1Author's Note: An idea I've always wanted to write, but never sure how to get right. This is where my first drafts go to die. Be kind.
The Unconventional Ransom
by Cenowar
Part the First
A Pirate with Honour
The tavern smelled of damp straw and stale beer, but to Captain James Blackburn it was the most welcoming thing in the world. It had been a difficult night to make port in, with the wind and rain lashing at he and his men, so shelter from the downpour was gladly welcomed.
"A round," he said abruptly to the portly man behind the bar as he dropped a pouch of gold onto the counter, "for me and my men."
The barkeep shuffled nervously, fiddling with a dirtied rag in his hands. His eyes flicked over the rowdy group of men before him. They ranged in size and stature, but they all shared the same grim look reflected in their dark eyes and sly smiles.
"I'm dreadful sorry sir," said the keeper, his eyes on the man who had spoken, "but we've no rooms left for the night."
Blackburn smiled an easy smile and looked back at his men. "Hear that lads? No room at the inn!" When he looked back to the barman, his smile had disappeared, replaced by a hard, cold gleam in his eye. "I didn't ask for a room, man. I asked for a drink. Don't make me ask again. We'll be over by the fire. Which you can stoke up once you're there - I feel a chill in the air tonight."
He stalked away before the man could argue, leaving his gold gleaming on the counter top. His men followed him towards the fire, chatting and laughing darkly amongst themselves, but they were the only ones who were. James became aware of a keen silence that had descended on the room as they moved through it, following them like a protective shield.
The tavern wasn't busy by any means, but the few patrons who were there had their eyes fixed on the men who moved through the room. Clearly their reputation preceded them.
Blackburn allowed his men to take their seats first. They selected a bench, a pair of armchairs, and three small stools. He watched with satisfaction as they left the seat by the fire empty for him.
It hadn't actually been his intention to make port in this city again. While it had been some years since they had last visited, Blackburn made a point of never docking in the same place twice within easy memory; and this place, Tallow Shide, was a place he would carry with him for the rest of his life.
Still, violent weather and a lack of food had made the decision for him, so when his navigator had told him it was dock here or risk having to eat one of the cabin boys for breakfast then there hadn't been too much of an argument.
An evening of ale and women would be filling enough for their first night here. Then they could stock up on food, gold and whores and be on their merry little way.
James took his seat by the fire, grateful for its warmth and the comfort of the chair, when he overheard one of his men talking about their plans for the evening.
The man's name was Garek, and he'd joined their crew only two moons ago. Personally, James found he didn't much care for him, but his second - Marten- seemed to trust him. Apparently he'd been dragged from a prison cell and had thrown himself in front of a dagger meant for Marten, and there their bond had formed. With nowhere else to go and a death sentence hanging over his head, James had agreed he could join their crew.
But watching him now, trying to assert himself into his crew's dynamic with the force of a brute, Blackburn found he was reminded of a toad. An angry, bitter toad with the slightest twitch in his neck. Two watery, grey eyes blinked out from a sagging, sad face with nothing but a pair of loose lips to complement them.
The man had had his day. Blackburn would be sure to keep a careful eye on him wherever they went.
"Lost in thought again, Captain?"
Blackburn blinked, then offered a wan smile to the man who had come to his side. Marten was another matter entirely. "Not exactly. Just considering our next move."
"Why, women and wine, surely?"
James held back a chuckle. "You know what I mean."
Marten Vine was one of Blackburn's longest serving crew members. More than that, he was also one of his closest friends - his only friend, really, if he were truly honest with himself. A tall man of his late twenties, he stood tall and proud with a quick pair of eyes and an even quicker tongue. He was a fine swordsman, and loyal to boot. They had spent many years together, both on the sea and on the road, and he was about the only man Blackburn trusted not to shove a sword in his back if the temptation ever arose.
He was lucky. Most men in their line of work did not have such a luxury.
Marten pulled over one of the stools and flopped onto it, digging his elbows into the arm of James's chair. He sat back only for a moment when their ale was brought to them, great frothing stuff that dribbled over the rim of the tankard. Then he took a long swig and eyed his captain, a knowing smile on his lips.
