Emma had no idea how she had gotten into this mess. The last thing she remembered before coming out of her stupor was the horrific sight of people being dismembered by cannonballs and debris.

  Had she known that morning that following through on her friend's favor would lead to such an event, she would have refused, but no such luck.

  Abbigail had come to her grief-stricken about events going on in her home. Abbigail had explained everything that had happened in great detail to her. She was kidnapped by a pirate captain named Low. Abbigail knew little about how Low had been dealt with, but she had been passed to a man named Charles. He ordered her to write a ransom note. A short while later, she had been rescued by a woman known as Eleanor. It seemed that Eleanor had betrayed Charles, and he had taken it badly. Then her trip here with Flint and Mrs. Barlow had taught her something she could not ignore. Pirates were not all her father had made them out to be.

  Seeing Flint for the first time was an interesting study for Emma. He was precisely the kind of man Abbigail described. Stoic. He didn't bolster himself up. He sat and stared at the Governor and spoke only when spoken to.

  The next day, when Charles had arrived with the ledger, Emma had relayed the news to Abbigail. Her friend had little to say about him, though. While the man had kept her prisoner and threatened her life, he treated her with an odd sort of respect in that she was never harmed or made to feel overly uncomfortable while being his prisoner.

  Looking at the two men as the events were being retold from the ledger Abbigail had been allowed to keep, she could see the stories of the two men were true. Until the attack, Charles' character had only come into question when he kept his eyes on her to make her uncomfortable. Why had she been so fascinating to him? Had he done it to prove a point? To show his male bravado?

  When he'd gotten up to give his speech, he had something to say, and it resonated with how Abbigail had described him and the pirates. Then the attack began, and everything went blank. She knew she had run, she even remembered being of assistance to someone who had fallen on the ground, but when she'd been caught too close to a blast, her mind had shut down. Her ringing ears blocked out a lot of the noise. She remembered the warmth of the flames and being led round, but after that, nothing.

  When she had finally snapped out of her stupor and realized she was on board a ship, her first instinct was to run again. She'd gotten up on the ledge before a man had grabbed her around the waist and pulled her off. She recognized Flint instantly the moment she turned around to face him, but she was still in too much shock to listen to him at first. When she'd seen Charles come out from down below deck somewhere, anger had replaced fear. All the anger she had felt under his gaze during the trial returned. Then he'd been so arrogant in the way he responded to her that she could still feel the rage boiling inside of her.

  Now, like her friend, she was stuck on board a pirate ship. Thinking of this and her friend made her sorrowful. She hoped Abbigail was alright. The Governor's house was set back enough away from town, but Emma knew the Governor had been killed by none other than Flint. The man who had been the deciding factor in her being on this ship. She hoped he and Charles would be just as fair with her as they had been with Abbigail.

  Charles had given her a name, Howell. It took her asking a few members of the crew to find him, but she eventually made her way to him. He was in the captain's quarters tending a man with long dark curly hair. The patient was remarkably handsome even in sleep, but his face was slightly distorted from the pain he felt even while in his slumber.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Howell questioned as he continued his care of the patient.

  “My name is Emma. I was told to find you.”

  “You got a good stomach?” Howell asked.

  “I suppose.” Emma was unsure if she did, but what other options did she have?

  “He's a good fellow. Lost his leg defending the crew.” Howell explained when he followed her eyes.

  It was sad that such a handsome man should bear such a loss.

  “Will he live?” She asked Howell, hoping the answer was yes.

  “Long as gangrene doesn't set it,” Howell answered with a shrug.

  The cold response was a bit much for Emma, but she supposed being a pirate, Mr. Howell says all sorts of things like this after a skirmish.

  “You a good sewer?” Howell asked as he forced something into Emma's hands.

  “Uh, yes,” Emma answered absently as she looked over what was in her hands. A sewing kit, but not the usual one she used to stitch needlepoint. This was meant for flesh.

  “Good, I'm shit at it. You can patch up some of the crew members. Might even be a treat for them, seeing as you're not too bad on the eyes.” Howell teased her.

  Howell began to push her towards her first patient.

  “That buckets all the water you're gonna get, so use it sparingly and liquors all we have for painkillers.”

  Emma cringed at the thought of having to sew the flesh of men who were...alert and aware she was doing it, but she'd do it. Being helpful to someone rather than complaining was a much better way to stay alive.

  There weren't that many men with wounds beyond what they couldn't fix themselves. It seemed pirates were a group who looked after themselves, which wasn't surprising.

