Mid 18th century - The Spanish Main
"Get into the closet, dear," Miranda commands. "You need to hide, I don't want them to see you. Perhaps help will arrive before..." her mother's exhortations are cut short when a loud bang reverberates and the ship lurches beneath her feet.
Despite her protestations to the contrary, Elena finds herself locked inside a dark space. Still she can hear the gruff voices of the men who are questioning her dad, her mom's determined assertions that there is nobody else on the ship, the laughter and footsteps of even more bandits.
Elena huddles even farther into the corner of the small hiding spot. She covers her ears when she hears shots, followed by heart-wrenching screams. As she dares to lower her hands, she realizes that it's just a matter of time before the pirates begin to explore the ship. The day had started so wonderfully, she had breakfast with her parents in the captain's quarters before going topside to watch the radiant colors of the sun bounce back off the brilliant blue waters of the Caribbean.
Terrified, she stuffs her knuckles in her mouth to keep her sobs as quiet as possible. A loud noise above causes Elena to jump. Looking around, she knows she has to escape somehow, if they scuttle the ship, she'll drown. Her planning is cut short when she hears a low roar coming from outside. Another ship? She feels the boat sway slightly in the wake caused by the second ship. Then, she catches her breath when she hears the echo of more footsteps above her.
It's the first time Elena hears any voices clearly. The thing she hones in on is how the one voice is obviously respectful of this "Salvatore" person and maybe even a little afraid.
"Niklaus." The second voice is much different than the first. She's surprised to realize that this speaker's voice sounds commanding, yet assertive and confident. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing? This isn't a treasure galleon."
There's raucous laughter and then the first guy speaks again. "Salvatore is jealous because he got here too late to claim any spoils for himself." Elena hears the sarcasm dripping from his voice. "I seriously doubt that they were carrying plunder of any value but we have yet to search the ship."
"I'm wasting my time here," the confident voice asserts.
Another evil chuckle. "Since I've got myself a larger boat now, I just may need to relieve you of some of that cargo," Niklaus threatens.
"You're an even bigger fool than I thought," Salvatore's voice is full of contempt. "You won't live long enough to enjoy the money you get from selling this stuff. The British navy will hunt you down..."
"You'll never live long enough to tell them about our little encounter today, Salvatore," the sinister voice growls. "The crown already has a price on your head."
Elena catches her breath again when she hears the click of guns being cocked. There are slow footsteps, and then Salvatore speaks again. "You have a mind to collect it?"
There were a few moments of awful silence then gunshots once again ring out over the serene waters of the Caribbean Sea. "That has to be some kind of nightmare..." Elena chants in a mantra to herself.
And then suddenly, it's quiet, the only sound is the sway of the ship as the waves crash against it, rocking the vessel gently. In fear for her life, Elena slowly and quietly unlocks the door and slips out into the hallway. She creeps towards the staircase, listening for any signs that someone's coming below deck. Reaching for the doorknob, she carefully raises one foot and then the other to ascend the stairs and grimaces when they creak beneath her feet.
Hearing nothing, she takes the steps two at a time and finally pokes her head outside. The hot midday sun feels good on Elena's skin, but she doesn't take the time to appreciate it as she flattens her body against the side of a bulkhead. When she finally has the courage to peek up over port side, her heart's catching in her throat when she sees bodies floating in the water below while the pirate vessel is shifting to its starboard side. Before the scream leaves her mouth, cannon fire erupts, ripping a hole in the ship just above the water line.
Knowing she's not alone, adrenaline surges through Elena's veins and she searches for some kind of a weapon. Picking up the knife, she grips the handle tightly and wields it like she's ready to strike. If she's going to die, she'll go down fighting. Suddenly she shrieks loudly when the knife goes flying from her hand and clatters to the deck. When she looks to see who kicked it away from her, Elena's blood freezes. It has to be him - Salvatore.
Backlit by the midday sun, he almost becomes part of it. A furious, powerful god of a man, with hair as dark as the hell from where he came. He stands with legs spread and arms akimbo, daring Elena to make a move. His black breeches are loose fitting and his boots reach his knees, he has a sash around his waist and a bandana on his head, a hoop earing hanging from his right ear. His shirt is gaped open and the sweat glistens on his muscled chest as it runs downwards to disappear beneath his pants. A large cutlass is hanging from his side making her flinch at the way the sun gleams off of it.
The man moves with grace and swiftness. He reaches down in a heartbeat and picks up the knife, re-sheathing it in a scabbard on his right hip. He moves closer to her, and she can see his features better without the sun glaring in her eyes.
Not one to cower, Elena stiffens her spine and raises her chin in defiance. If she was certain that her death isn't moments away, she might think him handsome. His well-defined and stubbled cheekbones give his face character. But it's his eyes that hypnotize her. They are impossibly blue, deep like the Caribbean Sea surrounding them.
He is standing so close to Elena that she can see his eyes as they move leisurely over her body, taking inventory of her assets barely covered by her dressing gown. It doesn't take long for the rest of his crew to do the same, and Elena snaps back to reality by the gruff catcalls and lewd whistles that came from behind the man.
