Beneath Black Sails

by Clare Sager

  “Very kind of you.” Fitz’s tone was frigid, but he didn’t sound like murder was imminent anymore.

  She swallowed and forced a stiff smile.

  “Blackwood,” Fitz went on, “I’m sure it must be … challenging for you adapting to live aboard a pi – privateering vessel and one where you’re not captain. However, I trust I won’t need to remind you again that this is my crew.”

  Blackwood folded his arms. “I’m sure you won’t.”

  “Very good.” He rested his hands on the table, leaning towards them. “Now, Vice, I’m sure it will help our friend here appreciate his altered position if you were to take him ashore with you tomorrow.”

  A strangled sound came from her throat. “Ashore?” Tomorrow they’d arrive at Nassau. That was her chance to explore the latest happenings in town, arrange the best deals with the local stores for Perry’s cargo manifest, and even pick up items for her crewmates. “But I always go alone.” And life aboard, much as she loved it, afforded barely any time alone now she didn’t have her own cabin.

  “Well” – he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes – “you can have a little company this time, can’t you?

  “I can carry your shopping.” Blackwood raised his eyebrows.

  She stared at him. She blinked. Exhaling through her nose, she shook her head. Did he think she was picking out a new gown or decorating the guest wing?

  Fitz cleared his throat. “I’m sure Vice will appreciate any assistance, won’t you?” He waved his hand. “And take your time. I’ll make sure Perry gives you a little something extra to spend.”

  Take your time. She sighed. This wasn’t about her – he just wanted Blackwood off the ship, away from him and his crew. And much as he’d couched it with a question, it wasn’t a request.

  “Aye, Captain,” she said, backing towards the door. “Well, I’d best go and check over the list with Perry, make sure we haven’t missed anything.” Perry never missed an item from the cargo, but Vice needed to get out of here and no way was she asking for permission to leave like some Navy lackey. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  Nassau

  “A lovely day for a walk, isn’t it?” Knigh tried a pleasant smile as he sidled up to Vice while she waited for the gangway to be slid into place.

  So this was the infamous Nassau. A long stretch of brilliant green-blue water lay between chaotic wharves and a low sandy island that sheltered the harbour.

  Past the wharves, the town – well, it looked like most small towns that had sprung up in Arawaké. Since the local island nations had invited foreign powers to the trading table, offering parcels of land to found settlements, dozens littered the islands. Nassau could almost be any one of them. True, there was no sign of soldiers and more buildings were timber than stone or brick, but the same could be said for a lot of the younger, smaller towns in the area.

  Knigh’s eyebrows rose. Not what he was expecting, especially after Perry’s warnings.

  He brushed down the front of his waistcoat. He’d followed the advice she’d given him and swapped his uniform for neutral civilian clothing – leather boots, plain breeches, a simple white shirt and cravat, and a waistcoat. On the one hand, it felt inappropriate to be about to walk ashore without full coat and uniform. But on the other, the linen shirt let the breeze breathe through to cool his skin. And with the sun so fierce, that breeze was welcome.

  She’d advised him well. Ahead, the wharves and streets crawled with precisely the people he’d spent the past two years chasing down. Setting foot here in Navy uniform would have been nothing short of suicide.

  Vice gave him a sidelong look – her eyes were brilliant blue flecked turquoise today. It seemed the colour looked different depending on the light. Curious.

  She pursed her lips. “This isn’t a jolly stroll along the promenade, Blackwood, this is work.”

  He cocked his head. “I didn’t think you would consider work and pleasure mutually exclusive.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched, but she gave no reply, gaze fixed on the town stretching ahead.

  She, too, wore light clothes – linen breeches, a sheer shirt cut low enough to draw attention, and a sea-blue waistcoat. With all the gold braid and brass buttons, it should have been garish. And yet the way she wore it with leather belts criss-crossed over waist and hips, holding three pistols and a battered sabre – somehow, she made it seem nonchalant. Topped with a tricorne hat to keep the sun from her eyes, there was no doubting she belonged here.

