A Pirate's Kiss (Wattys Winner 2011)

Chapter Six | Bottle of Rum

"Fine. Have it your way, but she's still not my problem."

A door slammed bringing an abrupt end to the hushed conversation.

I was becoming more aware of my surroundings by the second, my breathing quiet as I waited for any sign of movement within the room. I was in bed again, the mattress firm beneath me, the blankets warm above. Too warm. I shifted uncomfortably.

Unsure if there was any one left in the room - or even if there had been anyone there to begin with, I remained hidden under the covers for a moment longer. My heart was thundering in my chest, louder than my breathing and I patted my fingers over it, willing myself to calm down. It was going to be okay. I had to believe that.

The ceiling above me creaked suddenly and I tensed, before realizing it was the sound of people moving above. Muffled yelling echoed - from out on deck I presumed, and the ship continued to move around me, creaking like the bones of an old man.

Gathering my courage, I finally decided to risk it and cracked an eye open, surveying the room through half-shut lashes.

It was not the same room as before.

There was a lamp lit on the far wall, it's warm light illuminating my surroundings softly. A quick scan told me that there was no-one present, and I relaxed slightly, slowly sitting up - although my ears picked up every creak of the ship with wary anticipation - waiting for someone to burst through the door.

I slowly slid out from under the blankets, swinging my feet over the edge of the bed. Smooth, worn, wooden floorboards met my bare toes and I shivered.

Looking down at my attire, I was half pleased to see I was now wearing a night gown at least - while the other half of me was in horror at the thought of a stranger dressing me while I was sleeping. My lip curled in disgust, but then again, it was no better than being undressed - and that had already happened as well.

I rubbed cuff of the night gown between my thumb and forefinger, studying the lace absentmindedly. It was actually rather pretty - although it was no doubt stolen from somewhere.

I scowled.

Or someone.

Under the nightgown, I could feel my Father's letter still wedged into the waistband of my undergarments, one sharp corner digging into my hip - a comforting discomfort.

I hesitated to remove it in order to read it however - partially dreading what I would find inside.

The look that my Father had given me, the moment before I was taken ... he had known this was going to happen, of this, there was no doubt.

Did he truly feel so little for me? Was I such a painful reminder for him that he had to go to such lengths? In my heart, I knew this was not the case - but still, there was a small voice that told me what I feared was true.

The corners of my eyes stung with unshed tears, and I furiously wiped them away, glaring up at the ceiling as I sniffed heavily.

Had he known from the moment Hobbson and Cobalt had arrived? He had to have done. And yet he had continued the farce without pause. Without offering any sort of warning. The thought made me abruptly furious.

Father had watched me dance with Cobalt, watched me dance with him, and converse with him - however unwillingly - for the entire night. And he hadn't said a word.

"How could you do this to me?" I whispered angrily, my hands curling into fists. "What did I ever do to you?"

I stood up suddenly, unable to sit still for a moment longer. It was as though every thing had suddenly sunk in all at once.