"Ahh, Niklaus has gone and Salvatore finds the real treasure! Now we can all enjoy the spoils of the victor!" a dark haired man laughs, running the back of his knuckles over the soft skin of her shoulder.
Elena feels the blush creeping up from her toes and knows that her cheeks are probably turning the color of a red rose. When she shifts her weight towards the port side again, Salvatore's right hand snakes out and locks around her left forearm.
"The party for you will come when we reach Tortuga," he growls to his drooling crew. "Women for everyone, my treat." His eyes lock with Elena's, "This one is mine."
Something snaps inside of her at that. His insinuation raises her hackles just enough to put a spark of gutsy defiance in her eyes. "Yours?" she hisses through gritted teeth, trying to yank her arm free. Entirely forgetting she's a lady, she snaps, "Go to hell!"
The Salvatore grips her tighter and pulls her against his chest to the delight of his crew. "Can't oblige you this time, my lady," he murmurs in a low tone. "We're already in hell."
Before she can wipe that smirk off his face, he steps back and then pulls her behind him as he makes his way through the jeering crew to stairs. Elena tries to dig her bare toes into the deck to impede their progress, but it's futile.
There are more shouted salacious suggestions that make tears burn in her eyes, but she's not about to let these animals see her cry. She gasps when Salvatore pulls her into his arms, grabs a rope and crawls onto the side to swing across the sea and onto the other ship. Elena's eyes snap shut and then they're airborne, landing on The Flying Dragon's deck with a thump.
As soon as her feet touch the wooden planks, Damon grabs her wrist and pulls her below deck and into his cabin. Letting her go, he moves to his closet, after a quick search, he spins around and tosses a wine colored dress at her. "Put that on."
Defiantly, she folds her arms over her chest and refuses to comply. Damon comes to stand a hair's breath away from her, "I said," he mutters in a grim voice, "put it on."
She returns his glare with one of her own, finding the inner strength somehow to defy him. "Why? So you can rip it off me later?"
Damon's in-drawn breath is deep as he shakes with the effort to control his temper. But before he can reply, a loud splash echoes from outside. Elena shudders and can't help but look over her shoulder towards the window.
"Who were they?" He puts a hand to her chin gently forcing Elena's face back to his.
"What difference would it make now, they're dead? Elena regrets the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. His grip on her chin tightens and he comes so close that the tips of her breasts brush against his bare chest.
"Let's get something straight right now, lady," he hisses. "You're only still alive thanks to my... good graces. An inch to the side and that knife could have pinned your foot to the deck."
Elena tries to turn away but he catches her shoulders in his hands, forcing her to face him. "I could have let the crew have you, I still can, for that matter." He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. "I didn't kill those people," he whispers, his voice surprising Elena when it takes on a much softer tone. "Niklaus did."
Damon's at the wheel, trying to navigate through the treacherous waves. Jagged bolts of lightning light the skies in brilliant streaks. The clouds are thick, blotting out the moonlight and the stars. The wind rises to push the still waters to choppy, which morph into mountains of angry waves.
The veteran sailors struggle to get the sails down, and to tie them off. They slip on the rain soaked deck. The wind slams the rain into their faces like tiny stones. The ship presses, first up waves at forty-five degrees, and then crashes down, jarring their bones. At one point the waves spin the vessel sideways. They hold tightly onto the mast, onto ropes, onto anything. It's difficult to hang on.
Damon struggles with the wheel, the ship creaks dangerously as the unforgiving waves thrust forward in great amounts of power, allowing small glimpses of the cliffs just up ahead. He can almost hear the song of the mermaids as the ship is being pulled into depths of the watery hell known as "Davy Jones locker." As the muses play their sounds of death, salt burns his lungs as he fights to keep them afloat. The ocean teases the boat and throws it about like an infant would a rag doll. The wind mocks the pirates in their attempt to escape the ocean's hunger .
By the time the storm passes, Damon is exhausted, finally relinquishing control of the ship to Enzo so he can go below deck to rest. Having a white knuckle grip on the wheel has taxed his muscles, making them ache. As soon as he gets to his quarters, he grabs the bottle of rum and takes a hearty pull.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Elena standing near the wall staring at him. "The storm's past, you can relax now," he extends the bottle for her to take a swig.
Sucking in a breath, Elena approaches, takes it from his hand and takes a long pull. When she lowers it, she wipes her mouth against the back of her hand and gives it back to him.
Damon chuckles, takes one more himself then pops the cork back and sets it aside. "You have a taste for rum?"
"I'm not as naive as you seem to think," she arches an eyebrow then darts around him to look through the window. It's still raining but the sky is beginning to clear.
"Oh really?" he wraps his arm around her waist, pulls her flush against him then drops his mouth to the olive skin of her neck and begins to nibble.
Aghast, Elena pulls away and slaps him hard enough to make his head snap to the side.
Damon infuriates her even more when he starts to laugh and begins to disrobe. When he reaches his breeches, he winks at her. "You staying for the show?"
