Chapter 5

He had dined with her again that night. He wanted to see how she was doing after the beating she had taken during her first swordplay lesson. Her movements had slowed noticeably, but she had made no complaint in his company. Now, he could hear her through the wall, whimpering as she shifted restlessly in her bunk. Part of him wanted to go to her, to examine her bruises and give her comfort in whatever way he could. That wasn't something he'd do for any man on his ship, though. If she wanted to pose as a boy, then he would treat her like one. Besides, Her wounds would help her learn.

He would have to teach her footwork personally. Quinn could swing a blade as well as any other man, but he couldn't dodge and weave the way the captain suspected Emma would be able to after some coaching and practice. Her feet were quick and nimble. She might not have the strength of a larger man, but if she was fast enough, that might not matter.

On the other side of the thin wall, Emma's breath was loud, raggedy, and uneven. Every so often he would hear her shuffle and whine, trying to find a position that would allow her to avoid the pain. Maybe he was going soft, but eventually he couldn't take it anymore. He pounded on the wall between them.

"Emerson, come in here." He instructed. For a moment, he heard nothing as she stilled. Then, her feet padded onto the floor and he heard her door open. He threw off the woolen blanket that covered him and rolled out of his own bunk, reaching the cabinet just as she entered. "You're keeping me up, lad." He located the green glass jar he sought near the back, the cork on its top lightly coated with dust, despite its containment. It had been a long time since he had needed it. Taking it up, he turned to hand it to her, and saw that her eyes were frozen wide.

"You – you can hear me in there?" She stammered.

He tried to hide his smile at the unasked part of her question. He had heard her the prior night as well, her muffled moans making him strain against his laces until he had taken himself in hand. He'd managed to resist the urge to go to her, to take over her ministrations and find his pleasure in her instead of alone in his own bed.

"Aye," he responded. "This will help." He held the ointment out to her. "It will numb your pain if you spread it on the bruises."

She did not reach for it. Instead, her gaze flickered over him warily, lingering for a moment on his bare chest. He smirked as she nervously licked at her lips. Before he had a chance to think about it, he had stepped toward her. To give the movement a pretense, he lifted her wounded hand. She jerked to pull it away, but he held insistently. He placed her hand firmly on what remained of his left forearm. His hook lay beneath his pillow alongside a pistol for the night, and he carefully examined her reaction to his stump. He expected to see either pity or revulsion, but saw nothing more than acknowledgment. It sparked in him a certain tenderness for her.

"How bad is it?" He asked softly, flicking the cork out of the jar with his thumb. The smell of mint swirled around them.

"I'm fine, Captain." She swallowed.

"If that were true, we would not be standing here right now, but this will be our little secret. No one else will know that you were weeping like a girl in your cabin."

"I wasn't–"

"Hush." He cut her off, pleased he'd gotten a rise out of her. "Don't argue with your captain. Still works then, does it?"

Nodding, Emma flexed and wiggled her fingers, but he noticed her jaw clench tighter as she did so. Pressing the jar between his elbow and his side, he dipped his fingers into it and began to smear the grease over her wrist, massaging it into her skin as gently as he could. He heard her breathe a sigh of relief, and his manhood stirred at the sound.

"Is that better?" His voice came out rougher than he meant to.

"Yes, thank you, Captain." Her defenses had slipped, and he heard her natural voice dripping from her lips rather than the lower note she'd been pretending at. He wondered if he could make her forget herself completely.

His hand reached for the curve where her neck met her shoulder, and his thumb began to rub soft and lazy circles over the dark purple that had spread there. Her eyes drifted shut as she melted into his touch. Whether it was the pads of his fingers or the cooling ointment she reacted to, he wasn't sure. A whispering exhale escaped her parted lips. He worked beneath the collar of her shirt, over the round of her shoulder and down to her collarbone.

"And that?" He asked lowly. "How does that feel?"