  “Let’s get this over and done with.” Without waiting for him, she sauntered across the gangway and thanked the dock workers who’d manoeuvred it.

  He sighed and strode after her. He was trying. He’d annoyed FitzRoy, that much was obvious. And Vice, too, but that seemed an easy task. However, he was attempting to integrate with their motley crew. They might be privateers, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that meant their enmity towards him as a pirate hunter had disappeared the instant the ink on their agreement dried.

  Walking at her side, he watched her out the corner of his eye. Now he was closer, he spotted silver hooped earrings glinting amongst the wild waves of her hair. As she moved, small, bright feathers hanging from the hoops gleamed in iridescent colours – bright blue, green, gold. He’d seen Saba wear similar feathers in her hair and as jewellery – perhaps the earrings had been a gift from her.

  It wasn’t a great leap of logic. Vice was clearly popular with the crew. In fact, although FitzRoy had told her to bring him along for his own ends, this spell on shore could work to his advantage. If he won Vice’s approval, perhaps that would influence the rest of the crew.

  Gods knew he didn’t need people who were meant to be his allies, albeit temporary ones, attacking him. His hands tightened. Trapped on a ship full of enemies, under attack, there was no way he wouldn’t lose control.

  Getting them on-side, perhaps even befriending them, that was his only option.

  He took a deep breath. He needed a distraction and to warm her to him: let’s get this over and done with hadn’t been an auspicious start.

  “Why does FitzRoy send you to buy and sell supplies and cargo? Isn’t it the quartermaster’s job?”

  She lifted her chin. “Fae charm gets good prices.”

  “Huh.” Frowning, he examined her again. “So, you’re gifted.”

  He almost said too, but he bit back the word. He could count on one hand the number of people who knew he was fae-touched. If the Navy knew, he’d be locked in sickbay working under a surgeon, rather than commanding his own ship, catching pirates. They’d see him as just another commodity. Outside of the Navy, many others treated healers like chattel to be bought and sold – or stolen, especially on the high seas.

  He narrowed his eyes at Vice – nothing about her appearance said she was fae-touched. No strangely symmetrical birthmark, pointed ears, sharp claws, or strange hair colour. “Oh, your eyes – that’s your fae mark.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “You noticed that, then?”

  “The first time we met they were turquoise, the other day they were steel-blue, today they’re more of a true blue, flecked green. I thought it was a trick of the light.”

  “They usually match the sea that day – at least that’s what Perry says.”

  “I’d heard rumours the notorious Lady Vice was a sea witch, but I thought it was all exaggeration to make a good story.”

  She shrugged, eyes on the road ahead. “Some of it is. For example, I can’t call down a bolt of lightning from a clear sky like this and strike you where you stand.” She gave him a smirk. “Lucky for you.”

  Still annoyed at him, then.

  Well, he had taken over her cabin, so that was probably fair. Though he’d done her the favour of tidying it. The first time he’d walked in, he’d thought the place had been ransacked in the fight. But when she hadn’t commented on it, he’d realised she was just that messy. How did anyone think in such an environment?

  The way she’d
snatched that book from him, she wasn’t going to thank him for making the place shipshape any time soon.

  They hadn’t walked much further in un-companionable silence before the looks started. Glowers from the shadows of a tavern door. Glinting eyes beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Even a sneer as one woman crossed their path.

  Perhaps that was just how they treated newcomers in Nassau.

  But then the whispers followed – a cluster of men and women in the mouth of an alleyway, a man too-casually leaning out a ground-floor window to mutter in his fellow’s ear.

  Damnation. Maybe they recognised him.

  He kept his head high as if he hadn’t noticed, but his arms and hands hung loose at his sides, ready to draw weapons at an instant’s notice.

  Wild Hunt – what a fool. He’d been so concerned about The Morrigan’s crew attacking him that he hadn’t even considered the pirates on shore and the land-dwellers who made their money from their trade.

