Bid Ye Soft Farewell- Ch. 3
Finally! This past week has been hectic, but I hope that you won't have to wait that long for another chapter again! At least for a while.
A couple of things first. One, I would like to give a shout out to my significant otter for helping me get from point A to point B in this chapter. Just want to brag on him for a second. Also, I've created a fanfic archive page for my fics. You can find it here. I know there isn't very many at the moment, but there will be! Like I've said before, I'm a Tumblr baby, so if there are any issues with it, just let me know!
Chapter 3: The Storm and the Shadow
With morning came the glowing sun, and a hangover shared by all the men. Jamie himself was squinting in shimmering light, eyes blurred and head heavy. Made even worse by the fact that he had to perform double duty; every man did. And they would still be off schedule, if what Dougal said was to be believed. A week until they reached Port Royal.
The only man who was seemingly in perfect spirits was Rupert. He could drink a man to his death.
“Oh, lads! IN AMSTERDAM THERE LIVED A MAID…” He waited for the men to respond in kind, but only a few half-hearted grumbles permeated the air.
“Mark well what I do say…” The loudest complaint came from Murtagh, who was in no mood for song and horseplay.
“Shut yer hole!” The disappointment on Rupert’s face was palpable. Angus patted his friend’s shoulder sympathetically, and they both turned back to their work. Jamie was glad for the relative silence. The only sound was the breeze whipping about his ears. It was an unusually strong wind, and it worried Jamie.
“There’s a storm brewing,” Murtagh murmured to him, as if deciphering his thoughts. “We’d better tell Dougal, or we’ll all blow awa’. Bloody man wouldna know a sunny day if it blinded him…” And with that, he crept away to the captain’s quarters, and Jamie trailed behind.
Jamie and Murtagh entered the captain’s quarters, temporarily blinded by the light coming in from the windows. Dougal was sitting at his desk, facing said windows. His black-clad shoulders were hunched, quill in one hand, his head in the other. The corners of a map were fluttering off the edge of the desk. Murtagh cleared his throat.
“There’s a storm on the horizon, Dougal. Its best we batten down the hatches.” Dougal rose from his chair, and swiftly spun around to face them.
Dougal was a handsome man, if what the lassies said could be believed. Tall and imposing, he was the perfect build for a captain. He had no hair on his head, but made up for it with the long, chestnut-colored beard, peppered with gray. His face was weathered from the sun, ruddy and freckled. But perhaps it wasn’t his looks that the women were attracted to, but rather his charm. He could convince a man to kill his own mother, if he wanted. Hell, he convinced Jamie to join this crew.
“Shit. Tell Rupert an’ Willy to make sure the cargo is secure. Tell Angus to trim the sails, and tell Duncan to douse the galley. We’ll need all hands on deck fer this…”
“Aye.” And with that, Murtagh turned to leave, and Jamie made move to follow.
“Wait, lad.” Jamie tensed. Dougal never spoke to him privately unless he needed something.
“Yes, Uncle?” Jamie asked carefully. Dougal sauntered next to him, and flung his arm over Jamie’s shoulder. This caused Jamie’s tension to increase tenfold.
“I’ve something to ask ye.”
“Yes, Uncle?” Jamie repeated.
“I’ve heard rumor about a hefty prize, aye? Located near the Southern Cay.”
“Aye. A ship, ken? Wrecked upon the shore. Gold glittering upon the shore…” Dougal sighed, painting this pretty picture.
“Weel, sounds an easy prize then.” Jamie turned to make his leave, but Dougal stopped him again.
“Tis not so simple, lad. There are sentries, aye? Dozens of them. Watching over the treasure until a proper ship can come and collect. That’s where want you to come in.”
“Dougal, I dinna want any part of this scheme. Ye told me once we dropped anchor at Port Royal, ye’d let me free, with my fair share.”
“Aye, weel, I changed my mind didn’t I?” Dougal said this with annoyance and frustration. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. But just as quickly as the anger came, it went, replaced with arrogance and a deceitful grin. “Besides, you willna get your share until ye do this for me.”
“Ye’ve said this for years Uncle! ‘Do this, and I’ll give ye yer share. Do that, and ye can go back to Scotland.’ And how much more must I do to please ye!” Jamie’s face was hot, his eyes wild. Dougal had seen this look before. Best to assuage his frustrations now, and deal with the repercussions later, when he wasn’t alone with him. He was a big man, but Jamie was bigger.
“This is the last time. I promise,” Dougal soothed, giving him his best reassuring smile. In his heart, Jamie didn’t believe him. But he didn’t have much of a choice.
“Scout the place, lad. Take a couple of the men, and see how the place looks,” Dougal said, as if it were the easiest task in the world.
“If what ye say is true, we’ll be shot on sight! Its suicide!” Jamie didn’t much feel like dying in the near future.
“Nay. ‘Twill be perfectly safe. Beside, yer a braw fighter. Ye could take the guards down if ye needed. Ye’ll have a few men with ye.”
“5 men against dozens? Braw fighters or no, it will no end well.” Dougal just shrugged. “And if I refuse?”
“Ye won’t. For I am yer captain, and I hold yer future in my hands.” It was the plain, God’s honest truth. Dougal knew it. Jamie knew it. And there was nothing he could do about it.
“Good lad.” Dougal clapped Jamie on the shoulder. “Now, get back out there, and get to work. We’ve a storm to prepare for.” Jamie made yet another turn to leave before being stopped by Dougal’s voice. “And tell the men not to leave their orange peels lying around. I’m no their mother, and I’ll no be picking up after them.”