  Her work was done in little over two hours. While she had worked, she tried to ignore the comments of the pirates she heard talking under their breath. The usual comment had to do with finding a private little spot to have some fun. She didn't need them to elaborate. She knew what they wanted from her, and she did not have the same guardianship in Flint that Abbigail had.

  She might have been able to swim to shore, but Flint's warning about sharks had reminded her that not that long ago, a few fishermen had been lost to such a fate. Emma's father was a well-to-do merchant and had described to his friends in great detail the horror of what was left behind. Emma did not want to end her life in such a way.

  With nothing to do, she made her way back up to the deck and found a rare shaded spot to sit. A group of men was singing a tune as they worked, and Emma sat and listened. It wasn't like she had anything else to do, and out of sheer boredom, she had memorized the song and was humming along with the tune.

  While some worked, others played cards. They seemed to work in shifts. Four hours on, four hours off, and there was always something to do, even if it was to mop the floor of the water that sprayed on board. At least on deck, the men were busy enough to ignore her somewhat, and she didn't have to worry about being grabbed in a dark corner, though she did not doubt that if they chose to do something, she'd be powerless anyway.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Perhaps she should talk to Flint. He might be as reasonable with her as he had been with Abbigail. She knew the man was below deck. Once Howell was done with the man called Silver, he'd left him alone with Flint in the Captain's Quarters.

  She made her way back there and could hear two men's voices through the door. She knocked softly and waited, but when no one answered, she hit harder.

  “What the hell do you want?” Flint's voice boomed from the other side of the door, and Emma shied back away from it.

  She tried to say something, but couldn't find the words. It must have taken too long because she heard the pounding of boots on wood and the door was swung open in a rush.

  “What?” Flint growled with nostrils flaring.

  Startled, Emma just stood there for a moment.

  Once Flint knew it was her, he visibly softened a little.

  “What do you want?” It wasn’t a normal gentlemanly response she was used to, but she’d take it.

  “I was just wondering, or rather I hoped…” Emma started this by tripping over her own words, and she hated it, but a voice saved her.

  “Who is that?” A voice as smooth as pouring honey said from behind Flint.

  Flint turned back towards the voice, and Emma could see that the injured man Howell had been working on was now awake.

  “Hello.” He said to her.

  My god, the man had eyes as alluring as the calm sea outside. Emma shook off the shock and answered the man.

  “He...hello.” Unsure of what to do, she almost curtsied but stopped herself just in time.

  “Where did you come from?” He asked curiously.

  “Charles Town.” She answered swiftly.

  The man's eyebrow raised in surprise before he looked to Flint.

  “Charles brought her on board,” Flint answered whatever silent question the man asked with his facial expression.

  “Interesting.” A slow smile crept on his lips.

  “What did you want?” Flint asked again, turning her attention away from the man.

  Emma collected her thoughts before she answered.

  “I wanted to speak with you about being on board. I realize that I am in no position to make demands, but I was hoping we might come to some sort of arrangement.”

  Flint's brow furrowed.

  “You want a job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever been part of a ship's crew before?” Flint asked.

  “No,” Emma answered, knowing that would probably ward him off giving her one, but it was better she didn't lie to him.

  “She can be my nursemaid.” The injured man spoke up.

  Flint looked from the man to her and back.

  “Fine.” Flint agreed. “It saves me from having to listen to your endless talking.”

  With that settled, Flint began to make his way around her and off to do something else. Emma stood in slight wonderment that had gone so smoothly.

  “What's your name?” The injured man asked.

  “Emma Walsh,” she answered. “What's yours?”

  “You can call me Silver,” he practically purred. “Walsh, huh? Irish?”

  “My father's father was,” she answered as she entered the room further.

  “I must admit your company comes at an opportune time. I would have died from boredom if I had to rely on most of these men for company while this thing heals.” Silver said, pointing to his leg.

  “How do you know I'm not dull?” Emma asked.

  Silver gave her a coy smile. “Your answer is just there.”

  Emma could tell this man was trouble. Maybe not the pirate sort of trouble, but the old saying Silver Tongued Devil came to mind when she looked at him.

  “Am I really to be your maid?” The thought wasn't a horrible one. It gave her a purpose on the ship, and that in turn made her valuable, which made her harder to discard. She needed the confirmation before she could relax, though.

  “We'll call it a companionship. Do you play cards, chess, or do you read?” Silver poked about in interest.

  Emma nodded.

  “Then we'll get along great.” Silver smiled, and Emma couldn't help but smile with him.