She huffs, picks up her dress and leaves his cabin, slamming the door behind her, the sound of his laughter follows her into her own room.
Seagulls screech, circling the blue sky overhead. There's usually something menacing in the sea vultures presence. Damon scans the horizon with his spyglass, smirking when he sees a vessel ahead.
The ship's sails billow behind him and the wind breezes across his face. He tucks a strand of hair under his scarf as he prepares to take on the other ship. Damon gives a direct glance to him across the deck, letting Enzo know that he's ready.
In this element, he's calm and collected, focusing on the gold and other spoils of battle. It pays for their food to keep their bellies full and keeps supplies in their galley. When they arrive in Tortuga, it'll pay for a night's stay with the wenches in Madame Bree's stable.
With a reassuring pat to his cutlass, secured in his belt, Damon reaches for the rope, hoisting himself onto the edge of the deck. The enemy ship is in his sights. As they near the vessel, he gives the signal and his crew goes into action. Anchors are thrown towards the merchant vessel to latch on. A second row of men spot the rival crew with their weapons drawn and ready.
"Make ready the guns! And run out the sweeps," he roars, winking at Elena when he notices her standing at the top of the stairs. "Hard a port! Rack the starboard oars! Hard a port! Keep her steady," he directs his men, "Fire! Fire all!" With their massive armament, it doesn't take long to disable the hapless ship.
As soon as they're securely anchored to the other ship, Damon along with half of the crew swing over on ropes to plunder it of its riches. Passengers and crew of the Nuestra Señora de las Angustias - are instantly alarmed by their presence. Damon slams his foot on the deck, commanding their attention.
Enzo approaches and takes his place beside his captain. With his trousers tucked into his large boots and open vest baring his hairy chest and wide shoulders, he is intimidation. His other men are baring their teeth menacingly on the main platform with their weapons poised.
"I am captain of The Flying Dragon and this is my crew. If you cooperate, no one will get hurt." He peruses the quieting crowd, the women are cowering, the men are scowling behind them in fear, but all are giving him their full attention.
"We will not be taking up more of your time than necessary, just some of your belongings. Do as you're told and you'll live to see another sunrise."
Damon hears Enzo begin to bark orders as they unload and load their plunder onto the Flying Dragon.
A raspy yell interrupts his line of focus as one of the opposing crewmen bellows and lunges toward him, swinging his heavy arms and raised fists. Damon draws his cutlass out of its sheath. Mason grabs the man by his wrist and shirt, forcing him back to the others with brute strength alone. The man is belligerent, his bluster is fueled by rum and quickly charges the pirate.
"Arrgh!" Mason roars as they brace and stumble against each other around the deck. He smiles wickedly at the fellow, relishing the fight. The man starts to flail his arms and shriek, his face red and spitting.
Damon's watching with an amused grin on his face.
"Watch out," Enzo spits just before they barrel into him then the three of them tumble over the edge and into the sea below. Damon waves his sword to dissuade any others before looking over the edge himself, laughing at the sight of his men, looking like bilge rats as they climb the ropes back onto the Dragon.
As soon as they rid the other ship of its spoils, his men urge the crew and passengers into the water, there's an island within swimming distance. Once he's certain everyone is off the ship, he grabs a rope himself, swings across the water and lands on his feet.
"Raise the colors," he directs then takes his place at the wheel and with a wave of his arm, his men fire the cannons until the vessel lists and begins its descent into Davy Jones locker.
"Now bring me that horizon," he shouts as he turns the wheel and they begin to sail away.
Glancing up at the sky, Damon shields his eyes from the sun's rays and watches the squawking seagulls overhead.
"Keep the current course," he commands Enzo then retreats below deck and runs into Elena straight away.
"What exactly are you planning to do with me?" she asks, her voice firm, belying the unease that's brewing inside.
He stops in front of her room then turns to face her. His blazing blue eyes sweep over her. "I don't yet know what I'm going to do with you."
"I'll not be your whore," she warns disdainfully.
He blinks back in surprise. Then his mouth forms a tight line and he leans closer to her. "I haven't ever needed to force a lady, or even a wench for that matter and secondly, I don't allow such things - not on my ship. Don't assume things you know nothing about, Miss..."
"It's Gilbert. And what do you know of morality? You're a pirate."
His jaw clenches. "You don't know anything about me." He replies in a low, steely voice. Dismissing her, he turns and pushes the door to her quarters open.
"And I do not wish to," she murmurs, stepping past him and accidentally brushing her shoulder against his hard chest in the small corridor. When she turns to look at him, his face is unreadable. Stepping inside, she slams the door in his face determined not to waste anymore time thinking about him...
Peeling off her dress, she unlaces her bodice reluctantly, draping them on the chair. Standing only in her undergarments, she crawls into the bed and slips under the covers. As she drifts off to sleep, her mind wanders to Captain Salvatore. From his heavy stomping black boots, brown breeches, white shirt with billowing sleeves, sash and a large belt buckle at his middle to his captain's hat; if not for her misfortune, she never would have met the renegade pirate.