The storm came upon them slowly and deliberately. The wind began to shriek, crying out to those that would listen.
“Oi, sounds a bit like your mother last night. Eh, Duncan?” Angus hollered above the howling gusts.
The dark sky crept quickly upon them, skipping through a day’s worth of sunlight in an hour. Soon, the world was shadowed in an unearthly gray, the clouds lit from behind from the lightning within them.
The men grew serious, bracing themselves for what was coming their way. A storm was never a happy occasion. Lost crew members. Lost cargo. Lost ship fragments. That was what the crew had to look forward to; they just wondered which one it would be this time. Perhaps all three.
As the waves grew higher, the men’s brows sank lower, absorbed in the task of keeping the ship afloat. No men would die tonight. Not if any of them had a say in it.
The booming of thunder echoed the crashing seas. The waves struck the ship. The men tumbled, tripped, fell. Screams and yells fell on deaf ears.
Fighting a storm was like fighting a man, Jamie thought. The relentless movements of the opponent. The struggle to stay alive. The worry for crew members, and knowing that the worry is futile.
The hours of laboring finally drew to a close, as the blasts of air calmed to a warm breeze, and the rain danced lightly over their bodies. The sea was still choppy, and jolted the men off their feet on occasion.
“Least we survived, eh?” Murtagh grumbled to Jamie, as they surveyed the ragged sails.
“Aye. They’ll get us to Port Royal, though.”
“Ye never did tell me what Dougal said to ye.”
“Later, all right?” Jamie didn’t want speak badly of the captain in front of his men.
“Aye.” Murtagh gave Jamie a knowing look. He knew how the lad felt: disgusted by things he did, wanting out of this ‘trade.’
“I’ll tell ye this, though. I’ll no be leaving at Port Royal, like I thought.” Murtagh nodded. He expected as much.
A crash from underneath them broke them out of their conversation. It was a familiar sound. Barrels tumbling and rolling across the wooden boards. Glass breaking. Wood splintering. All from the cargo hold.
“HELL! Rupert! Did I no tell ye to secure the cargo, ye idiot!” Dougal screeched from somewhere above them on the quarter deck.
“Aye! I did! Must’ve broke loose!”
“Weel, you and Jamie go tighten back up! And ye better pray to God that nothing’s broken…”
Jamie led the small party down the creaky steps to the hold, Rupert mumbling curses the whole way.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuckin’ cargo.” Jamie grinned at Rupert’s colorful language. He had a way with words.
The smile quickly disappeared, however, when he caught sight of the hold. Not because of the fallen cargo. It was a mess, but could be easily cleaned and reorganized.
He stopped grinning, because there among the jumbled barrels and crates, was a small shadow picking its way carefully around them.
It stopped in its tracks as it caught sight of him. Frozen, like prey trapped by a predator. Rupert was the first to move.
“Jesus Christ!” He yelled, as he jumped over the railing, directly into the hold. The shadow sprang into action then, jumping over barrels to escape Rupert’s sizeable presence.
“Ach, no ye don’t!” Jamie himself was frozen, watching this cat and mouse game taking place in front of him. Rupert was a strong, capable man. Jamie had seen him take down three men at once. But the shadow was agile, like a large cat, jumping and twisting just out of reach.
But the hold was small, and there was only so much room to jump and twist. Rupert had the shadow trapped in the far corner, his strength overpowering its agility. Their two shadows became one as he pinned its arms behind its back, and pushed it toward Jamie and the stairs.
The mess was all but forgotten.
Jamie was in charge of holding the weapons Rupert had removed from the stranger: multiple daggers and pistols, and one long sword. Jamie wondered where the stranger hid it all.
They stepped into the dull light of late afternoon, the stranger tensed, awaiting its fate. It did not struggle, though.
Only in the diffused light could Jamie see the stranger for the first time. Wild dark hair, clubbed back and topped with an askew tricorn. Loose breeks and a too-large jacket hid the body, but the face gave it away.
A face soft and pretty, as only a woman’s can be. Large lips, pressed into a perfect straight line. Eyes, the same color as the setting sun, fringed with black lashes. He noticed a scar, running from the end of her right eyebrow to the prominent cheekbone.
“Weel, what have we here, Rupert?” Dougal sauntered over to the three of them, a devilish glint in his eye. He noticed the lovely face, too, then.
“Found this in the hold. Put up a good fight.” Dougal nodded.
“What’s yer name, lass?” But the woman stared through Dougal, eyes bored and mouth tensed. She would not answer.
“We found these on her, cap’n,” Rupert interjected. He nodded toward Jamie, and he dropped the weapons at Dougal’s feet. Dougal knelt, and rummaged through them, nodding in appreciation at the well-made weapons. He held the sword up to the light, recognition dawning on his face. He stood, and faced his crew.
“I’ve heard tales, as ye all have as well,” Dougal began. He spoke strongly and loudly so all men could hear the story about to be told. “Of a woman. A pirate lady. A well-bred English woman, thrust into piracy. Some men say she’s a witch, others a ghost. They say she could kill a man wi’ the edge o’ her sword, and heal him wi’ the other. She could hypnotize a man to betray his own kin. She’s done it before.” The men were nodding and mumbling. They had heard this one before. “A bonny fighter, quick and nimble. Could disappear in front of yer eyes, only to reappear behind ye. Recognized only because of her sapphire sword. The last thing some men see.” At this, Dougal help up the sword in question, blue light glinting off the hilt. The woman narrowed her eyes, but otherwise, her face didn’t change. Dougal turned to speak to her, but still used his storytelling voice so the men could hear:
“Welcome aboard The Thistle, La Dame Blanche.”