  “Blackwood,” Vice muttered, leaning closer as they walked, “why is everyone looking at us like they’re a few torches away from forming an angry mob?”

  “I should imagine it’s because I match the description of a well-known pirate hunter. Strangely enough.” His eyebrow twitched.

  “Well-known? Just how many ships have you taken?”

  “Gods know – I stopped counting after the first couple of dozen.”

  A choked sound came from her, which she attempted to disguise as a cough. Thumping her chest, she cleared her throat. “Anyone I’d know?”

  “Perhaps” – he shrugged – “Bonny Steed, Jack Shoals, Davy Davis and his son.”

  She missed a step, eyes widening. “Jack Shoal’s been grabbed? When?”

  “About four months ago.”

  “Bloody hells. You have been busy.” She shook her head, gaze scanning the wide road. “Poor Jack.”

  “Poor Jack? No poor Bonny or Davis boys?”

  “Jack was a good lad – helped me out of a sticky situation once, and we had a great night carousing after. Well, I say night – more like a weekend.” In the shadow of her tricorne, her eyes crinkled above a warm grin. The look soon soured. “Bonny, though – he was a prick. Deserved whatever he got. How’d you manage to take so many?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “If I told you that, I’d be giving away all my secrets.” Including the fact this is all a ploy. He swallowed. “Let’s just say, I’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done.”

  Eyes narrowed, she gave him a long look that would have made most men squirm. “Whatever it takes, huh? Come on.” With a nod, she indicated an alley between timber buildings and split off in that direction.

  A shortcut avoiding so many pirates, perhaps. Glancing up and down the street, he followed.

  They ducked into the shadows and no sooner were they out of sight than she whirled to face him. “Right, let’s sort this out.”

  She reached for him, and he flinched, catching her wrist on instinct.

  He pulled her hand away. “What are you doing?” The last time she’d touched him – well, it had been in front of almost two-hundred people and yet had felt wildly improper. His blood had burned. It had taken every ounce of self-control to avoid making a damn fool of himself in front of his crew and The Morrigan’s. Right now, her cool skin and throbbing pulse under his fingers were at once soothing and thrilling.

  “I’m trying to keep you alive, though I’ll be damned if I know why.”

  Mouth flat, he stared back, and when she tried to pull her wrist away, his grip tightened. “Glibness isn’t a good enough answer.”

  Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “Calm down, Navy boy, I’m just trying to make you a bit less recognisable, so we don’t get mobbed by angry pirates.” She raised her eyebrows as if to ask whether he was going to let her get on with it.

  He exhaled and released her. “Fine.” Relief washed over him to no longer be in contact with her, immediately followed by longing – that cool hand on his forehead would be …

  He clenched his fists and jaw. For goodness sake, man, get a hold of yourself.

  “Thank you,” she said, an arch in her tone. With deft fingers, she began untying his cravat and snorted indelicately. “I can’t believe you’re wearing a cravat in this weather.”

  Thankfully she kept her gaze on her work rather than meeting his. It had been a mistake to make that challenging eye-contact with her when he’d removed his weapons. He knew that now. At the time, fool that he was, he’d thought it would ruffle her.

  To say it had backfired was an understatement.

  He lifted his chin to avoid her fingers brushing his throat while she pulled the knot loose. The less physical contact between them, the better. Even this distance between them, a few inches, was too much to bear. Close enough to lean in. Close enough that he only needed to lift his hands and he’d be holding her waist.

  He swallowed. A good couple of feet – that would feel much safer, but his back was already against the alley wall.

  It was just physical attraction, nothing more, but, gods, was it insistent.

  The cravat – focus on that. He cleared his throat. “I’d feel undressed without one.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched as she pulled away the length of linen. “Too used to hiding behind your uniform.” Her gaze flicked to his face, narrow-eyed for a moment before she took a small step back. She looped the cravat around his waist and tied it at an angle, like the belts at her waist. “Better. This, though” – she frowned at his face, lips pursed – “this might be a bit more difficult to disguise.”

