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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Isabel was silent. Her bubbly personality that was once similar to Beatrice's had almost disappeared completely; it was as if she was a shell of her former self. She sat on the edge of her bed as Celia sat behind her, twisting her blonde waves into an intricate style and humming a song to fill the silence that washed over them. No sisterly chatter was exchanged and no giggles of innocence. They had both seen the unimaginable and would be forever matured by it, diminishing any residual purity that might have lingered within them.
"Izzy," Celia said, dropping her hands after she finished styling Isabel's hair. "I need to tell you something."
"What is it?"
Celia stood up and paced the area in front of Isabel, unsure of how to drop the bomb of her pregnancy and her upcoming elopement to a pirate that she barely even knew. She drummed her fingers against her arm in thought.
"As women, we are expected to fulfill two things in life," Celia began. "To marry and to bear children."
Isabel narrowed her eyes. "Why are you saying this?"
"Learn from my mistakes," Celia said.
Isabel cocked her head to the side. "Mistakes?" She stood up and reached for Celia's hands, holding them tight. "You and I both know that you were father's favorite. You could do no wrong in his eyes—you were the perfect young lady; talented, poised, level-headed...at most times, and beautiful."
Hearing those words from her sister, the only remaining flesh and blood of her immediate family, shattered her heart. For far too long had Celia put up the facade of being the golden daughter and the ideal prospect for marriage. The truth was, Celia was just as terrified as Beatrice was of intimacy in an emotional sense, just as broken as Isabel from the horrors she had seen on the sea, and felt just as alone as Elizabeth.
"I'm with child," she blurted. It was like the wind had been knocked out of her. The fuse had been lit, and now all there was to do was wait for the spark to reach the powder. Celia swallowed hard and waited for her sister's response.
"By the pirate?" Her voice was smooth and she spoke without a hitch; perhaps she was the calm and collected Wright sister. Celia nodded. "How dare he lay a hand on you and show his face at court—claiming to be your valiant rescuer at that!" And there it was; the bomb had exploded. Her voice was no longer velvet, but boiling lava erupting from a long dormant volcano as she spit her harsh words.
"I wasn't raped," Celia said, her voice low, contrasting with Isabel's.
"You gave your maidenhead willingly?"
Celia thought her sister's eyes would pop out of her head. "Yes, Izzy!" she shouted. "Is it so insane for a woman to crave intimacy with a man? Perhaps you should lock me away with mother and cast me aside from the world!" Celia clenched her jaw and shut her eyes, inhaling slowly to calm herself. When she reopened them, Isabel looked to her with raised brows and parted lips, and guilt struck her like a bolt of lightning. "I–I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I know you only care for me and my wellbeing." Isabel only nodded and closed her lips, pressing them together firmly. "I'm just... distressed."
"What are you going to do?" Isabel asked, treading carefully as to not set her sister off again.
"I was going to get rid of it until Harry convinced me otherwise," she replied. Isabel narrowed her eyes, confused. "We are to be wed." Before she could even think to respond or protest, Celia scrambled to shove another sentence out. "And I would like you to be the witness."
"Celia—"
"Don't even bother trying to talk me out of it. If this is the one piece of my life that I can control, then I'll take it."
Isabel pulled Celia into a warm embrace. "I would love nothing more than to stand by your side on your wedding day."
Celia felt tears welling up in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around her sister's waist and sighed into the crook of her neck. "I don't know what I would've done without you." The muscles of her chin trembled as she allowed her sobs to become more than just a few tears. Like a dam being released, she held onto Isabel for dear life, as if she were going to slip away at any moment, and cried harder than she had ever cried before.
♛
"Your move," Elizabeth said.
Walter studied his pawns carefully, creating a strategy in his head before moving any of his pieces. The morning sunlight warmed Celia's body as she stood behind the Queen with Beatrice, Margaret, and Cassandra, keeping Elizabeth company and occasionally aiding her in her chess strategy. Walter did not seem to mind, although it was evident that he was aware. He would pretend to fiddle with the hem of his shirt or stand to refill his glass of wine, and return with a small smile and fluttering eyelashes. Celia could tell that Elizabeth was practically melting under his heavy and handsome gaze.
Beatrice remained silent, as promised, not speaking a word to Elizabeth and avoiding her gaze. However, she struggled to stay calm around Walter, as the memory of him on top of Elizabeth was permanently burned into her mind and constantly haunted her every waking moment. She shuddered at the vibrations of a man's deep voice and twitched under even the lightest of touches.
Celia felt for her, truly and wholeheartedly, but she also knew that Beatrice would be wed soon, if not to Luke by the grace of God then to an unknown stranger of high ranking and low respect for women, and that her fear would have to stop if she had any hope of living a happy life. Though, who could blame her? Growing up with an abrasive father and a gentle mother that never saw eye-to-eye, she must have seen arguments that resulted in far more than the shattering of a vase or a strained vocal chord. Fearing the power of a man, Beatrice drowned herself in the idea of romance and "happily ever after," but her newfound fear of sex must have snapped something inside of her and caused all of the memories of her parents' horrid marriage to resurface, stirring the two together until it created a fear of men altogether.
"Celia," Elizabeth's voice cut through Celia's never ending thoughts and brought her back to reality. She shifted her blue eyes to the Queen and noticed that her dark eyes were narrowed, swirling with suspicion. "Are you quite alright?"
"Yes, your Majesty. Forgive me, I seem to have been daydreaming."
"A pastime of a little girl," she said plainly, seeing right through Celia's lie, but not allowing the surrounding people to know. "Perhaps you should take a turn about the garden to wake up your mind with reality."
"I couldn't leave you mid-match, your Grace."
"Oh, relieve yourself from this boring game. I'm a shoo-in, though Sir Walter would not admit it. Besides, I need you bright and awake for our feast tonight. We have a very special guest joining us." Celia raised her brows, casting her gaze across the faces of her fellow ladies in waiting and Walter, who all wore the same confused expression as herself. "Lord James Berkeley is in search of a wife and I thought you to be the perfect solution."