Her memory drifts to the collar of his shirt exposing his throat, his square unshaven set jaw, and mostly his blue eyes locking onto hers. Squeezing her eyelids shut more tightly, her sinful thoughts flee as soon as images of her parents take their place. Her eyes fill with tears as she cries herself to sleep.
Elena's not spoken or left her quarters for several days. However, he made sure his men left food out for her so he knows she's been eating. Having a woman or women on board isn't unheard of, he's had wenches before but never one like her. Truthfully, he doesn't know what to do. She's undoubtedly upset, but he cannot change their course for her alone. His men were hungry and eager to trade in their plunder. Lost in thought, he stares at the water unseeing and doesn't notice Enzo until he speaks.
"What are you going to do with her?"
They lean with their elbows on the edge looking out at the sea and the fogged cloudbank. The breeze rustles through their hair.
"She'll have to stay at least till we dock. We can't very well dump her in Tortuga, that's no place for a woman like her. Are the men talking?"
Enzo's eyes twinkle. "The usual things a man will say about a fine woman."
Damon snorts. "She's quite headstrong."
"There is talk that you could drop her at Nassau…"
Damon waves off the idea. A disastrous hurricane, bringing with it torrential rains and gale force winds struck the island and many have died. The clearing of corpses has left the area rampant with disease and dysentery as the port continues to struggle.
"Under normal circumstances it would be ideal but not in the aftermath of the storm."
"We'll have to wait and see. The men are not to touch her in the meantime," Damon warns. The wind picks up and he takes notice of the cloudbank rolling in. "It'll be dark soon and a storm is heading in our direction."
Enzo nods. "I'll secure the rigs and make sure the lookout and the others change their shifts guarding tonight."
Damon retreats below to warn Miss Gilbert of the approaching storm. He isn't sure how long she had been traveling on the other vessel but his ship rocks heavily against the building waves. He heads into the deckhouse just as the first clash of thunder sounds. The clouds have moved in fast but the storm will be vicious.
Nearing her room, Damon pauses outside the door to listen. Hearing nothing, he knocks, "Miss Gilbert?" Silence answers him and he hesitates for a moment, "May I come in?"
He hears rustling for a moment before the door opens allowing him to enter. She has a blanket wrapped around her like a shawl and she clutches it more tightly as he steps inside.
"Miss Gilbert," A crash of thunder sounds, interrupting him. "We're sailing into a storm."
She glances at the small window, letting the blanket slip slightly.
"The ship may rock back and forth more than usual but that is just the wind and waves... I'll leave you to your thoughts," he starts to move when a bolt of lightning flickers through the window.
He turns around to see what she wants.
"I don't mind storms when I'm on dry land but they're not pleasant on the sea."
"I got you safely through the first one, I will again." Instantly his eyes fly to her brown ones. They're observing him like they were the day he first saw her. "May I ask you something?"
"Why were you on that ship?"
Elena straightens her posture before replying. "I was journeying with my family to Cartegena."
"You and your husband?" he notices the pale band of white on that otherwise tan finger.
"Briefly, he died in the French and Indian War," her gaze drops to her hand.
"I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sure he was a brave man."
Her eyes snap up, fire brimming in her irises. "And what does a pirate know about bravery?"
His jaw clenches and he moves closer. "More than you know..."
"That is none of your concern," he finds his gaze wandering to her rosy pink lips. Another flash of lightning flickers across her olive complexion. With a loud gust of wind bringing the tremble of thunder, the water crashes against the belly of the ship knocking them off balance. He tumbles against her, his hands brushing along her curves as he tries to brace himself.
He pulls back as she steps away. He wants to whisper in her ear as his hand slowly travels along her softness and heat, pleasing her in so many ways… All of a sudden it's difficult to catch his own breath and he knows it's time to depart her quarters.
"Get some sleep Miss Gilbert. We have a busy day tomorrow." he says, putting his hand on the doorknob.
"Where are we going?" she asks, her face flushed.
"Tortuga. Goodnight." he closes the door behind him. His mind swims with images of resting between her legs. He shakes his head to dismiss such a fantasy.
The firmness of the mattress, the creaking of the ship, and that man invading her dreams have all combined to make for a restless night.
She's having a difficult time understanding the desire she feels. In a rare moments of sleep, she dreams of laying with that scalawag and has more than once. Although she never really felt any attachment, much less love for Malachai, she married him at the insistence of her parents. She had performed her wifely duties and mourned the appropriate amount of time, all the while hating that ugly black clothing she had to wear.
She's not naive, she's heard pirate stories before. How many of them had been true? Her curiosity with Captain Salvatore vacillates between anger and intrigue. Thoughts of him make her blood both boil and burn.
Even though he's a scoundrel like all pirates, he isn't really the man she expected. He has respected her privacy, making sure to knock... nor has he touched her. His body is hard and lined and a part of her aches to touch him and run her fingers through his raven black hair…
A thud of heavy footing sounds above her startling her from such thoughts. From the cat calls, it sounds as if they're pulling into port at Tortuga. She gingerly steps up the stairs to the main deck and looks around while shielding her eyes from the sun.
