To Sail the High Seas: Pirate England x Reader #Wattys2017

Chapter Four

“You are going to get me killed.”
“Ye dinnae have tae worry lass, he’s just sour because no-one agrees wit’ his ‘refined tastes’.” He noticed you open your mouth to protest so cut you off. “Besides, if he killed a person every time they insul’ed his cooking, he wouldnea have a crew lef’.” He ruffled your hair as if you were a child, his grin quickly disappearing when you winced with pain. Kneeling down, he took your face in his hands and cursed. “Corse jus’ ‘cause he wouldnea kill ye intentionally doesnea mean he has any idea how tae care fer a woman.” You winced again as his thumb brushed over the blood encrusted to your scalp. “Le’s ge’ ye cleaned up shall we?”

You soon found yourself sitting in a simple cabin while Allistor dabbed at your wound with a damp cloth, every now and then he would dip it into a bucket of cool water only to resume treatment a moment later. You’d given up your protests, as insisting that you were fine seemed to be useless. You sighed in relief as the Scotsman finally ceased in his actions and began to rummage around in a small cabinet beside his bed. When he returned to your side however, his words were less than comforting.
“This migh’ hur’ a little…” You glared down at the misted brown glass of the bottle in his hand; as soon as he opened it a strong smell assaulted your nose.
“That’s whiskey.”
“Aye.” He poured a little of the liquid onto the cloth.
“As in alcohol.”
“Aye.” He took a swig from the bottle before corking it again.
“When you say it might hurt a little…” You cursed as one large, calloused hand held the back of your head firmly, preventing escape. Hissing as the cloth made contact you clutched onto Allistor’s arm tightly, the alcohol burned, sending sharp stabs of pain through your skull. “It’s fer the bes’ lass.”
“I’m well aware of that, you Scottish twat.” He just chuckled at your insults. After a moment longer he released you, but your skin still burned.
“It’ll pass.” You just grunted in reply, resisting the urge to claw the burning sensation from your scalp.

Allistor’s cabin was nice you supposed. While not nearly as grand as the captain’s, he didn’t have to share with anyone, and he had a proper bed instead of a hammock. This was attributed to the fact that he was apparently the first mate, not to mention Arthur’s older brother. Although slightly surprised at first, the more you thought about it, the more sense their relationship made. It certainly explained their similarities.
“So if you’re older, why aren’t you the captain?”
“It doesnea work like tha’ lassie, besides I’m no’ cu’-ou’ fer tha’ sor’ o’ responsibility. I’m a bloody good figh’er, an’ I could probably take down mos’ of the crew blindfolded, bu’ Artie’s better at the strategic side o’ things.” You smiled at his boasting.
Allistor allowed you to stay in his cabin while he got back to work, lest he suffer the consequences. After a good night’s sleep, warm food for your empty stomach, and now a clean injury, you were beginning to feel much better than you had in a while. That good feeling was all too short-lived. Not long after you were left to your thoughts, two crew-members walked past the door. Their conversation was more than a little distasteful. They were laughing, laughing as they spoke of painting the burning wreck of your former vessel red with human blood. Their maniacal giggles caused unpleasant memories to flood your mind and you gagged, clutching yourself tightly as the tremors raked through your body once more. You waited until their joyous voices had faded before staggering up from the floor and creeping out of the room.

It was stupid really. You knew you couldn’t go anywhere, as there was nowhere to go. You were isolated from society by unknown amounts of water, your only family was dead by the hand of one of the men on this ship, and you couldn’t escape. Yet still you ran. You hadn’t a destination in mind, only the desperate need to flee. You skidded blindly around corners, only stopping to change your course when you heard voices.
To think that a few days locked in the dark can make a person trust so quickly when shown a little kindness.
For all you knew, your father’s murderer could be Allistor, or even the captain himself. You hadn’t exactly grown fond of the men (or at least not the captain), but you hadn’t been in a hurry to push them away either.
They’re killers. If not my father then someone else on that ship. If not someone on that ship then someone from another. They must have the lives of hundreds on their hands.
You thought about the affectionate way Allistor had ruffled your hair and did your best not to collapse. They were killers. Every man on this ship was a killer. No matter how kind they appeared, they were nothing but blood-thirsty pirates.

You practically flew around the next corner, colliding into someone coming in the opposite direction. You clawed your way backwards, preparing for the worst. It never came. Staring at you with wide-eyes was a skinny boy of no more than twelve. His dazed expression rapidly turned into one of excitement and then concern when he saw the fear that was evident of your face. Jumping up, the boy grabbed your hand and whispered hushed words of comfort as he led your deeper into the ship.
Eventually finding yourself sitting in the corner of a small cabin which was tucked away at the send of one of the many corridors, you watched the boy warily.
He’s just a child.
After peering down the long hallway to make sure you hadn’t been followed, he bolted the door and threw his arms around you without warning.
“Was my brother being mean to you? He’s always mean to me but I never thought he’d make a pretty lady sad!”
“Who…?”
“Oh right!” He pulled back to sit cross-legged in front of you, his blue eyes alight with excitement. “I’m Peter, and you’re the woman that Arthur took into his cabin yesterday aren’t you?”
“You’re… the captain’s brother.” You looked at Peter blankly for a moment, wondering how it was possible for such a sweet child to be related to one of the most infamously ruthless pirates in the world.
“Yeah, he doesn’t like me much though. Arthur’s a big meanie, he always tells me I’m annoying and that I’m not a very good pirate, so I stay below deck most of the time.” You let him babble for a while, enjoying the innocence of his complaints. Peter noticed the smile tugging at your lips.
“Are you feeling better now?”
“A little, thank you.”
“What did he do to make you sad?” You reached your hand out to poke his forehead lightly, unknitting his brows where a frown had begun to form.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just a little overwhelmed by everything, that’s all.”
“You’re from that ship aren’t you, the one we sunk a few days ago.” He nodded thoughtfully. It concerned you that he spoke of such things with ease, but you supposed that living on a pirate ship for any length of time would cause you to become accustomed to almost anything. “Did you have friends on that ship?”
“A few acquaintances I suppose, and… and my father.” You took a deep breath, trying not to cry.
“So you’re lonely.”
“I-I suppose I am.” You heard your own voice crack and felt the cold tears begin to spill from your eyes. You hadn’t cried once since all this began, but the terrifying accuracy and simplicity of a child’s innocent words broke something inside you.
“Don’t cry!” Peter’s face fell, noticing that tears had replaced your smile. “We can be friends okay? Because I’m lonely too, but if we’re lonely together it won’t be so bad! Please don’t cry!”

It took a minute or two to stop the tears, but eventually you managed it. Offering the brunet a watery grin, you nodded your head gratefully.
“I’m fine, honestly. Thank you sweetie.” You almost giggled at the faint blush that painted his face at the nickname. He wriggled on the spot, blushing happily.
“So, we’re friends now right?” When you confirmed this he offered his hand, all fingers but the smallest curled into a fist. “Pinkie promise?”
“Pinkie promise.” You wrapped your little finger around his and laughed properly for the first time in days. You somehow felt lighter, as if some unknown burden had been lifter from your tired shoulders.