"My guess is you'd rather not take more than we need, am I right?"
Blackburn gave a tight nod. "I don't want to draw attention to ourselves. Do you remember this place, Marten?"
Marten glanced around them in an exaggerated manner. "Well it's a nice enough inn, but I can't say I remember exactly - "
"Don't be a fool." This time, Blackburn's smile made it to the corner of his stubbled mouth before fading almost immediately. "Man of my men weren't here the last time we were. They won't know the risk of being careless with our names."
Marten sat back with a shrug, nursing his drink. "Let them. What's he going to do to you?"
"That's not the point, and you know it." A sigh escaped James's mouth. "It's not me I'm worried about."
"Poor Captain." Marten pouted, holding up his mug. "We come to a nice old town and he's too stuck in the past to enjoy it properly. I'll assume that's a no to the wanton raping and pillaging, then?"
Only Marten could get away with speaking so brazenly to him, but Blackburn found it didn't much bother him.
"I'd rather just let the men rest, take some supplies, and then move on." He levelled with his friend, meeting his bright, blue gaze. "Is that such a bad idea? Do you think me a fool?"
Marten watched him for a moment, blinking only once. His expression took on a flash of sincerity.
"No, James. You are many things, but a fool is not one of them." He spoke softly, too softly for anyone else to hear. Blackburn was grateful for it; the informal use of his first name was reserved for the privacy of his cabin.
"Good. Then it's settled. We'll find a brothel for the evening so the men can sate their desires, and we'll move off at mid-morning once we're restocked. I'll leave the details to you. With any luck, by the time he realises we've been here, we'll be well on our way."
Marten's face took on an odd expression, one that Blackburn couldn't quite make out. "You really fear this man so much?"
A shard of anger bristled at the back of the Captain's neck, and he clenched one of his fists against the chair.
"Careful, Vine," he growled out. "You're a good friend, but that wouldn't stop me from putting a blade through your chest."
"Of course, Captain. My mistake."
Immediately Blackburn felt regretful of the strength of his words, but Marten had already got to his feet and sauntered over to the bench before he could voice them.
Instead, the Captain consoled himself by staring into the fire as it burned in the grate, mesmerised by the flames as they licked hungrily at the wood beneath them. He sat quietly, allowing his men their idle chatter, and drank.
-x-
Aurora's feet slipped over the muddy stones as she walked, and she cursed her flimsy slippers for the hundredth time. Her feet were already sodden and her skirts were stained with muck and filth from the road, but it would be worse to fall and cover herself in dirt.
She probably looked a fright, she realised with some dismay; her pretty dress was ruined, that much was certain, and her tempestuous hair clung to her cheeks and forehead as though it was scared it would be rained off. Still, how she looked was not important, she reminded herself - what was important was finding her way to the docks.
The streets of Tallow Shide looked different in the dark. She had lived here all her life, but in her twenty-one years had rarely been out unescorted, much less after sundown. Now she stood in the mouth of an empty alleyway, water trickling over her feet as she sank down in the mud, with no real idea of where she was.
She was just deciding whether it would be worth turning back to the square that had led her here when a cold hand clamped around her wrist and pulled her backwards, into the alley.
Aurora let out a yelp of surprise as she stumbled, throwing out her arm to right herself. It collided with a heavy set chest and was promptly caught up by another hand, keeping her in place. A third hand covered her mouth and in the darkness her eyes went wide.
"Bit far from home, are you, little mousie?" hissed a voice in her ear, and it sent a shiver of repulsion down her spine. It dripped like poison in her ear, and she cried against the hand over her mouth.
It did nothing but elicit a laugh from her attackers.
The more she struggled, the tighter the grips became, and the ground was so damp that kicking out against it only made her lose her balance and fall against the chest that was behind her. She tried to wrench her wrist free of the grasp, but was instead spun violently on the spot.
The hand at her mouth was removed and she used the opportunity to take in a gulp of air, preparing for a scream - but a rag of fabric was shoved in before she had the chance, choking her and almost making her retch. It tasted of beer, and sweat, and was so strong it brought tears to her eyes.