"The lady lives!" Enzo towers over her with a smarmy grin.
"We're about to dock, leave the lady alone," another man approaches, "I'm Alaric," one of Damon's crew.
Elena looks around, not quite sure if she shouldn't make a hurried dash for her quarters.
He brushes a strand of his hair away from his face. "I know you have a loathsome opinion of pirates but know this, we are all free men."
Elena nods, that short description is profound and for the first time she feels a little respect for the crew of The Flying Dragon.
Damon scours the port and surrounding landscape from the lookout. Tortuga has always been friendly to pirates but he's a cautious sort of fellow. Once he's certain of that it's safe to disembark, he climbs down the cordage of the main sail as the men began to dock the Dragon.
His boots hit the deck loudly, startling Elena. Ric's mouth twitches with a smile that only he can see as he passes him by.
"We will be staying here for a few days. We need to trade in our loot and rest." he explains to Elena as he moves towards her. Surprisingly she nods agreeably.
"Urgh," Enzo huffs as he heaves the anchor overboard.
Once off the ship, his men clear a path through the crowd till they arrive at the town's square.
"Stay close," he whispers in her ear. He wants to keep an eye on her, not only to protect her but always to keep away the brazen whores who don't care whether it's man or woman that gives them coin.
A faint blush blossoms on her cheeks as she acquiesces to his request. They go through several shops and vendors at the market, taking the time to speak with some of the shopkeepers and peddlers.
Elena stays silent as she follows after him. Although she's had ample opportunity, she hasn't made an attempt to escape. He's certain that she would prefer better accommodations than the Flying Dragon but he suspects she doesn't want to be left alone on the ship.
Afterwards he leads her to Madame Bree's where he knew the crew is making good use of their free time. Long periods without a woman's touch are no good to a man's spirit. Stepping inside, he sees Enzo with a full figured blonde on his lap.
"Oh Miss Gilbert," he waves, and turns his attention back to the full figured blonde.
Damon rolls his eyes and leads Elena to an empty table in the back. Despite its location, he still has a good view of his men as they gulp down their ale and fill their bellies.
Bree appears and sets two bowls of stew and a loaf of bread in front of them, returning shortly with a large tankard of ale for him. While she's busy eating her meal, his heart is thundering at her closeness.
She seems content until the women show up offering themselves to the men. Though they have gotten along well this day, he senses her discomfort at being the only woman not in that line of work.
A buxom wench with bright red hair and freckles tries to catch his attention by trailing her finger down his arm while smiling a toothless grin at him. When he shakes his head no, she saunters off, her expression changing as soon as Mason pulls her onto his lap and starts kneading one of her breasts.
Elena glances around the room. "So these are the type of women you like?" she discreetly waves her hand at the group.
"These women belong to Madame Bree. They're here to serve brutish men. You're lucky you were born of privilege."
Elena shoots him a peculiar look, then turns back again to observe the hedonism. When a barmaid trips on an outstretched leg spilling tankards of beer on a man, he looks about ready to explode in rage at the barmaid or punch the man beside him in the face.
"Please don't hurt me," the woman raises her arms to protect her face.
The man stands up straight towering over her. Fisting a hunk of her garment, he pulls his arm back to punch her but before he can land it, another pirate barrels into him, knocking them both on the floor. Soon half the bar is engaged in a melee, bottles are being smashed on heads, chairs raised and slammed on opponents.
The pub's rag tag band begins to play their make shift instruments, the sound almost choreographing the brawl. Elena's watching it open-mouthed. "Aren't you going to do something?" she asks Damon when someone kicks over a table.
"No," Damon laughs, picks up the tankard and empties it with one swallow.
"Those are your men," she looks at him aghast.
"It's been a while, it's good for them," Damon replies, clearly amused. The fight continues for several minutes before Damon raises his pistol and fires a shot in the air.
The men freeze and look around, then rather than continue the brawl, one of them yells, "drinks all around." As soon as it started, it ends to the sound of metal tankards clanging together.
The dim lighting of the tavern dances in her eyes and gives a soft glow to her skin. A rosy blush fills her cheeks but she doesn't turn away from him. "These women, they will never be embarrassed about anything."
Her eyes grow wide as they join his. They seem endless but he has no idea what she's thinking or how she feels. Could she ever be interested in a man like him - a pirate? His reverie is interrupted when the barmaid appears and refills his tankard of ale. He drops her a couple of coins then picks it up and takes a huge gulp.
Rather than return to the ship, Damon excuses himself to have a word with Bree. When he returns, he takes her arm, urging her to stand. Leading her up the stairs, they walk down the hall till they reach one labeled 10.
"It's late, we'll return to the ship tomorrow," he unlocks the door and steps back, gesturing for her to enter.
"Need I remind you that you're alive only because of me?"
Elena crosses her arms and stands with her chin raised in defiance yet again.
Damon puts his hands on his hips and towers over her menacingly. "It's this room or you can sleep outside in the mud with the hogs."
An angry expression forms on her face and her glare nearly pierces him.
