The Jackdaw

Chapter 8: The Old Avery

Edward still slept soundly when you woke, his breathing hushed whispers. The evening light filtering through the curtains gave his tanned skin a heavenly glow, his tattoos intricately curving along his chest. Years of sailing had tightened every muscle and scarred his skin twice over in various places. 

You would soon have your own set of scars. If you hadn't noticed that soldier when you did, you most certainly would have died. You knew being a pirate was dangerous. But to have been so close, to have almost tasted death, you were feeling less confident.

Before you realized it, your fingertips were tracing the outline of marred flesh that snaked across the bend of his upper arm. Edward could die, too.

He chuckled, lips pulling wide into a grin. He turned onto his side, arms working their way around you until he could pull your body tight against his.

"Careful," you chided, "Adé might walk in and throw you out the closest window."

Edward seemed unphased, ducking his head beneath your chin until his lips could tug and pull against the tender skin. A soft moan rolled in his chest. His cold hands slid beneath your shirt to find a feverish backside.

A sigh whispered out of your throat, his name on your tongue.

He lifted his head, pecking a quick kiss on your lips, hesitating in his next. "I don't want you on the Jackdaw." He shook his head, dipping his eyes away from you, ashamed that his words came out so harsh. "What I meant was that..." He unfolded onto his back, chest rising as he sucked down a deep breath. "I've got an estate on the Great Inagua, a nice house you can live in. That's what you wanted, aye? Settle down. Live an honest life."

You moved the pillow under your head, repositioning it until it was more comfortable. You didn't reply. You weren't even sure what the answer was. Your wants had changed or at least, they had been somewhat morphed. You wanted a comfortable life, one of freedom and choice. Wasn't that the life the Pirates had led? But you also didn't want to die fighting a senseless "war" with the Spanish and British. You didn't want to die over coins.

"You're not safe on the Jackdaw," he blurted, seeing that his words had left you quiet.

"I was never safe to begin with, Edward." You sat up without hesitation, pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it onto the bed. Edward's eyes bobbed across each scar, following the trails of some that curved and faded. "In my younger years, guards would sometimes catch me stealing. Other thieves attacked me from the shadows, seeing that I was easy prey. I had to work to stay alive. Had to get good or die."

He rushed to sit up, taking your face between his hands. "You can be safe. Live a comfortable life, love. The whole island is mine."

"You want to leave me alone on an island by myself." You bit down on your growing smile, knowing well that it might upset him. He was being so considerate and caring, opening his heart to you. Edward, rough on the outside, had a gentle and sweet heart.

"Not by your lonesome, no." His hands moved to your shoulders, eyes watching them move across your skin. He looked up, smoldering and serious, completely unlike himself. "A few others live there. And there's a general store, a tavern..."

You didn't want to leave the Jackdaw or the boisterous crew you'd spent weeks with. You didn't want to leave Edward. But you also liked the idea of finally settling down into a comfortable bed and not having to worry about the cold rain or the fire going out, or someone sneaking up on you in the middle of the night.

"Think about it, love." Edward tilted his head, leaning ever so slightly to hover his lips above yours questioningly. His hands skimmed up along your neck and into the strands of your hair, brushing them out of your face.