Chapter 4

She stumbled into her quarters, swaying from both drink and waves, and she accidentally slammed her knee into the bunk. She cursed under her breath as she rubbed the spot where a bruise would be sure to form. On land, her cabin would be considered no more than a closet, but at sea, she was lucky to have a door for privacy. Most of the crewmen slept in hammocks in a shared space, but a cabin boy needed to be kept closer to the captain's quarters.

Even though she was alone, Emma kept her bindings on underneath her shirt. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but it was the safer option. She didn't know if someone might wake her in the night to carry out some urgent chore, and she couldn't afford to be caught with her guard down. She had no idea what the men of the rogue crew might do to her if she were found out.

Her plan of keeping to herself had failed when she had been asked to dine with the captain, but it seemed she had managed to convince him that she was who she said she was. If he had been taken by her act, then she was sure that the rest of the crew would be convinced as well. She could already tell that Captain Hook was the most shrewd and cunning man aboard. He was the challenge, and she had passed his test. The rest of the men would fall in line behind him.

She'd seen throughout the day that they served under him with the utmost respect – a perfect combination of both fear and love for the man. He'd been kind to her, personally showing her how to tie a rope. She was even able to improve her bindings using one of the knots he had shown her, using his single hand and his teeth to dexterously wrap and pull the line. However, he'd also detailed the various punishments for breaking the laws he had set down. The best a rule breaker could hope for was being put off the ship at the next port. Beyond that, men could face marooning, walking the plank, the brig, lashings, or even keelhauling. She could tell from the dark glimmer in his eyes as he'd described these methods that he had reprimanded men in all these ways before, and would not hesitate to do it again. His rules may have been fair, but he would be ruthless to those who operated outside of them.

Emma shuddered, remembering the feel of his dangerous aura. It was what had drawn her to him in the first place. She had known he was a pirate from the instant he'd entered through the tavern door. Sure, she could have attempted to secure passage on any vessel in the harbor. It may have been easier to pay her way with the little coin she had, but law-abiding captains were prone to asking questions she wasn't willing to answer. She knew what she was – a thief, a criminal. She fit better here than she would on any other ship. Here on the Jolly Roger, no one would bother her about why she wanted to leave. Plenty of orphan boys found work on the docks and at sea. No one would have to know that she was any different.

It wasn't just the danger of him that made him attractive to her, she had to admit. She couldn't deny that the man exuded the very essence of sex. Closing her eyelids, she pictured him now, with his bright eyes and that dark hair, the sun-reddened scruff on his cheeks. She could see the hair on his chest, exposed by the open buttons on his shirt, and her hand unconsciously migrated beneath the laces of her breeches. She imagined what that hair would feel like, brushing against the tender skin of her unbound breasts. She pretended that it was his hand stroking at her center as she remembered the smell of him when he'd bent down to whisper in her ear, the lust in his gaze when he'd had her pinned up against the wall in the tavern. She wondered what it would have been like if she'd held back her request, and instead she'd lifted her skirts and had let him have his way with her right there.

She bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out as pleasure rolled through her body.

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"You held a sword before, boy?" Mr. Quinn demanded, spinning the wooden practice sword around in his hand. He had his shirt off, but was still sweating under the heat of the midday ocean sun, as was Emma, but she needed all her clothing to keep her hidden.

A droplet rolled down her back. "Few times," she insisted, squeezing her fingers around the hilt of her own practice sword. "But I never fought with one."

"Clearly."

She heard the thwack and felt sharp pain radiating from her wrist. Her sword clattered on the deck as she held her now throbbing hand to her chest. She winced when she moved her thumb, but at least it moved. That meant it wasn't broken.

"Well?" Quinn gestured down at the length of wood. "Pick it up."

She did as he bid, keeping her eyes fixed on him.

"Hold it right. Like this. It's got to be part of you. You drop your sword in battle, you're dead."

Her jaw tightened in frustration. It was easier said than done. She glanced up toward the helm and saw the captain watching them as he steered. She had to do this. She could not show weakness. When Quinn tried to knock at her hand again, she pulled it back and heard the crack of wood against wood. This time her grip did not falter, and she held tight.

"Better."

The fake swords met several times more before he seemed convinced that he wasn't going to break her hold again. That was when his blow came down from above. She didn't block it in time, and it came slamming down onto her shoulder. She let out a yelp.

"Where's your head, you bloody bastard?" Quinn shouted at her. "Protect yourself."

She bit down on her cheek hard to avoid yelling back that she was trying. He'd given her no warning, but she wouldn't get that from an enemy combatant, either. She kept her retorts to herself. Squaring her shoulders despite the pain, she readied herself for the next attack. It came swiftly, and this time she managed to dodge.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the captain smirk before the wooden sword came smashing into her side and the wind went out of her.