  “What’s wrong with my face?”

  She laughed, breath sweet like coconut and banana. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Her hands lifted as if she were about to cup his cheeks, and he forced himself still. He couldn’t give in to this physical attraction any more than he could give in to the battle rage, but if she kissed him … Well, he might tell himself to pull away; whether his body would listen was a different matter entirely.

  But instead of her fingers on his face, they plunged into his hair. He had to clench his jaw against a groan threatening deep in his chest.

  Lips pursed, she frowned at a point above his left eyebrow. “This is the problem.”

  The white streak in his hair. His fae mark.

  She combed and pushed it to one side. “Urgh, I can’t even hide it. Your hair’s so thick.” She shook her head, attention all on his hairline. “I’ve never seen one so white and precise on someone so young before. No wonder they recognised you.” She smoothed it flat as if trying to use the rest of his hair to hide the offending streak. He knew from his own attempts that it would only spring up as soon as she removed her hand. “What happened? A blow to the head?”

  He’d been keeping his gift hidden from the Navy for long enough that the prepared line came easily: “I had a nasty shock.”

  Her eyebrows rose in query.

  He took a long breath. Telling her the abbreviated version couldn’t hurt. It might even get her to trust him and if he wanted to get the crew on his side …

  “When I was 20, my father passed away.” Another long breath. She didn’t need to know how much he’d looked up to the man, seen him as a hero, wanted to be just like him.

  “Oh.” A crease between her brows, she nodded faintly. Disappointed?

  “That wasn’t the shock,” he hurried to add. “I wish that was the only thing.” He sighed softly. “After his passing, we discovered he’d racked up massive debts and …”

  And he’d sold off parts of their land already, including an estate in the north, and various other items of value. All done without the rest of the family knowing. Then there was the discovery of a mistress and illegitimate son in Portsmouth.

  That was more than she needed to know.

  “Well,” he went on, “add in an absconding fiancée and being forced from our home, and I think it’s fair to say it was a difficult year.”

  The fiancée had left months be
fore Father’s death, and she hadn’t exactly broken his heart. The betrothal to Lady Avice Ferrers had been arranged by Mother and Father. It struck him later that Father had intended to use her dowry to clear his debts. No romance, simply a matter of family duty.

  How could there be any love? He’d only met the girl a few times, all when they’d been much younger. But including her made the story about his difficult year all the more compelling.

  Brow creasing, Vice’s expression softened, compassionate, almost sad.

  Knigh’s chest twisted. She felt sorry for him? The matter of his family’s difficulties – surely to her it would just be a sign of how wealthy they’d been in the first place.

  So perhaps it was the wayward fiancée that touched her. Hadn’t she said at the ball that she was widowed? Something about how the story had come so quickly and a brief look that had crossed her face had made him wonder and now this … Maybe there was a vein of truth in that.

  Who knew that the route to Vice’s black heart would be through tragic tales of romance? It was almost enough to make him laugh.

  He tried to soften his own expression, look like he genuinely was sad. He couldn’t plumb his feelings towards Father – that was a dangerous box to open – but perhaps he could summon something from the distant memory of Lady Avice.

  Although she hadn’t broken his heart, the news she’d eloped with another man had been a slap in the face. In those few meetings, he’d clearly made a bad impression. Bad enough that she’d rather run away from her entire life and marry some penniless younger son of a baron than stay and marry him.

  To think he’d been naïve enough to believe that would be the worst thing to happen that year.

  Vice pursed her lips for a moment before she bowed her head and removed her tricorne. From the inside band, she pulled a folded piece of paper and tucked it in her pocket. “Disappointing fathers, eh?” She gave a sardonic smile, but there was something still sad in her eyes as she slid the hat onto his head. “That works,” she murmured to herself and nodded. “What about your mother? How did the two of you manage?”