Lady of the Sea

Ch 10

Marina and Robby spun around. In the darkness, a shadowy ship loomed, barreling straight toward them. The Wicked Wench had been caught off guard. The crew scrambled in chaos, shouting commands, grabbing weapons, and preparing for battle.

In the midst of the commotion, Marina felt a strong hand grasp hers. She turned to find Jack. "Get to my cabin!" he ordered urgently.

Marina shook her head. "I'm not hiding."

Jack locked eyes with her, his gaze intense. "Go. Now."

Without another word, he pushed her inside the cabin and left. Marina waited for a moment, peering through the glass. The scene outside was brutal; pirates were storming the ship, catching Jack's crew unprepared. Men fell swiftly, unable to defend themselves.

Marina's heart raced. She knew she had trained for combat, but the reality was daunting. Her hands were empty—Jack hadn't returned her dagger. Nevertheless, she couldn't just stay hidden. Determined, she took a deep breath, focusing her thoughts.

She opened the cabin door and stepped into the fray. Across the deck, Jack spotted her and frowned, clearly worried for her safety. A pirate lunged at Marina, blade flashing in the dim light.

With agility and precision, Marina dodged the initial strike, sidestepping and rolling to avoid the blade. She deflected another swing with a quick, practiced move. As the pirate advanced again, she managed to seize his sword handle mid-swing, twisting the weapon from his grip. With a swift, decisive strike, she knocked him in the chin with the hilt, then wrestled the sword free and plunged it into him with a fierce, determined thrust.

The pirate crumpled, and Marina, her fierce resolve evident in her expression, stood ready for the next threat.

As Marina took a deep breath, preparing for another fight, another pirate charged at her from the shadows. This one was larger and more formidable. Marina ducked under a swinging blade and countered with a swift strike of her own, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow. She used her newfound sword with skill, parrying his attacks before delivering a precise cut that left him incapacitated.

But the battle was far from over. Two more pirates emerged, brandishing their weapons. Marina fought tirelessly, her movements a blend of skill and fierce determination. She ducked and dodged, her sword flashing in the moonlight as she deflected blows and struck back with practiced precision. Each enemy fell one by one—some with quick, clean strokes, others after a grueling struggle. Her face was set in a determined scowl, sweat mingling with the grime of battle.

The chaos of clashing steel, shouting, and the occasional cries of fallen men surrounded her. Despite the odds, Marina's resolve never wavered. With each pirate that fell, she felt a surge of adrenaline and purpose. Her training, though never tested in such dire circumstances, proved invaluable.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was likely only minutes, the remaining pirates began to retreat. They scrambled back to their own ship, abandoning their comrades and fleeing into the night. The Wicked Wench's deck fell eerily quiet, save for the groans of the wounded and the occasional crackle of the remaining lanterns.

Breathing heavily, Marina scanned the deck, her clothes stained and splattered with blood. Crimson droplets dripped down her face, mingling with the sweat and grime from the fierce battle. Her grip on the sword remained firm, a testament to her determination. She looked towards Jack, who had fought his way through the chaos and was now assessing the damage. His eyes met hers across the deck, a mixture of relief and astonishment clear in his gaze. The deck was littered with the fallen, the ship's timbers bearing the marks of the struggle. The remnants of the skirmish were all around, but Marina stood tall amidst the carnage.

The crew worked tirelessly through the night, scrubbing the deck clean of blood and bodies. Meanwhile, Marina, in a state of numb shock, retreated below deck to wash the blood from her face. Despite her efforts, her clothes and hair remained streaked with the remnants of the battle.

As she stood in the dimly lit corridor, lost in her thoughts, she heard footsteps approaching. Too exhausted and detached to react, she barely registered the presence until Jack's voice cut through the silence.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern lacing his tone.

Marina, barely turning her head, muttered, "I'm fine."

Jack, however, would not be deterred. He gently but firmly turned her around, his eyes scanning her face and arms for any signs of injury. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he examined her, clearly troubled by what he saw.

"You're sure you're fine?" he asked again, his gaze lingering on her hands.

"Yes," Marina replied, trying to maintain her composure. "I told you I could handle myself."

Jack's skepticism was evident. "How did you learn to fight so well?"

Marina hesitated, her expression hardening slightly. "I was taught in Tortuga."

Jack raised an eyebrow, clearly having trouble believing her. "Come with me," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Let's get you cleaned up."

He led her to his quarters, where the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The room was warm and softly lit, the chaos of the night seeming a distant memory.

Jack motioned for her to sit down and, without further ado, fetched a bucket of water and a cloth. He then carefully began to wash her face and hands, his movements both deliberate and tender. Marina sat silently, the warmth of the water and the soothing cloth a strange comfort amidst the emotional storm within her.

As Jack worked, he stole glances at her, his expression a mix of worry and something deeper, as if he was seeing her for the first time. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the exhaustion of the night, left Marina feeling strangely vulnerable.

Exhaustion overcame Marina as Jack tended to her, and she soon drifted off to sleep, the warmth and comfort of the moment rendering her oblivious to everything around her.