  As day gave way to night, Emma found Mr. Silver's company pleasantly enjoyable. He was a man of quick wit, and he could most assuredly tell a story. As time went on, Emma could tell he was trying to entertain her more so to distract himself from the fact that he had lost his leg. That became even more apparent when Silver threw a fit when he couldn't relieve himself on his own without difficulty. Or a bucket.

  His moods would turn foul after that. He would sulk for a time, but just as hard as he had fallen was how quickly he bounced back.

  “So where exactly is this ship going?” Emma asked when she'd gotten up the courage. She had fetched some food for herself and Silver and was sitting with him to eat.

  “Nassau,” Silver answered between bites.

  Emma nearly choked on her food, and not just because it was slightly unpleasant in taste.

  “Home of the pirates!” she finally gasped out.

  Silver laughed at her. “Yes, the very place.”

  “What am I going to do in Nassau?” Emma asked herself the question.

  “With your face, you could always seek a job at a brothel.” Silver suggested it so callously that Emma was ready to punch him.

  “Kidding, of course,” Silver said, withdrawing his remark.

  A moment of silence passed between them.

  “You could always return home on another ship.” Silver suggested.

  “I have no money to buy passage.” Emma sighed.

  “Your relatives have to be worried about you. Could you send a letter to them? I'm sure they would pay for passage for you.”

  Emma almost scoffed at him.

  Silver must have read her expression. “Do you have any relatives?”

  All Emma did to answer was shake her head. Thankfully, Silver didn't press the issue.

  She had a relative, but after what had happened and being on a pirate ship, he was likely writing off her existence. She knew the news of her supposed death would warrant just as much emotion from him as if he'd just watched a stray cat die.

  “You'll find something to do. Since you are going to be such a help to me, I will return the favor.” Silver told her.

  It did lessen the burden on her shoulders to hear him say such a thing.

  “Thank you.” She told him.

  He smiled back, and they finished their meal in silence.

  After the meal was done, Silver announced he was tired, and since Emma hadn't arranged sleeping matters with Flint, she didn't know if she was allowed to sleep in the bed that resided in the same cabin they had been spending the day in.

  So, she excused herself to find the man.

  She didn't get ten feet out of the cabin before a strong arm wrapped around her waist and another covered her mouth. She kicked, fought, and scratched at whoever had a hold of her. She even bit their hand.

  “Ouch! You stupid bitch!” It was snarled just above a whisper.

  The hand across her mouth was removed, but before she could scream, she was slapped hard across the face. It was not the first time Emma had been treated in such a manner, but the hit did take a moment to recover from. In that moment of weakness, large, sweaty hands fumbled about with her dress, and she heard fabric tear.

  Another moment passed, and her dress was torn off her.

  “Stop it!” Emma cried out as she started to fight again.

  “It's time to pay your dues.” The man laughed at her pleas.

  Emma was forced around and bent over a barrel. The man grabbed two fistfuls of her chemise and tore it straight up the middle, exposing her back to him. The man's hand held her down at the base of her neck as she fought to get free of him.

  It was then that the man caught sight of something that seemed to make him even more aroused.

  “I see someone has already taught you a lesson.” He sneered and smacked her ass.

  Emma jumped at the pain and cried out another plea, but suddenly the man's weight was gone.

  Emma heard the sound of a fist meeting flesh and turned around to see that Charles had grabbed hold of the man and was pummeling him in the face with punch after punch. Even when the man went down to the ground, Charles continued for a few more punches before he stood and spit on the man.

  When the man on the ground went to growl something at Charles, Charles kicked him hard in the stomach to shut him up. Then he kneeled, grabbed the man's shirt, lifted him off the ground so they looked each other in the eye.

  “If you ever so much as look in her direction again, I'll cut off the appendage you were going to use to rape her with a dull knife.” Charles' graveled voice warned in a growl.

  Charles brought the man to his feet before he shoved him away, and the man clumsily stumbled off. His broken nose was gushing blood between his fingers. He glared at Charles the whole time.

  When the man was gone, Charles turned back to her—with the threat gone, Emma had sunk to the floor, her body too in shock to function. At least this time she wasn't suffocated by her corset.

  When Charles approached, she instinctively curled herself up even further, and she hated the feeling of being powerless. She brought her knees to her chest and held them there.

  Charles kneeled behind her.

  “I'm going to look.” He told her. His tone was a ferocious one. She knew he would look even if she said no, so she didn't put up a protest.

  Charles took hold of both the pieces of her chemise and opened them slowly. She wiped a few tears away with the back of her hand as he did, but stayed still otherwise.

  She winced in pain when a few callused fingertips began to trace one of the bruises out of the many that scattered her back.