The brutal force of the wall against her back winded her, while the crack of her skull against the brick made her cry out in pain. The rain came down so heavily she could barely make out the men before her. All she could see were dark shadows moving hastily, rolling up sleeves, undoing breeches, taking no care for the pain searing down her back from the impact against the wall.
The reality of what was about to happen to her settled in her heart like the chill of fog. She doubled her efforts to fight against the iron-like grip on her wrists, but all this did was anger them. At the same time that a hand found her throat, another pair caught her leg mid kick, holding it up in the air. It twisted slowly, uncomfortably, forcing her skirts open. Her leg was guided over the shoulder of one of the men as he lent before her, the shadow of his twisted smile leering up at her.
Meanwhile, the fingers around her throat squeezed.
The second man's body, hard and impenetrable, pushed up against her, crushing her against the stone while his accomplice knelt at his side. "Now listen here," spat a violent voice in her ear, "if you're good and don't struggle, we might let you live when we're done with you. If you make this difficult for us, well..." The sharp tip of a blade pressed against her throat just above where she was being held.
Aurora got the message; her struggling subsided.
Standing as still as she could manage, her eyes stinging with tears, she tried to pretend that she was somewhere else. Back at home, she imagined, in her nice warm bed, with her father working tirelessly in his office just down the hall.
She closed her eyes, forcing the image to her mind, doing her best to ignore the ice cold fingers lifting up her skirts, or the mouth that wasn't far behind it.
She was going to die, she realised. Even if they didn't kill her, she would be dead anyway. Ruined, despicable, and discarded like a used item of clothing. It had been foolish to seek solace in escape. Now she was to be ended before her life had really begun,
The hands reached her undergarments, a calloused finger hooking into them to drag them down her thighs, and her tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
Stupid girl, she chastised herself. Stupid, stupid...
A winded grunt and the sound of metal upon metal brought her back to the present. The fingers upon her legs disappeared, replaced by the warmth of her skirts.
"Forgive me for interrupting gentlemen, but it seems as though the lady in your company isn't quite enjoying herself."
She opened her eyes as relief flooded her.
A figure clad mostly in black stood before her, the tip of his sword pointed directly at one of her attackers' throat. He stood as though bored, inspecting the fingers on his other hand even as he pressed the metal into flesh. She glanced desperately for the man who had been at her legs, and with relief saw that he was curled up on the ground, unmoving.
There were still fingers pressing into her neck, but they had loosened, and the knife had gone. She brought her gaze back to the newcomer. In the shadow of the alley, it was hard to make him out, but she hoped against hope that he was from the nobility, and could perhaps take her home.
A terrible silence descended on the three of them, accompanied by a stillness, as though no one wanted to break the spell the newcomer had cast.
Her attacker made the first move. Quick as a flash he turned on the spot, baring his blade and knocking it against the metal at his throat. The clang of blades rang out, much louder for the quiet that had come before it, and then the two men began to duel.
They stepped around each other like cats, except one was exceptionally more elegant than the other. It was like watching a dance. A careful step here, a parry there, a dodge to accompany the lunge that followed. Aurora could do nothing but watch, her legs trembling and barely keeping her upright.
It didn't last long. In what felt like a blur of moments, her second attacker lay on top of the first, groaning in agony. Her rescuer nodded to himself, then reseated his sword in its scabbard.
"Try the brothel next time," he quipped, nudging one of them with his boot. "The ale is better."
Broken from her trance, Aurora grabbed the filthy rag from her mouth, tossing it on the floor while at the same time sucking in desperate gasps of air. She let herself be led from the alley to the street beyond, where a clear head and a little more light let her inspect her rescuer.
Any hope of him being of noble birth fled at the sight of him. If he hadn't just saved her life, or near as damn it, she would have turned and run.
He wasn't a large man. Taller than she, certainly, but his physique was nothing like that of the brutes who had attacked her in the alley. He was slim, youthful, with a body built for grace rather than brutality.
It was the way he held himself that gave her the most pause; he stood with an arrogant air about him, a cockiness that portrayed the confidence he clearly felt in his own abilities, and yet it was subtle. Attractive, she realised, despite herself.