"Do not test my patience," he warns.
"Hmph," she huffs then steps into the room to look around before turning to face him again, "And where will you sleep?"
Folding his arms across his chest, he leans lazily against the door frame. "In this hallway of course unless you'd rather risk having one of the men knocking down the door. They've had a long draught and most of them are very drunk."
"There are two blankets, you could lay on the floor."
Damon reluctantly shakes his head. "It would be improper for me to share a room with a lady such as yourself."
Choosing to ignore his words, she expels a frustrated breath. "You could guard the room from in here."
It's very tempting to agree with her plan. But with his imagination conjuring up visions of her bare and desperate for his touch, begging and sighing as he makes her his, he quickly shakes himself out of such thoughts, tells her goodnight then steps out, closing the door behind him. Sighing, he drops to the floor, stretches his legs in front of him and leans his head back.
"Goodnight, Miss Gilbert," he whispers before closing his eyes.
Waking up when someone trips over his outstretched legs, Damon yawns and shifts slightly. He tries to get comfortable so he can go back to sleep but his mind returns to Elena. His affection and desire for her is growing. He wants to be free to touch her in ways that she will never forget. Does she have an interest in him too? Sighing, he wipes such thoughts from his mind and lets sleep pull him under...
Sometime later, the door opens and Damon falls back, knocking his head on the floor. It takes a few seconds to get the cobwebs out of his brain and get his bearings when he looks up to see her.
"That's a matter of perspective," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his head.
"Sorry," she tries to stifle her laughter but does a poor job of it.
Sighing heavily, Damon gets to his feet, adjusts his dagger and runs his hand over his pistol. "Let's go, I'm hungry," he takes off down the hall, turning at the staircase and trotting down them.
"Where?" She asks, hurrying to catch up to him.
"I don't want to eat the slop Bree fixes so we're going to the beach, maybe we can knock down some coconuts?"
"For breakfast?" Elena turns up her nose.
"You have a better idea?" he arches an eyebrow then steps outside into the morning sun.
"Is this the only place to eat? We can't get some eggs?" Elena asks, looking around a little closer now that it's daytime. Today the sunlight is conjuring up the most brilliant of mosaics, reflecting from each leaf and wisp of cloud.
"Nope," Damon says over his shoulder as he continues his trek. Suddenly someone reaches out and grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Kol?" Damon looks over the man, his skin is warm and sun-kissed like his own from long days out on the deck. His loose cotton shirt is tucked into baggy brown pants, hiding his strong and muscular frame. At his side is a fine sword, and the hilt gleams in the sunlight.
"Can I have a word?" he gestures with his head for Damon to follow him.
"Stay here," he tells Elena and follows the other pirate for a short distance. "What's this about, Kol?"
"What?" Damon's in shock.
"The Royal Navy - there was a firefight near Jamaica, off the coast of Port Royal. Lieutenant Maynard allowed his ship to be boarded. When Niklaus took the bait, Maynard's forces burst from the hold with swords and pistols, overpowering the crew. He fought hard until a navy seaman cut his throat from behind," he takes a breath. "Not only did they sever his head, they hung it from his ship's bow," Kol fists his hands in rage. "To send a clear warning, they brought it here and stuck it on a spike in the town square."
Damon shoots a meaningful look at Elena.
"Be careful, the British want us all dead," Kol cautions, nods at Damon then disappears into the crowd.
"What was that all about?" Elena asks, considering the serious look on his face.
"Niklaus, the pirate that killed your parents is dead."
Elena quickly turns away when her eyes start to moisten. Taking a few deep breaths, she gets her emotions under control and looks up, meeting Damon's eyes.
"There's one way to find out." They walk a quick pace through Tortuga, the sights and smells aren't for the fainthearted, he's a little impressed that his companion is holding her own.
When the reach the square, Elena gasps at the sight of the severed head impaled on a stake- along with a stern warning for pirates to beware. "That's him?"
Damon moves a little closer, although it's a gruesome site, he does recognize his nemesis. "It is."
"Good," Elena retorts, "It's better than he deserved." With one more look, she turns on her heels and begins to walk away.
Damon quickly catches up, "the beach is this way," he points and the two pick up their pace. Along the way he manages to swipe a rope from an ox cart to help him climb a palm tree.
The coastline is brilliant in the morning sun with its chalky white ribbon of cliffs, jagged and folded, shrinking into the distance. Below the cliffs are beaches of rocks made rough by the barnacles upon them. In the distance a spit stretches out into the sea and upon the end is a lighthouse, lonely and abandoned. The foamy crests of the crashing waves are the only sound other than the cry of the gulls.
Damon pauses when they reach a beautiful stretch of white sand and sparkling ocean that borders the island. The trees and vegetation are lush green and provide shade from the blistering sun. He loves this beach and the driftwood that comes upon the buoyant waves as tiny boats. Then there is the seaweed, the flora of those salty waves, as deeply green as any high summer foliage. His favorite though is the soft rolling dunes and the tall grasses that whisper so sweetly into the gusting breeze.