"Amazing." She replied breathlessly.

"Show me the rest," he suggested, voice growing unintentionally husky with the thought of running his hand down her side and over her bare hip.

Her eyes shot open as she stepped away, and he knew he had pushed his luck too far. "I can take it from here, Captain. Thank you." She took the jar from his elbow and retrieved the cap from where it lay on the floor. She was halfway out the door when she turned her head back to him. "I'll keep quiet so you can sleep, sir." Then she was gone.

The captain ran a heavy hand over his face in frustration.

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They had been out on the water four days when quarry was finally spotted. "Ship ahoy!" The call came down from the crow's nest. Holding one of the the wheel's spokes in the round of his hook, the captain pulled his spyglass from the breast pocket inside his coat.

"She's at four o'clock, Captain." Mr. Murray shouted from above.

Focusing the lens on the proper spot on the horizon, Hook found the sails and spotted the colors she flew. He felt the anger rise within him and his lips lashed into a predatory grin. The ship and everything on board belonged to King George, but not for long.

"We going after her, Cap?" Smee's unsteady voice asked from behind him.

"Did you have any doubt, Mr. Smee?" Returning his scope to his pocket, the captain's hand found the helm again. "Coming about, men!" He yelled out over the deck, spinning the wheel. "Hard to starboard!"

It took another half a day before they caught up to her, but there wasn't a ship in all the realm that could outrun the Jolly Roger. When they finally drew up beside her, within range, the captain ordered the colors raised. His blood was already boiling as his crimson flag unfurled. He had sworn a vow that he would make the king pay for what he had done, one ship at a time. This one boasted the name Blushing Maiden across her stern in golden letters, and Captain Hook was going to take her.

"Fire!" He roared out the order, raising his drawn sword to the sky, and the blast of his cannons shattered the peace of the ocean. Wooden shrapnel exploded from the other vessel's hull, and he watched her sailors scramble to battle stations, but it was already too late. The element of surprise was on the Jolly Roger's side as usual, and her guns were reloaded and firing again before her prey had ample time to react.

One of the Maiden's masts came crashing into the waves, breaking under the force of the chain shot. Holes ripped through her sails and pierced her hull once again. She was severely crippled now, helpless, and dead in the water, but she wasn't going to go down without a fight, it seemed. Her cannons fired in retaliation, but the balls splashed into the ocean's depths behind the stern of the Jolly. Still, they sealed the fates of every man on her decks. She tried to turn, but she was large and unwieldy.

The Jolly was on her other side almost instantly, and the third volley of her cannons ripped into flesh and sent bodies flying off the Maiden's deck. This time, Captain Hook heard screams resonating across the water. It was time.

"Ready the gangplanks!" He set the wheel of the Jolly and passed the helm on to Connors. Before the planks were down, he was leaping between the decks, his sword already slashing as his boots hit wood. His strike was met with a metal clang, but he quickly disarmed the man before him, then ran him through. His crew were streaming onto the Maiden behind him. The din of battle began to hammer the air around them, and he felt his nerves singing with the adrenaline. He lived for this.

Splashes of blood and sailors' bodies hit down on the deck, dying the boards the color of Hook's flag. Some of the navy men leapt into the waves rather than face the blades of Hook's crew. They would die longer, slower deaths that way, unaided in the clutches of the sea. He would not be leaving a refuge behind for them when he was done.

The takeover was quick, but brutal. It was mere minutes before there was only one of the king's men left on the Maiden. He cowered against the helm, a stain of piss on his breeches. Hook's nose wrinkled in disgust as he approached the coward. The man threw down his sword as Hook stepped over a leg that had torn free of one of the navy men under the chain shot.

Hook sheathed his own sword to grab the poor excuse for a man by the collar and pull him up to his full height.

"Mercy, mercy!" The yellow-belly pleaded.

Hot blood sprayed in the captain's eyes as he slashed at the man's throat with his hook.