself in the warm, depths of his eyes, forcing herself to withdraw her hand and move away from him slightly. Feeling an odd surge of guilt.

"I cannot come with you, Wesley, I waited too long...I know that now, perhaps if I'd told you years ago how I felt things might be different but...but, well, they're not...are they?" Mary frowned slightly, the familiar sensation of tears pricking the backs of her eyes as she fought to overcome the desire to cry. "I couldn't do it, watch you and her...I just couldn't..."

"Besides which, a woman on board would only raise suspicions..." She added quickly with a weak smile. "...And I feel you will have enough on your plate without adding suspicions to the mix..."

"But before...before I go, there is something I have wanted to say and if I don't say it now I know I never will so...." Mary took a steadying breath, moving back beside him and lifting her eyes to his. "I know it changes nothing and I would not wish it to...but I do...I do love you Wesley...I think I always have..." Mary whispered, pressing her slightly trembling lips to his.

 

[poohlive]

Her kiss trembled, her hands shook as they came out to touch upon him. He did not know whether to take her embrace or hold onto her and keep her from falling. She might falter any second. She did not though, as weak and as hard as that had been for her, she had courage no man could ever know.

Courage he had never known.

He responded to the kiss. He accepted it. The kiss was good, warm. It delighted and tingled him like no other kiss had. Mary had that affect, she always would. He kissed her back, he took the embrace, his warm lips on hers, his hands running around to her back, pulling her to him, holding onto her so tightly.

When he pulled away, he had to catch his breath. Their foreheads touched together, bodies on fire, lust thick in the air, weakness looming.

"You have no idea what that does to me," He said, his own voice trembling now. Words he used like walking sticks, to help him through the moment."

"You have always been special to me, always been there. I would have died, had it not been for you. Your memory could never leave me, it would always have a place in my heart.

"Maybe things could have been different. Perhaps. I don't know, I don't ponder things as well as most. All I know is, you deserved more than I ever gave you, even on my good day. Even the day I spent every waking moment with you, loving you, talking with you, being with you. It was not enough."

His kissed again, because his lips missed her taste. And more importantly because he thought she would taste like Niamh. She did not, it was close... but it was not his love.

"If anything is to happen. It will be with you. If Niamh does not accept me, if for some reason we can not be together, I will come back for you. I will make an honest woman of you. I will hope you forgive my mistakes, every time I chased the horizon when I should have been chasing you."

He kissed her once more. And this time, his lips did search out for hers, and not Niamh's. The long delighted kiss, their first kiss they shared. Timid and discovering, unsure if it would be returned or his face slapped. It turned, moving forward, halfway through experience. The kiss of a man who knew this woman, ever contour, every curve, one who had let his fingers trail down her body many a night, watching the moon caress her breasts as he had.

 

[Britwitch]

Mary almost lost her fight against crying, as Wesley kissed her, really kissed her. His arms encircling her, drawing her close, impossiby close. Her body and his seeming to fit together more perfectly than she could remember with any other lover. She parted her lips and returned his actions, her tongue stroking his, inviting it into his mouth. Her arms rising to rest about his neck, back arching to keep that precious contact between them.

Soon they were upon the bed. Hands retracing familiar paths across one another's bodies. Fingers peeling away clothes, lips tasting flesh. Mary knew they should stop, she should end this before things could continue but...she could not. If this was, as she feared, the last time she might spend with Wesley, how could she ever stop the thing she wanted more than anything.

Mary's kisses were needy, hungry. Her lips fluttering over every inch of skin, licking, nibbling, causing deep sighs to rise up within her as the familiar exhilaration of their couplings rushed over her.

In a fluid motion, she rose above him, straddling his waist and resting her palms upon his chest, sheathing his shaft within the tight confines of her sex. Whimpering softly as her hips began to move, every movement threatening to break the connection between them only to bring them back together, deeper and closer than before.

 

[poohlive]

It happened in a blur, a delicious blur of excitement and pleasure that he had forgotten for too long. He never admitted to himself how there were days when he longed for Mary's bed. His body aching for hers, the feel of her thighs across his skin, her body wracking over his own.

Even if he wanted to stop it, he could not. The passion had blown, fueling them both on for this last moment, their requiem of love, dying on their lips as they kissed passionately.

Would he consider it cheating, unfaithful to a princess he loved more than anything? He did not think so, he did not feel this as anything more than what it was. He could have an ending, he could say goodbye to Mary the way she wanted, he owed her that much.

All those nights alone, her body crying out to him under the sheets, he owed her that and so much more.

His hands found their way up her body, delirious with the touch of her. He pinched her nipples, cupping her breasts, as she bounced and ground against his cock. Mary was a lover, a woman of passion who knew her body more than most women.

Most women make love by simply lying there, getting it over with as soon as possible. They had no lust, no passion, no desire to get into the moment. A man was supposed to lay on top and do what he did.

Mary had learned long ago to do things her own way. And now she writhed her body atop of him, searching for pleasure and finding it as his cock impaled her. He groaned, his hips moving with her, feeling out her rhythm. She drove her body into him, harder, deeper, faster than any other time.

It was like she knew this would be the last time, their last time together and she understood, wanting the last to be the best, the greatest, something she would always remember. He would give it to her, he wanted her to have this.

This, if nothing else.

He leaned up, taking a pursed nipple into his mouth, sucking upon it, nibbling the hard nub with his tease, teasing her with pleasure and pain.