He was dressed in black from shoulder to toe, the only white the cuffs and collar of his shirt poking out from a dark, ornate doublet done up at his chest. A long, leather coat blew gently in the breeze behind him, coming up in a high collar framing his neck. His hair was dark, his stubble dark, and the eyes that smirked at her as she met them were the darkest of all.
By any rights, he was one of the most terrifying men she had ever seen. And yet...
"Who are you?"
That seemed to surprise him. Perhaps he had been expecting thanks.
"Just a passer-by, milady," he responded, dipping briefly into a mocking bow. The smile on his face as he rose was wolfish, and Aurora got the distinct impression she was being toyed with.
She had learned from a young age that the residents of Tallow Shide were fickle, and at times even cruel. She hadn't expected rescue, despite her predicament, because even being associated with that kind of behaviour could tear your reputation down faster than you can say 'bandit'.
"Why did you save me?" she demanded, not caring for the way he was looking at her - as though he were a starved man, and she was his next meal.
He let out a chuckle, and it danced in the air around him. "My apologies. The next time I see a lady in such distress I will leave her to it."
That quelled her, temporarily. "I suppose I must appear ungrateful."
"Just a tad."
"I'm not. I owe you my life, sir, and that is not a meaningless debt. I am just surprised why you would bother."
Her gaze flicked over him again, from his boots back up to the smile that had spread to his mouth. It created a strange stirring in her. Fear, by all accounts, but very different to how she had felt when under attack.
He laughed again, softly, a deep and bold sound that was unlike any other she had heard. He took a step towards her.
"I may be a pirate, love, but even I can see that it's wrong to so violently take a woman against her will."
At the word 'pirate', her stomach sank, as though tied to a stone and thrown to the sea.
"A pirate with honour," she scoffed, remembering the tales she had been told as a child. "Who would have guessed?"
Suddenly he was upon her, moving quicker than any man she could imagine. One of his hands came to her arm, pulling her against him, while the other picked at the damp strands of hair around her face, his fingers brushing her skin. His dark, intense eyes bored into hers, their humour gone.
"Honour might be going a bit far, darling. Tell me." He gripped her arm tighter, speaking through clenched teeth, but his voice dripping with honeyed molasses that she imagined was meant to entice her. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"
The fear that had started curling in her gut began to blossom in earnest, and her heart thumped so fiercely in her chest she was surprised he couldn't feel it. The taste of sweat and filth still lingered in her mouth from the rag, and it crossed her mind that he had 'rescued' her with the intention of taking her all for himself. That was the kind of thing pirates did, after all.
"I'm - lost," she lied, quaking under his gaze.
"Indeed." Staying close, he tilted her chin up with a jewel-encrusted finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her heartbeat intensified. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
He watched her, searching for some kind of answer in her eyes. At this proximity she could smell the tang of his leather, the salt of the sea on his clothes, and a hint of something distinctly masculine laced beneath it all. It quite made her forget herself.
"I don't have to answer that," she replied, with more defiance than she meant.
The smile at the pirate's mouth became wicked, and he said huskily, "No, but I'll remind you that I'm a pirate as well a gentleman, in that order, so I'll ask again." He leaned in, dangerously close. "What's. Your. Name?"
"Aurora," she breathed at last, swallowing, and his gaze moved briefly to her throat. "Aurora Lockeless."
One of the pirate's dark eyebrows arched into his brow, adding danger to the look he was giving her.
"Lockeless?" he murmured, pulling her closer still. "You're a long way from home, my love."
"You know of me?"
"After a fashion. And I'm afraid I'm going to owe you an apology."
Aurora's mouth went dry. She licked her lips, then realised just how close they were. "What for?"
His answer was a smile laced with dark promise.
Next Time...
Blackburn began to pace, running his hands idly over the table as he did.
"Your father may be a callous man, but you're his blood. He will come for you. Trust me."
"And what would you know of family?" Aurora retorted harshly. "I didn't realise a pirate's life offered so much insight."
Blackburn's eyes shot to her, something dark within their midst. "Watch your tongue, girl. I may have to keep you alive to get what I want, but there is nothing stopping me from taking your tongue if you don't keep it in check."