"How are you going to get those down?" she points at the cluster of coconuts.
"That's what the rope's for," he shoots her a sly smile then starts to trudge a little further up the beach, finally stopping at a location where the sea is calm. He plops down on a rock and takes off his jacket and scabbard. "Feel free to take a dip," he nods at Elena, she sighs then drops onto the sand and removes her shoes.
As she bends over he catches a peek at the tops of her breasts. If she was bare and in his arms, he's certain that they'll fit perfectly in his hands. With nothing to slake his lust, it's becoming harder to shake off such thoughts. Turning away, Damon stares at the vast expanse of blue waters stretching in every direction. The ocean laps at the sand leaving its lacy foam to trail the waves as they retreat.
Standing up, Damon uses the rope, slipping it around both himself and the tree then starts to climb up. Although his perch is tenuous at best, he manages to knock a couple coconuts to the ground before climbing down.
Damon walks down to the water's edge. He places a quick toe in the water and takes it back even quicker, the chilly temperature shocking him a bit. Hearing her laugh, he shoots her a stare. Brushing it off, he walks back to the sand with a huge rock to break open the hard shell so he can eat a hunk.
"And that's how it's done," he holds up a chunk and stuffs it in his mouth.
"Well I must admit I'm a little impressed. Where did you...?"
"Hm, well, let's just say I've been around a long time. I've learned a few things."
"You are a rather strange pirate."
"My father taught me how to be self sufficient," he arches an eyebrow at her.
"And what does he think of piracy?" she challenges him.
"My father died a very long time ago, I did what I had to do to survive."
"Oh there's a fish," she squeaks, pointing at the one swimming by her feet.
"Either catch it or come have a bite," Damon stuffs another piece in his mouth.
"Catch it?" her eyes snap to his before she trudges back to the sand. When she sits down beside him, Damon offers her a hunk. Sticking it into her mouth, she moans at the taste. She looks up and gasps slightly at the fire burning in his blue eyes.
"Damon," she whispers suddenly. Feeling himself growing excited, he shifts enough to put a little distance between them.
Sighing internally, she stuffs another piece into her mouth before getting up and walking back into the surf to wash her hands. She stares at the endless expanse of blue water for some time before wading back to the sand.
Seeing the sun glimmer off the wet flesh of her legs inspires all kinds of thoughts, oh how he'd like to peel that dress off her.
"Is there a place to wash up, I haven't had a proper bath in?"
He points in the direction over her shoulder. After putting their shoes back on, Damon leads her down the beach until they reach worn pathway through some dense overgrowth. Elena screeches and jumps back when a sand crab saunters across the ground near her toes.
Damon chuckles, pulls his cutlass out of its sheath and cuts away some of the brush. Down the path there is a stream. By nature they are slow-flowing, languid in pace, and lax by nature. However this stream is mighty. Many torrents of water travel its path, rapids flick up against its surface like paint flakes off a distressed door. Boulders rise out of the water like the bows of a sunken fleet, and the hiss of far off waterfalls are the screams of their drowned crew.
The scent of moss and lichen be-fowls the air for leagues across. The stream is the reminder to all that witness its majesty the ignorance of presumption, and the existence of exemption.
They continue for a several hundred feet until they reach a tranquil spot near a falls. The water tumbles down the hillside in a series of mini-waterfalls. It tinkles in a laughing sort of way.
"Will this suit you?" he asks, stepping aside so she can see.
"It's beautiful, thank you."
"I'll wait up the path for you," he points in the direction over his shoulder. They part at the rocky edge and his heart almost beats out of his chest at the thought of her wet and naked beneath him. Brushing away such thoughts, he hurries down the path till he feels there's enough distance between them to give her privacy. Soon however, his desire gets the better of him. One little peek surely won't hurt...
He climbs up on an outcropping of rocks above her. As quiet as a church mouse, he lays on his belly and peers over the edge. Her back is to him and her olive skin glimmers under the summer sun. Finally she turns and he gets his first look at her ample breasts. Feeling himself becoming aroused, he has to reach into his pants to straighten himself.
As he moves ever closer to the precipice, he accidentally sends some rocks toppling over the edge, creating a splash when they hit the water. And then she looks up, her eyes locking on his...
When she doesn't shy away, Damon climbs down from his perch and walks to the edge of the pond. Slipping out of his clothing, he steps into the water. His eyes scan her body from head to toe. His manhood throbs with every step. Wading against the current, he considers her eyes, they're brimming with desire to match his own. He reaches out his hand but stops until he sees her nod.
His thumbs graze the sides of each breast then drop to her waist and his thumbs begin circling the crest of her hips. When he looks up, he finds her staring at him through heavily lidded eyes. Her breaths escape in short gasps. With mounting exhilaration, he bends over to take one of her nipples into his mouth and begins to suckle and nip. She responds by leaning forward, pushing her breast further into his mouth. Instinctually his other hand curls into her hair, tugging her head back to join her mouth with his. Her lips are soft and reaches up to cup his neck, and kiss him harder.
