When a maid of honor to the Queen is rescued by a handsome and contentious pirate, she has to spend three days aboard his ship before returning to court. But is three days time long enough to truly get to know someone? And is English court as diffic...
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The burning of the salt water as it rushed up her nostrils caused Celia to gag. She treaded the water violently, repeatedly spitting out the liquid that the waves shoved into her mouth, as she tried to keep her head above water. Her body grew tired, exhausted from the extensive strength she put into staying alive. With no shore or hopes of rescue in sight and the boat she had fled from steering away, Celia surrendered to the sea, allowing herself to submerge underwater into the dark oblivion of the ocean.
It was not until she felt the pressure of a fist against her chest that she realized she was no longer lost at sea. Jolting upright and immediately coughing up the water she had ingested, Celia gasped for air. Her vision was blurry for a moment until the figure in front of her cleared, revealing a muscular man with his billowing shirt gaping open. His bare chest was in plain sight, along with a cross pendant that hung from a strip of leather around his neck and settled between his pectorals. His skin was tanned, much different from that of any courtier that Celia had seen, and his hair was a wild, curly mess.
"The bloody hell were you doing in the middle of the ocean?" the man asked, his brows furrowed.
Celia was still slowing her jagged breathing, but she managed to get a few words out, though they were choppy. "Ship... attacked... Spanish."
He raised his brows. "Spaniards attacked an English ship?" Celia nodded roughly. "Where?"
"Don't know," Celia replied, breathing evenly now. "We were going to visit relatives in France. I accompanied my father and younger sister. We hadn't even made it halfway."
"But they knew you were an English ship?"
Celia nodded again. "My father is Sir Thomas Wright. We always sail with other nobility on a ship that dons the Tudor flag."
"Damn courtiers, never know how to properly navigate the sea. You never fly the Tudor flag unless you are near English waters." The man rolled his eyes and rose from his crouched position on the ground, standing to his full height that was a head taller than Celia. "I suppose everyone on board your ship has perished?"
"Or has been taken prisoner by the Spanish," Celia said, her eyes drifting to her soaked dress. The material was heavy against her body due to the excessive amount of water it absorbed.
"Well, you'll be wanting to return to court, I assume," the man said. "We aren't expected there for another three days."
"Expected at court?" Celia asked, surprised to hear that this grungy man was to appear in front of the Queen. "Who are you?" She narrowed her eyes.
"Sir Harry Styles," he said, bowing extravagantly. He stood upright and extended a hand to Celia, helping her to her feet. She stumbled as the ground beneath her feet titled, the sound of a wave crashing outside indicating that she was aboard another ship. "And you are?"
Before Celia could introduce herself, Harry had begun to walk towards the door of the dark cabin. He threw it open, allowing sunlight to spill into the room, illuminating his emerald eyes when he turned to face her.
"Mistress Celia Wright," she said, resisting the urge to curtsy to the man before her. It had been engrained in her brain to always curtsy when greeting a nobleman, but this was no ordinary man of knightly ranking.
His eyes grazed over her porcelain face, drinking in her youthful features and bright blue eyes. Suddenly, a scream from the deck broke the stiff silence between the two and Harry immediately darted out of the cabin. Celia followed, reluctantly. The men onboard greeted her with looks of lust and smirks of foul intentions. She folded her arms across her chest and continued in the path of Harry until they both came to a stop.
"You bloody fool!" Harry shouted.
Celia crept to his side to catch a glimpse of what had happened to cause such a scream. There sat a man, holding his left hand in his right one, gritting his teeth in pain. On the table in front of him was a finger, his pinky to be exact, along with a bloodied knife.
A smirk toyed on Harry's lips as a crowd gathered around the man with one less finger. "Williams, fix him up!" Harry shouted, causing a man in the crowd to come forward. He wore a grimace as he examined the idiotic man's wound, rummaging through a bag to find a rag to stop the bleeding. "Welcome aboard the Golden Tide, Mistress Celia."
After flashing a sly grin, Harry began to walk away, leaving Celia surrounded by the strange men. "Wait!" she called, picking up her still damp dress and following him. She caught up to his speed and cut him off, standing directly in front of him. He halted, glaring down at her. "What am I supposed to do for three days?"
"Come now, princess," he said sarcastically. "Just because I'm a pirate doesn't mean I'm going to throw you to the fish. Follow me."
Celia was not surprised by his nonchalant admittance to being a pirate. As a maid of honor to the Queen, she knew very well that crown-employed pirates sailed the seas to attack Spanish ships and bring back their treasures to England. If anything, Harry was surprised with the fact that she did not falter or tremble because of his occupation. She did not fear him.
Harry led Celia back into the captain's cabin, which she assumed was Harry's. She stood shivering behind him as he rummaged through a closet full of extravagant clothing. After moments of whistling to himself with his head buried in the racks of clothes, he spun around on his heel and tossed her a clean gown. Celia caught it, the fabric almost as heavy as herself, and held it up to admire it. The dress was stunning; red fabric adorned with beads that glittered in the slivers of sunlight that broke through a window nearby.
"You'll sleep there," Harry said, nodding to a door. He walked over to it and pushed it open, revealing a small room with a bed inside. The sheets were sloppily spread up, indicating that someone had slept there the night before.
"Is this not your room?" Celia asked.
Harry shrugged. "There's a cot on the opposite side of the cabin. I'll sleep there for the time being." There was a small silence as Harry admired the way Celia's red locks curled naturally and how she trailed her fingers across the embroidered fabric. "Change. Stay in those wet clothes any longer and you'll catch a fever."
Celia nodded, entering the room she would call her own for the next three days, and turned around to face Harry. He stood with his hand on the doorknob, staring at her. "Thank you," she said. Without a word or a nod, Harry slammed the door in her face, causing Celia to jump. She swallowed hard. "Or not."
