Chapter 6

Emma looked down the barrel of the cannon and saw the flames began to lick at the steadily reddening sky. She heard boots and crates slamming on the deck above her. The ship beside them jerked and began to float away.

"Let's move out of here before that fire hits her powder room." The captain's chuckle sounded down, and she knew it was safe to head up again. The battle was over and they were the victors. Of course, it hadn't been much less dangerous in on the gun deck. At least here, no one was aiming their blows toward her. It was only the rolling weight of iron that she had to fear.

She had followed Murray's instructions as if by instinct. She had already been shown the basic mechanics of the ship's guns, and she had managed to recall all the terminology under pressure. Her senses had become heightened in the urgency of crisis, and she had to admit she was feeling proud of herself. Sharing the sentiment, Murray slapped a hand on her back, laughing, and she froze, hoping that he could not feel her bindings. He didn't seem to notice, gesturing toward the ladder with a broad grin. He followed her to the upper level.

When she caught sight of the men who had returned from the boarding party, she froze. Each of them was splattered with blood. Quinn wore a massive gash on his burly chest. The carpenter – Mr. Clark, was it? – had a slice cut into his upper arm. Between the two of them, despite their wounds, they carried a large chest, decorated with golden plating. Her eyes went to the captain, and his brow was dripping with red. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Oi!" Murray gave her foot a shove. "Keep it moving."

She scrambled up the last few steps. The captain was smiling, and walking with his usual swagger. He seemed fine. It wasn't his blood. Her shoulders relaxed as she took another inhale. She could still smell the acrid stench of the gunpowder, mixed with the smoke of the burning Blushing Maiden. Quinn and Clark set the chest down behind the captain, and he turned on his heel.

"Let's see what bounty we've come across, mates." He announced before flinging open the lid of the chest. Its innards were filled with gold coin and jewels. He dipped down to run his fingers through the pile, letting the coins drip down onto the deck as he raised his hand again. "Would you look at that? I think we've earned ourselves a night in port."

A cheer went up from the men. Emma joined in, her fist going into the air along with others. Still, there was a slight pang in her chest. She was growing to enjoy life aboard. If they were making for harbor already – would she still leave as she had planned?

Yes, she decided. She wouldn't be able to keep up her disguise forever. It was time that she moved on. The next time she set foot on land, she would be in her new home, and she would find her way as she always had.

"Emerson." The captain's voice snapped her attention from her thoughts. "Come here."

All eyes were on her as she stepped meekly toward the captain. He snatched a necklace out of the chest and shoved it into her hands. It was made of beaded gold, and featured a sapphire as long as her thumb, surrounded by diamonds. Its length was smeared with blood.

"You ever held anything so exquisite, lad? Ever pick anything like that out of a pocket?"

Even the queen's jewels were not so large as this, the golden ring not as heavy as this was. As she fondled it, the black of the gunpowder on her hands mixed with sticky scarlet. "No, Captain. Not like this," she told him. "Nothing like this."

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The captain was one of the first to go ashore when they had secured a mooring a week later. He and two of the men had rowed ashore in a dinghy with a sample of their loot to find a buyer. The rest of the crew stayed aboard and entertained themselves. Emma found herself sparring with Murray on the upper deck. Quinn's wound had kept him from training her even after Clark had sewed it shut, but after what she had witnessed the day they'd taken down the Maiden, she'd been even more eager to improve her skills – just in case. The captain had ordered Murray to step in and continue her lessons.

Murray was smaller than Quinn, and didn't hit as hard, for which Emma was grateful. Though she'd received a few more good bruises from him, they didn't spread like the ones that Quinn had left on her first day with a fake sword, and she no longer worried about broken bones. Murray was harder to read, however. She never knew where his next blow was coming from. One hit her on the back of her head when she saw the rowboat returning across the harbor.

The men parted as the captain came aboard, scowling. He made directly for the hatch that led down to his cabin, heavy boots striding purposefully, and his long coat swinging about his legs. "Emerson," he barked out without looking at her. "With me."

Emma paled. Murray held out his hand to take her practice sword, and she passed it to him clumsily before scampering after their leader.

"Close the hatch, lad." The captain commanded once she was inside his quarters. He seated himself in the chair behind the table, crossing one foot over his knee. She latched it shut before jumping down the last step of the ladder. She swallowed hard, fearing the captain's dark mood and not understanding why she had been the one chosen to suffer his wrath. What had she done? What had happened on land while he was gone?

"I don't believe you've ever told me why you wanted to come on board." His ice-blue eyes were narrow and full of fire as he looked up at her from under his dark brows.

"I – I told you I had always wanted to be free, Captain." She reminded him of what she'd said at their first shared meal.

"Free from what?"

"Well, from everything, I suppose. Just free."

His hand and hook went to the back of his head, his elbows spread out past his shoulders as he leaned back in the chair. His posture was casual, and his voice quiet, but she could hear the threat in the lowly spoken words. "It's bad form keeping secrets from your captain."

Emma froze. How much did he know? She dared not open her mouth.

When she didn't respond, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat and retrieved a rolled piece of parchment. He threw it down on the table. For a moment, she was paralyzed, but when he tilted his head toward it in a gesture, her feet padded forward of their own regard and she took the paper in trembling hands. As she unfurled it, her heart dropped into her stomach with a sickening splash.

A rough sketch of her own face looked up at her, long curls rolling over the outline of soft shoulders. Wanted, read the heavy black calligraphy on the poster. Emma Swan – Dead or Alive. Slamming her open jaw shut, Emma made a sudden decision. She shook her head. "I don't know this girl, Captain. It's true we share a surname, but–"

"Drop the act, Emma. I know it's you."

Ice poured into her veins as her eyes darted up to meet his, lingering dangerously on her. Twice her heart throbbed in her throat. "You knew?" She gasped out.

The captain stood. His boots thumped on the floor as he took the two steps toward her needed to close the distance between them. "Aye, love." His voice was barely more than a whisper. "I knew."