Emboldened, Damon takes her hand and moves her into the soft grass. He spreads her legs - lays between them then kisses her again. When she arches her back, her nipples grace his chest eliciting a heady moan that sends desire racing through his veins.
"Elena…" he grunts against the soft skin between her neck and shoulder.
"Please," she whimpers as her nails rake down his back. Damon leans down to kiss her again, stealing the breath from her lungs. When he breaks it, his voice is husky with passion.
"Bear with me," he whispers, then slides down her body, repositioning his face between her legs. When his tongue traces the seam where her thighs meet her body, Elena's back arches high off the grass. Damon wraps his arms around her hips and places his hands flat on her stomach, his thumbs once again opening her with gentle strokes. When his tongue flicks the delicate softness of her damp folds, Elena squirms wildly at his delicious onslaught.
"Elena…" Damon presses firmly on her lower stomach with his fingers as his thumbs once again favor her clitoris with soothing caresses.
She barely manages to open her eyes but when she looks down to see Damon's head buried at the juncture of her thighs, her heart feels like it's going to pound right out of her chest. He licks the petal-soft folds of her womanhood, pulling her closer to the edge of the precipice. And when he sucks the fiery flesh of her core into his mouth, she experiences the sweet death of total climax and shatters into a thousand pieces of light.
Damon crawls up next to her and holds her as aftershocks rack her body. She nestles her head on his chest and digs her nails into his shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure crests. Finally, he crooks his finger to tip her face up to him. "Are you okay?"
"Perfect," she replies in a breathy pant.
Damon leans over her, placing a soft kiss on her passion-bruised lips.
Elena's breath catches at the combination of fire and caring in his eyes. Wanting to treat him to the same exquisite torture as he gave her, Elena pushes him onto his back and straddles him. Sucking in a breath, she raises her pelvis up and slides onto him slowly.
Moaning softly, she uses his chest for leverage then begins the ride of lovers. Bracketing her hips with his hands, his pelvis rises up to meet her every crest, burying himself deep with each upward thrust. Damon's in awe as he watches her descend again and again. Her inner muscles quiver around him, saturating his flesh with intense warmth as her body contracts around him.
Their breathing soon becomes harsh and serrated, frantic and gasping as they approach the pinnacle together. Elena collapses onto Damon's chest and kisses him as pleasure ripples out from the spot where they are joined.
And then – they sleep - joined in the intimate way of lovers, until the blush of sunset colors the clouds in the west.
Elena walks up the stairs and steps onto the deck. The ocean breeze coats her skin in a light mist of brine leaving it tangy to the taste. When they go below deck tonight, every kiss will remind her of the waves that pound the beach with a white foamy spray. She closes her eyes to the lullaby of the ocean, breathing in its poignant salty breath.
From his perch at the ship's wheel, Damon stares at his bride. She's a vision with her red bandana, white scoop neck - poofy- sleeved shirt, leather lace up corset, striped pants and knee length boots. Around her waist is a belt with a draping Jolly Roger image. Tucking her sword into its sheath, she approaches him.
"Look at that sea. And the world stretching around us... a barrel of gold ready to drop in our laps. It's the only life, Damon," she gives him a good morning kiss.
"Say the word and the Caribbean is yours," he bows dramatically and waves his ostrich plumed hat before her.
Smiling, she takes his place at the wheel, running her fingers over it as if it's been spun from the finest silk. Looking up, she notices Enzo dawdling. "On deck, you scabrous dog! Hands to braces! Let go and haul to run free!" She watches with a smile as the men skitter around and take their stations while Damon pulls out the spyglass and looks out over the shimmering sea.
"Now... bring me that horizon," she winks when Damon looks over his shoulder at her.
"And really bad eggs..." he sings with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Drink up me hearties yo ho," she follows in song then spins the wheel to the east.
The gentle wind billows the sails and the deck warms in the morning light. The Flying Dragon skips across the white crested waves like a merry child in a field of daisies.
*The Spanish Main: the former name for the north coast of South America between the Orinoco River and Panama and the adjoining parts of the Caribbean Sea when they were under Spanish control.
*The idea for Niklaus fate comes from Blackbeard, real name Edward Teach, died on 22 November 1718 when he was shot five times and stabbed 20 times in an ambush by the Royal Navy. The British forces, led by Lieutenant Robert Maynard of the HMS Pearl, took down the infamous pirate with a cunning ruse. After a firefight at Blackbeard's favorite hideout, an inlet on the island of Ocracoke, off the coast of Carolina, Maynard allowed his ship to be boarded. When Blackbeard came aboard, Maynard's forces burst from the hold with swords and pistols, overpowering the pirate's crew. In Blackbeard's final battle he managed to break Maynard's sword with his cutlass, before another navy seaman cut his throat from behind. Blackbeard was decapitated and his head was hung from Maynard's bow and placed on a spike at the mouth of River Hampton, Virginia, as a warning to others.
Hat tip to POTC: The Curse of the Black Pearl at the end. I can't count how many times I saw that movie in the theatre. :)
Thank you Eva for everything you do- you are truly priceless.
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